Page 101

The papers from last night had been stacked beneath a clean sheet. My pen lay beside them, capped. The tiny wandering mark at the bottom of my calculation remained visible through the top corner.

A record of my departure from consciousness.

Cash brought the plates over.

Two eggs, whites set, yolks intact. No browned lace around the edges. Toast on the side instead of underneath.

I looked up.

“What?” he asked.

“This is how I eat eggs.”

“Hope so. Otherwise we’re having a disappointing breakfast.”

“I mentioned that once.”

“At the sink. You said crispy whites tasted like somebody had laminated breakfast.”

I stared at him.

He sat across from me. “Hard to forget a statement like that.”

It had been a throwaway remark. Something about motel breakfasts, said while I rinsed a mug and reviewed a supply list. I hadn’t even been sure he was listening.

“You remembered.”

“Wasn’t a hardship.”

He passed the salt.

I cut into an egg. The yolk spread exactly as it should, and for a few seconds, I gave it my full attention because breakfast was easier than being remembered.

Cash ate a piece of toast. He wasn’t filling the silence.

That was when I knew we were about to discuss something.

I put down my fork.

“What?”

He glanced at my plate, then at me.

“Do you have room for a conversation?”

“Is it about the tank?”

“No.”

“Then probably.”

His mouth moved, but the smile didn’t quite arrive.

“I owe you an apology for the kiss.”

Heat went up my neck.

Outside, something rattled against the porch. I wished it would become urgent.