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notice that he did not, in fact, say the words
It’s OK , it’s OK .
Rather, he felt their effect on Ellen. At this point he feels ashamed, knowing how wrong he was to have blamed her. Detective Peterson scoops up the mug and asks Ellen if she wants another and she explains to himthat she’s already had two cups and maybe better not. He kisses her cheek and leaves the room, turning back as he steps into the hallway to ask if she wants to watch television with him later. She says that she would.it has been so long. Television has been a source of great anguish to her, but maybe now, with her husband sitting beside her, it would be like it was. Detective Peterson walks into the kitchen just as the phone rings.
    “Hello?”
    “Detective?”
    “Yes?”
    “We need a report on what happened this afternoon. The sargent has called in the RC s on this one. They think we got more than one killer. We gotta find Les Reardon.”
    “Purse snatch … purse snatch … fucker …”
    Peterson lowers the phone and feels a wind across his face. Bits of words catch in the sunlight across the top of the stove like barbs off a wire. He swings the receiver through them and they part in eddies around his wrist. He brings the phone back up to his ear.
    “What? Detective Peterson, are you there? Hello?”
    “Hello?”
    “Yeah, sir, what did you say?”
    “What?”
    “What did you say?”
    “Say?”
    “Yeah, what did you say?”
    “Say?”
    “Are you OK , sir?”
    “Is barn, is messy.”
    “I think I’ll come out there, sir, if that’s all right. I gotta couple of things to do first, but I think I’ll come out there. Is that all right, sir?”
    Peterson thinks,
Well, there isn’t anything wrong. I’m fine for fuck’s sake, I just can’t seem to say so.
And he says: “Dirty dump … dirty day.”
    “Uh … detective, we have a very serious situation unfolding in the region and if you don’t think you can … uh … handle it right now … I have to tell somebody.”
    “Dirty, dirty, dirty.”
    Peterson places the phone back in its cradle. He hears his wife call his name and he jumps. A flash of rage fills his chest. He runs into the living room and snatches the TV
Guide
before dashing up the stairs. By the time he reaches the top he calms again. He hears Ellen singing softly to herself. The song is very familiar. He can’t name it. As he enters the television room and lays the TV
Guide
in her lap he asks her what the song is. She tells him and he smiles, remembering its source. He hums a bar as he flips the macramé throw over the top of the television screen. Ellen suggests a television show and the detective pretends to consider it — he’s going to watch whatever she wants, and eventually smiles at her choice. The television pops on and the Rembrandt hues of a soap opera appear. This is the program they had decided on, and as they settle in each other’s arms to begin watching it they both feel an identical discomfort. Without discussing it Ellen switches the channel until she finds something. It happens to be exactly what the detective would have chosen.
    Night Court.
A rerun.
    As Bull looks for a place to hide a mop, the Petersons nod to the closet that waits off camera.

11
Nadia Comaneci
    The moon breaks into little pieces and sprinkles itself as confetti onto the front lawn of the Peterson household. A man in uniform steps up to the front door. He lays the back of his hand flat across the doorbell and by sinking his second knuckle he depresses the button.
    Inside the house, up the flight of stairs that the front door opens to, is the television room. Detective Peterson sits up on the edge of the couch, straightening his arms to his knees. His head turns in the direction of the door. His eyes are new. Near him a wounded caribou pulls at a leg wedged in ice. Ellen looks to him, in the way she has had to these last few months, and when the bell rings a second time he turns on her, clasping one hand around her face