Her porch light flicks off, and Bill trudges down the snow packed walk to the avenue. Enough she thinks. She’s had enough of him. She wonders if he’ll try to hitchhike again. Remembers that night: driving Katie from her dance class to Sarah’s house for a sleepover; she was on her way home when she saw him. He was standing near the curb facing oncoming traffic, far enough away not to get splashed by the spray of tires, but close enough for drivers to see his upturned thumb. A ribbed shirt clung to his body revealing muscles along his chest. His skin was darkened in color by an excess of dirt    She pulled the Corolla over to the side of the road and watched him slowly start to make his way toward her car; large strides conquering water filled potholes. Why was she doing this? There wasn’t much traffic, she could easily merge back onto the road and drive away. He reached the door and looked through the glass at her. His eyes were solid gray, like the stones circling the path from her garage door to the back porch. She unlocked the door.
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“And the bag boy gave me paper after I asked for plastic. It just shows you how much attention…” she stops mid sentence, her eyes staring into his unrecognizable face. The way his darkened eyes are glaring down at her sends a shiver through her spine. Immediately she chastises herself for complaining. As soon as he comes through the door he has me nagging at him; it’ s a wonder he comes home. Her stomach churns looking at him.

“I’m sorry Honey. How was your day?” she wills herself to smile up at him. His eyes narrow and darken. What is it? What have I done?
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He sets his suitcase against the hall closet. She stands in the corridor producing a weak smile. He reads the creases in her forehead, her clenched jaw; she has had a rough day. Three peddles have fallen from the Orcas he brought home yesterday; the water has already yellowed. The crystal vase it sits in was an anniversary present. It’s a Tuesday night. She used to go to the gym with Sara (sister) and Heidi (best friend) on these Tuesday evenings. He remembers the black lycra shorts and the red Roots tee. Both lie folded at the back of the closet.