knows.”
In the morning Matt had cereal at the table in the kitchen. Marissa came down while he was eating, in her bathrobe. She’d
called in sick. He didn’t think she should be working anymore anyway, but Marissa, up until now, had done everything she could
to continue and seemed almost offended by the idea of changing her routine or her life. She didn’t want anyone to think she
was taking advantage.
“No one’s gonna think that,” Matt had said. “You work at the damned Planned Parenthood. They live for people like you. I’m
surprised they haven’t bought you a new car for getting pregnant.”
“I know,” she’d said. “I just don’t want to. After, fine. Then I’ll stay home. Before, no.”
When he was finished with his cereal, Matt stood in the middle of the kitchen, hands on his hips, and said, “Okay. I’m going.”
“You’re going where?” she said, surprised.
“I’m going going,” he said, raising his eyebrows at her.
“What?” she said, eyes wide now. “You know somewhere to go? Already? For the cradle?”
He nodded.
“How?”
“You said you didn’t want to know.”
“And what were you planning to do? Just disappear for a couple of days? Just slip out on me?”
“Do you want the thing or not, Marissa? It might only take me a day. I don’t know.”
“See?” she said, snapping her fingers at him. “You do know how to do it. Right away. Like the keys. You’re fucking magic is
what you are.”
“Call me a genius.”
She stood up, and he gave her a hug, then rubbed her belly and knelt down and said good-bye to it. “Genius,” said Marissa
from above.
“See you soon, Tyrone,” he said to her stomach. He stood up. “See you soon. I’ll call.”
She smiled the same smile she always smiled. Matt thought of the moment from the day in the park, when he’d met his wife.
He had taken to going there that spring, for no reason he understood. What had been years of watching television in the evening
suddenly morphed into a stroll down to St. Helens Park to sit on the bench, smoke, watch children play, or watch people have
their barbecues on the old rusted grills provided by the city. Maybe it was something about outdoors versus indoors. Maybe
it was just the garbage on TV. He even sat there alone in the snow one night—it was the middle of April, and the storm was
unexpected, but the temperature was just on the edge of freezing, and the flakes came down fat and wet, so they hadn’t bothered
him in the least. He sat alone, letting the snowflakes land on the shoulders of his jean jacket and watching them from the
corner of his eye, melting. The evening he met Marissa was a Thursday. Someone had launched her green striped ball away from
the field of play and toward Matt, and amid the hoots and hollers of the group, she’d begrudgingly followed it with her mallet,
dragging the thing in the grass. As she waited for her turn and plotted out what direction to shoot, Matt tried to look off
at something else, his heart pounding because of how close she was. He could feel her standing there. Before her shot, she
looked at him and smiled and said, “Hello. I usually don’t find myself so far out of position.”
As he moved north of Milwaukee on 43,
Gazetteer
resting on the passenger seat and open to the Door County page, Matt allowed himself to relax about not being at work. He’d
been worried about it since the beginning of the week, calculating lost wages and subtracting them from his planned savings.
All for a whim. Or something.
At the very least, he was on a drive. At the very least, he could have a day or two to fall out of the typical and stretch.
He had no real sense that he required such an escape, but again, these were the reasons he was telling himself it was okay.
He looked to his left, to the west. Somewhat flat and green, somewhat flat and green, but also the yellow of the fields. Wisconsin
rolled out to the west, and
Healing the Soldier's Heart