you Monday.”
Maren climbed out of the Focus, slung her messenger bag over her shoulder and began digging in it for her keys. As she bounded up the stoop and unlocked the door, she waved to Helene and opened the kitchen door to find one whimpering Perry, dancing on his hind legs and licking the air around her.
“Hey, there, sugar. Mommy’s late tonight. Sorry, Perry.” She palmed his small head and scratched behind his ears. At this peace offering, Perry dropped down to all fours and allowed his mistress to show her contrition as he half closed his eyes and leaned into the scratching. Maren could hear the TV in the living room.
“Hi, Tuva!’ Maren called. “Thank you for feeding Perry. I’m sorry I’m back so late.”
Maren heard the squeal of the recliner as Tuva leaned over its arm and looked through the doorway, smiling as always.
“Of course, Mahreen! He is only wanting his belly filled and a lap to lie in, like any male,” Tuva joked.
Maren scooped Perry into her arms and carried him to the doorway. True to form, Tuva was watching Mythbusters . Carrie, Grant, and Tory were proving that stressed out drivers burned more fuel than relaxed ones.
“They have put raaaats in the car,” Tuva explained, unable to hide her disgust. “I’d drive faster, too, with raaats in the car!”
Despite her opinion of the rats, Tuva’s laughter shook the windows as Grant gripped a peanut-buttered steering wheel to the deafening tones of rap music and hit the test track. Maren leaned against the doorframe, laughing at her roommate. After Mythbuster Grant completed the least efficient test drive on record, Maren bid Tuva goodnight and carried Perry to her bed. He made himself comfortable while she undressed and pulled a white shift gown over her head. Maren padded to the bathroom in her fuzzy socks and loaded up her toothbrush. She closed the mirrored door of the medicine cabinet and looked into her own brown eyes.
Dr. Vashal’s eyes are like sage and smoke.
The thought leapt forward and should have startled her, but it didn’t. It had been waiting in the periphery of her mind for just such an unguarded moment, but Maren had known it was there since she had grabbed the beer pitcher ahead of Dr. Vashal. She had found herself watching him across from her, looking as though he were lost in a thought—a painful one. When he looked up to see her holding the beer pitcher, his eyes had locked on hers, and she’d almost been afraid, as though she had been caught trespassing. Behind the fear, though, was a desire to ask him what was wrong, but she didn’t dare.
Maren carried the question to bed and pulled the duvet over her. Perry snuggled into the curve of her as she rolled over to turn out the lamp, and she sighed in the darkness.
Why condemned?
And he clearly had not meant for her to hear him. Right? Certainly, he had not been prepared for her to understand him. He’d looked terrified when she’d begun translating his words. And when he’d covered for it,...lied about what he’d said, she had asked him if he was happy.
Maren’s cheeks burned as she lay in the darkness. How could she have asked him that? It was...so.. .intimate . Ugh! Maren flipped from her right to her left side, startling Perry. He leapt over her hips to find his favorite curve and turned three times before settling down.
“Sorry, Perry,” she whispered, stilling herself and letting the discomfort of the thought seep through her. Why had she asked him if he was a happy man? Clearly, he was not. No one could accuse Dr. Malcolm Vashal of being cheery. Or content.
But why?
And why condemned?
Maren thought of her father, who was as condemned as a man could be. Her heart twisted, and her eyes filled. His oncologist said that he had a few months. To look at him, one would never believe it. Sure, he was thinner, and paler now, but he never let the rest of it show. He did not look like a man condemned to die.
Malcolm Vashal did.
Maren wondered
Maren climbed out of the Focus, slung her messenger bag over her shoulder and began digging in it for her keys. As she bounded up the stoop and unlocked the door, she waved to Helene and opened the kitchen door to find one whimpering Perry, dancing on his hind legs and licking the air around her.
“Hey, there, sugar. Mommy’s late tonight. Sorry, Perry.” She palmed his small head and scratched behind his ears. At this peace offering, Perry dropped down to all fours and allowed his mistress to show her contrition as he half closed his eyes and leaned into the scratching. Maren could hear the TV in the living room.
“Hi, Tuva!’ Maren called. “Thank you for feeding Perry. I’m sorry I’m back so late.”
Maren heard the squeal of the recliner as Tuva leaned over its arm and looked through the doorway, smiling as always.
“Of course, Mahreen! He is only wanting his belly filled and a lap to lie in, like any male,” Tuva joked.
Maren scooped Perry into her arms and carried him to the doorway. True to form, Tuva was watching Mythbusters . Carrie, Grant, and Tory were proving that stressed out drivers burned more fuel than relaxed ones.
“They have put raaaats in the car,” Tuva explained, unable to hide her disgust. “I’d drive faster, too, with raaats in the car!”
Despite her opinion of the rats, Tuva’s laughter shook the windows as Grant gripped a peanut-buttered steering wheel to the deafening tones of rap music and hit the test track. Maren leaned against the doorframe, laughing at her roommate. After Mythbuster Grant completed the least efficient test drive on record, Maren bid Tuva goodnight and carried Perry to her bed. He made himself comfortable while she undressed and pulled a white shift gown over her head. Maren padded to the bathroom in her fuzzy socks and loaded up her toothbrush. She closed the mirrored door of the medicine cabinet and looked into her own brown eyes.
Dr. Vashal’s eyes are like sage and smoke.
The thought leapt forward and should have startled her, but it didn’t. It had been waiting in the periphery of her mind for just such an unguarded moment, but Maren had known it was there since she had grabbed the beer pitcher ahead of Dr. Vashal. She had found herself watching him across from her, looking as though he were lost in a thought—a painful one. When he looked up to see her holding the beer pitcher, his eyes had locked on hers, and she’d almost been afraid, as though she had been caught trespassing. Behind the fear, though, was a desire to ask him what was wrong, but she didn’t dare.
Maren carried the question to bed and pulled the duvet over her. Perry snuggled into the curve of her as she rolled over to turn out the lamp, and she sighed in the darkness.
Why condemned?
And he clearly had not meant for her to hear him. Right? Certainly, he had not been prepared for her to understand him. He’d looked terrified when she’d begun translating his words. And when he’d covered for it,...lied about what he’d said, she had asked him if he was happy.
Maren’s cheeks burned as she lay in the darkness. How could she have asked him that? It was...so.. .intimate . Ugh! Maren flipped from her right to her left side, startling Perry. He leapt over her hips to find his favorite curve and turned three times before settling down.
“Sorry, Perry,” she whispered, stilling herself and letting the discomfort of the thought seep through her. Why had she asked him if he was a happy man? Clearly, he was not. No one could accuse Dr. Malcolm Vashal of being cheery. Or content.
But why?
And why condemned?
Maren thought of her father, who was as condemned as a man could be. Her heart twisted, and her eyes filled. His oncologist said that he had a few months. To look at him, one would never believe it. Sure, he was thinner, and paler now, but he never let the rest of it show. He did not look like a man condemned to die.
Malcolm Vashal did.
Maren wondered
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