Chapter 43
Stevie tried to get away from Tom all the way to the car. She still wanted to play.
Tom opened the hatchback, and Stevie made him lift her up into the car. She kept trying to turn and spring herself back over
his shoulder.
“You’re being really awful, Stevie,” Cherry said.
“Get in the car,” Tom said to Cherry. “Turn on the heat.”
Cherry did. She held her hands in front of the vents, even though they were still blowing cold air.
Tom got in the car. His ears were bright red. His hair was curling over them.
He drove a long, circuitous route on the way home to avoid the steep hill. Stevie climbed into the back seat. Normally they’d
clip her into the cargo space with her leash.
“Don’t let her up here,” Tom said.
Cherry petted Stevie’s panting head and pushed her back. “Come on, Stevie. Calm down. Off.” Cherry’s fingers stung. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her this happy.”
Tom sighed. When they got home, he wrangled Stevie back into the house. The electricity was still out. Cherry turned on the
flashlight on her phone.
The heat wouldn’t run without power, but it was still much warmer inside the house than out.
“Come on,” Tom said to Stevie, “let’s get dry.” He grabbed the towel they kept on her kennel.
Cherry took off her rain boots and stripped out of her wet tights.
She caught a flash of Tom’s eyes in the dark. His face. He was glaring at her legs.
He reached out and grabbed Cherry’s ankle. She stood stock-still. He was feeling her toes. He pulled his hand away. “Go upstairs
and take a warm bath. While there’s still hot water.”
Cherry wanted to argue. “Is that safe? For frostbite?”
“I don’t think you have frostbite. But google it. I’ll find the camping battery.”
“Be careful on the stairs,” she said.
“You, too.”
Cherry googled frostbite. You were supposed to take a warm bath.
Her feet burned when she lowered herself into the bathtub. In all the places Tom had touched. She left her phone lit and sitting
on the toilet.
She stayed in the bath until she felt warmer than the water. Then she got dressed carefully in the dark. In her elephant pajama
pants. Thick socks. A bra and sweater. She grabbed a pair of clean socks for Tom before she headed downstairs.
She found him in the kitchen. He’d lit a jar candle that smelled like sugar cookies. “The camping battery’s dead,” he said.
“Sorry.”
“I’ll charge it tomorrow.”
Stevie was sniffing at Cherry’s legs. She was always very intrigued by the smell of soap. Cherry petted her head and scratched
her back.
“Was there hot water?” Tom asked.
“Yeah,” Cherry said. “Thanks. There might be some left.”
“I’m fine.”
“I brought you dry socks,” she said, and set them on the island counter.
“I’ll just move out one pair at a time.”
Cherry didn’t laugh.
“Well,” Tom said. “I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Tom. You can’t drive home in this.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ll go slow.”
“But there’s no reason for it. Don’t risk your life and limb just to spite me.”
“I’m not—” He stopped himself. He exhaled. “When have I ever done anything just to spite you?”
“I don’t know,” Cherry said, looking down at the dog. “Don’t start now.”
Tom didn’t say anything.
Neither did Cherry for a while.
“I was going to have leftover pizza for dinner,” she said. “It’ll be just as good cold.”
Tom nodded.
Cherry brought the pizza out to the living room.
Tom brought the candle. He lit another one—bergamot and cedar—and set them on the coffee table. “Do we have any candles that
aren’t scented?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I’m going to order an emergency kit on . With candles and more flashlights.”
“Okay.” Cherry sat at one end of the couch and opened the pizza box. She’d ordered it for herself the night before. Fuck her
blood sugar.
Tom sat at the other end of the couch. Stevie hauled herself up between them—Tom dove forward to keep her tail from swishing
into the candles. Cherry handed him a piece of pizza wrapped in a paper towel.
Stevie tried to sniff it.
“No,” Tom said. “You don’t get people food.” He looked at Cherry. “Does she?”
“No, you said it would ruin her manners.”
