without my glove.”
“Sure. I’ll go get it. Hang on.”
David rose to his feet, his knees cracking, and passed through the hallway where moonlight sifted onto the floor through thin
curtains. He went quietly through the kitchen where Abby bent to load the dishwasher, her silhouette an arabesque over rows
of white, dripping dishes. He went to her and wrapped his arms around her from behind, treating their relationship suddenly
as a priceless, breakable thing.
“Hey,” she whispered, leaning into him, the smell of dish detergent wafting from her arms.
“Love you,” he said, kissing her neck.
“I’m not turning around,” she said, laughing. “If I do, I’ll get your neck all soapy.”
Abby, there’s something I need to tell you. Abby, honey, I’ve made a horrible mistake
.
Once she found out, he would never be able to take back the truth.
David left her and went to find Braden’s baseball mitt. He delivered it to his son, who was already snoring through swollen
nostrils. Then David circled the living room, moved soundlessly beside the wall, invisible, like a character in a Thornton
Wilder play. And saw rooms in his house as if he hadn’t seen them before. As if they weren’t real to him anymore. As if they
were already slipping away.
Chapter Five
E verywhere David went that week, he noticed little girls.
When he strode out for his morning jog, treading along with the burden of his heavy heart, he happened past a little girl
who was digging her heels in and hanging on to a dog leash for dear life, pulled along by a golden retriever at least twice
her size.
When he spelled one of the tellers in the window at the bank, a little girl rode into the drive-thru with her family, smashed
her nose against the glass, and stared at David with huge dark eyes while her father scribbled out a check. He whisked her
a Dum-Dum lollipop along with her father’s cash.
While traveling on the Village Road, he glanced into a cow pasture and saw three girls in inner tubes bobbing along an irrigation
ditch, their bare toes flinging up bead-strings of water. They grasped hands whenever they came within reach of one another,
shrieking and throwing or ducking clumps of wet weeds.
At last, David could stand it no longer. During a rare lull in his office, he dialed Information on his phone and gave the
mechanical voice on the other end all the information he could remember. A listing in Siletz Bay. On the coast of Oregon,
near Lincoln City.
There could be so many reasons not to find it. A single woman alone could very well be unlisted, or indexed under a different
initial. He wouldn’t put it past Susan to be carefully hiding herself away.
“Please hold for the number,” the dehumanized voice said.
David scuttled his desktop for a pen.
Moments later, he was punching in the Oregon number with great boldness, thinking how pleasant it felt to be the one who chose
to do right, the one taking the upper hand. But the instant he heard the childlike, sun-shiny voice on Susan’s answering machine,
his bravado failed him.
“Hey! You’ve reached the house of Samantha and Susan Roche. Don’t hang up, just leave us a message at the—”
Beep
.
And that was all.
He sat incapable of response, shocked to have heard Samantha’s voice. She sounded so young. So
guiltless
. A hollow opened inside of him that later, when he took time to think, would draw him down and drown him. After hearing the
machine hang up, David dialed the number again. And waited, trying not to listen during the short message he knew would come,
before he stammered, “Susan. Listen. It’s David Treasure calling from Wyoming. I… just hadn’t
heard
anything, and I wanted to check in.” He took precious seconds during the recording, measuring his words in case someone might
be listening. “Please, Susan.” Another long, desperate pause. “I need to know what’s happening. Get me at my office,” he said.
“Sure. I’ll go get it. Hang on.”
David rose to his feet, his knees cracking, and passed through the hallway where moonlight sifted onto the floor through thin
curtains. He went quietly through the kitchen where Abby bent to load the dishwasher, her silhouette an arabesque over rows
of white, dripping dishes. He went to her and wrapped his arms around her from behind, treating their relationship suddenly
as a priceless, breakable thing.
“Hey,” she whispered, leaning into him, the smell of dish detergent wafting from her arms.
“Love you,” he said, kissing her neck.
“I’m not turning around,” she said, laughing. “If I do, I’ll get your neck all soapy.”
Abby, there’s something I need to tell you. Abby, honey, I’ve made a horrible mistake
.
Once she found out, he would never be able to take back the truth.
David left her and went to find Braden’s baseball mitt. He delivered it to his son, who was already snoring through swollen
nostrils. Then David circled the living room, moved soundlessly beside the wall, invisible, like a character in a Thornton
Wilder play. And saw rooms in his house as if he hadn’t seen them before. As if they weren’t real to him anymore. As if they
were already slipping away.
Chapter Five
E verywhere David went that week, he noticed little girls.
When he strode out for his morning jog, treading along with the burden of his heavy heart, he happened past a little girl
who was digging her heels in and hanging on to a dog leash for dear life, pulled along by a golden retriever at least twice
her size.
When he spelled one of the tellers in the window at the bank, a little girl rode into the drive-thru with her family, smashed
her nose against the glass, and stared at David with huge dark eyes while her father scribbled out a check. He whisked her
a Dum-Dum lollipop along with her father’s cash.
While traveling on the Village Road, he glanced into a cow pasture and saw three girls in inner tubes bobbing along an irrigation
ditch, their bare toes flinging up bead-strings of water. They grasped hands whenever they came within reach of one another,
shrieking and throwing or ducking clumps of wet weeds.
At last, David could stand it no longer. During a rare lull in his office, he dialed Information on his phone and gave the
mechanical voice on the other end all the information he could remember. A listing in Siletz Bay. On the coast of Oregon,
near Lincoln City.
There could be so many reasons not to find it. A single woman alone could very well be unlisted, or indexed under a different
initial. He wouldn’t put it past Susan to be carefully hiding herself away.
“Please hold for the number,” the dehumanized voice said.
David scuttled his desktop for a pen.
Moments later, he was punching in the Oregon number with great boldness, thinking how pleasant it felt to be the one who chose
to do right, the one taking the upper hand. But the instant he heard the childlike, sun-shiny voice on Susan’s answering machine,
his bravado failed him.
“Hey! You’ve reached the house of Samantha and Susan Roche. Don’t hang up, just leave us a message at the—”
Beep
.
And that was all.
He sat incapable of response, shocked to have heard Samantha’s voice. She sounded so young. So
guiltless
. A hollow opened inside of him that later, when he took time to think, would draw him down and drown him. After hearing the
machine hang up, David dialed the number again. And waited, trying not to listen during the short message he knew would come,
before he stammered, “Susan. Listen. It’s David Treasure calling from Wyoming. I… just hadn’t
heard
anything, and I wanted to check in.” He took precious seconds during the recording, measuring his words in case someone might
be listening. “Please, Susan.” Another long, desperate pause. “I need to know what’s happening. Get me at my office,” he said.
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