Through the Heart by Kate Morgenroth Page B

the weekend, to the Bed Bath & Beyond up there, because he read about a product called Perfect Glass. The label made the claim, “leaves glass looking perfect!” and he’d bought a special cloth that was designed specifically for glass cleaning, also guaranteed not to leave streaks.
    He was certain it was going to work this time.
    I was not so hopeful. But I didn’t mind. Trying to get those windows clean didn’t seem more ridiculous than anything else in my life. But by midday, before the sun got low enough to hit the widows, the clouds rolled in. Outside the window, the sky was an expanse of rolling bands of dark and light and dark and light, undulating into the distance as far as I could see.
    Even without the sun, Neil couldn’t wait any longer. He gave me the bottle and the cloth and told me to get started. The fabric of the cloth felt strange: it was soft and should have felt nice, but it gripped the skin of my hands in a strange way that made my stomach a little queasy. I sprayed a fine mist on the clear glass and wiped it down. The cloth didn’t exactly absorb the liquid. It seemed to just smear it across the glass, but with enough rubbing, it eventually dried. I sprayed again and repeated the rubbing. Neil stood behind me the whole time, with his arms crossed, his head thrown back, and his eyes in an intense squint.
    After a few minutes, he said, “I think it might be working. It’s definitely better. Don’t you think it’s better?’
    “Yes. Sure,” I said.
    “Are you just saying that, or do you really agree?” Neil asked.
    “I’m just saying it. Neil, it’s not sunny. We can only see the streaks when it’s sunny.”
    “But it could be working. It could be better. Don’t you think it could be?”
    “Yes. Sure. It could be.”
    “You’re not just saying that?” he asked, half-hopefully, half-suspiciously.
    I opened my mouth to answer, but I was spared from more when the bell over the door jingled.
    “Customer,” Neil said, unnecessarily. That was the thing with Neil. Almost everything he did was unnecessary.
    I put down the cloth and the streak-free cleaner.
    “Don’t leave that there,” Neil said. “What would that look like to customers?”
    I thought that it would look like I was washing the windows, but I kept that thought to myself. I just turned back, picked up the cloth and the liquid, and stashed them behind the counter. The man was waiting for me by the time I got around behind the register.
    Looking back, I can’t find any sense of recognition in that moment. There was no funny feeling, no premonition that this small slice of time, this ordinary Monday afternoon, would change the course of my life. And this man’s life. And the lives of everyone who was close to me.
    No, all I could remember was that I noticed the suit. It wasn’t his face or his eyes or his smile. It was the suit that struck me. Wearing a suit in town was not unheard of, but it was never a suit like this. The suits I saw around town were either black, for funerals, or mud brown, and usually paired with the unfortunate choice of a checked shirt and striped tie in even more unfortunate colors. But comparing the suits I usually saw with this one was like comparing a Volvo with a Lamborghini. The fabric of the suit was gray, with subtle lines that were actually tiny ridges in the cloth. And it had just the faintest sheen to it. He wore it with a pale blue shirt and a dark blue tie, also with the same little ridges in the fabric. It was very simple, but the kind of simple that cost more than a lot of people made in a month.
    When I looked up from the suit to his face, I saw what I thought was the best-looking man I’d ever seen in person. He might almost have been too good-looking, with the plastic look of a magazine, but he was saved from that by the deep lines sloping across his forehead and bracketing his mouth.
    I said, “Welcome to Starbox. What can I get you?”
    The man squinted up at the board. At