Stevie settled with her chin on Tom’s leg, already giving up on the pizza.
Tom was looking at Cherry. He was frowning again. “I didn’t know that you wanted to keep Stevie.”
“I can’t talk about this right now,” Cherry said. “It’s too much.”
“But I—”
“Tom, please.” Cherry was tearing up. She was so tired of tearing up; she’d have her tear ducts sealed if she could. “Please.”
He didn’t argue or answer. Which she appreciated. Cherry was exhausted. She was getting cold again. She tried to chew her
pizza.
Tom rubbed Stevie’s head while he ate.
Cherry sniffed back tears.
She chewed.
She sniffed again.
“Sometimes . . .” she said softly, “when we’d be sitting on the couch, or at a red light—just being quiet, not looking at
each other . . . I’d feel like we were in a panel from Thursday.”
Tom looked over at her.
“Like . . .” Cherry went on, “one of those Thursday strips that doesn’t seem to be about anything—until you really think about it, or until there’s some payoff a month later . . .”
She sniffed. “Sometimes I could see us. Just as we’d be in the comic.”
Tom was watching her. Listening. He looked sad.
Cherry laughed—like she knew she was being pathetic. She shook her head.
“Sometimes,” Tom said, “when we were sitting on the couch, or in the car, or at the hospital when my dad was sick . . . I
was drawing panels in my head.”
Cherry nodded. She reached for another piece of pizza. “Why didn’t The Guy and Baby ever get a dog?”
Tom looked down at Stevie and scratched her ears. One side of his mouth quirked up. “By that time I was famous. It didn’t
seem fair to make her famous.”
They both stared at Stevie for a while. They used to do this when she was a puppy—just sit and watch her while they talked.
Or didn’t talk.
“I didn’t think you were reading Thursday . . .” Tom said.
“I wasn’t,” Cherry said. “Not regularly. Not for a long time.”
He nodded. He was still looking at Stevie. He looked weighed down. Heavy-hearted.
“It wasn’t that I didn’t like it,” Cherry said. “I do like it. I thought I was giving you space.”
“I think I knew that.”
“Did you want me to read Thursday?”
Tom glanced up at her. He smiled a little. It was still sad. “Not really.”
Cherry nodded. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and then with the paper towel. “Maybe I gave you too much space.”
Tom set his half-eaten pizza on the table.
He rubbed Stevie’s head with both hands. She rolled onto her back. He rubbed her neck and her belly.
Cherry patted Stevie’s rump. “Are there scenes like that in the movie?”
“Like what?”
“Like the quiet panels that don’t seem to have a point.”
Tom made a noise like “huh” that was almost a laugh. “Yeah. I guess those are my signature.” He looked over at her again. “Are you going to watch it?”
“Do you want me to?”
He shook his head. “No.”
Cherry bit her lips together and shook her head, holding back another wave of tears. After it passed, she said, “Then I won’t.”
The lights came on then. All of them, all over the house.
Cherry jumped. And Stevie jumped. And Tom dove forward to keep Stevie’s tail from flicking into the candles. Cherry blew them
both out. “That was fast,” she said.
Tom was standing. “Yeah . . .” He brushed himself off. “Well. That’s good. That’s my cue, I guess. I better . . .”
“What do you mean? The roads are still terrible.”
“I’ll drive slow.”
“Tom—”
Tom looked in her eyes. He looked anguished. He looked like Stevie—like he desperately wanted Cherry to read his mind.
She could.
He was miserable here. In this house. With her.
He’d rather die in a snowstorm. He’d rather get hit by a plow or go sliding into traffic than spend another moment in their
dead house, with their dead memories.
“Will you text me when you get home safe?” she asked.
He nodded.
Cherry nodded, too.
Tom put on his coat and said good-bye to Stevie and was out the door so fast.
Cherry waited up for him to text and tried to be reassured by how long it was taking. He was driving slow, like he said he
would.
Eventually her phone lit up.
“Home safe.”