And about halfway through the glasses, Marcus registered what had happened and had to actively forgot. So he didn't say anything about it. She said it instead. We do this well, she said, not looking up from the sink. Do what?
Well, he said this. She gestured with a soapy hand at the kitchen. Being in the same space, it doesn't feel crowded. Marcus dried a bowl. No, he said it doesn't.
She handed him a glass. That's rare, she said quietly. In my experience, he took the glass. Their fingers overlapped on the rim for a half a second. Neither of them made anything of it, but neither of them moved fast either.
Yeah. Marcus said, "It is." She went home at 9:30. At the door, she said, "Good night, and he said good night." And she walked back across the dark yard to her house.
And Marcus stood in the doorway the way he always stood in the doorway when she left. And he did not pretend to himself anymore that it was just habit. He was watching her because he wanted to watch her. And the porch light came on automatically. As she reached her steps, he hadn't known it was on a timer.
That was new information. Or maybe he just hadn't noticed before. And for a second, she was framed in it. Turning to look back at him from her porch, she raised a hand. He raised one back.
She went inside. Marcus closed his door and stood in his hallway and said out loud quietly to no one at all, "Okay, just that. Just okay." Because something had shifted into place tonight. Something internal and structural like a wall in him that had been holding something back for a long time had quietly without announcement come down.
He wasn't sure yet what he was going to do about it, but he was done pretending it wasn't there. What happened next? Marcus had not anticipated. He should have. Looking back on it later, he could see all the ways he should have seen it coming, but at the time it arrived like weather sudden and total.
It was a Saturday. Darius was at a basketball game, the team's first of the season, and Marcus had promised to be there, but he was running late because a service call had gone longer than expected, and he was pulling into the school parking lot, still in his work clothes, when his phone rang. Not Darius, his sister-in-law. Kesha, his late wife's younger sister. He almost let it go to voicemail.
He didn't. Hey, Kesha. Marcus. Her voice was flat in a way that told him she had prepared what she was going to say. Kesha was a straight ahead person, never ambiguous.
And when she went flat, it meant she was controlling something. I'm going to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me. Marcus pulled into a parking spot and turned off the van. Okay, are you seeing someone? Silence.