The Magic in the Moment (Short Stories)

Old Spice

            The rustling of his morning newspaper accompanied the rumble-drip of the percolating coffee maker. She prepared his scrambled eggs, salted and peppered; bacon, cooked crisp; and toast, buttered. She placed his cup of black coffee and his breakfast on the blue placemat on the table in the breakfast nook of their white kitchen. Ben sat with his back to the wall, the large bay window that overlooked their sloping back yard to his left. Joanie placed her own cup of coffee, lightened by cream and sugar, on the opposite side of the table beside her yogurt, berries, and granola.

            Ben read the paper every morning, but Joanie thought it more likely that he read the headlines and skimmed through the pictures. Nevertheless, it was enough to hold his attention at breakfast while she was not.

            “What time will you be home?” she asked her husband as he chomped at a bit of bacon.

            “Five-thirty or six,” he answered absently.

            “We’re having salmon,” she said, sipping her coffee.

            Her husband nodded and turned to another page of the newspaper, the pages rustling as he snapped his wrists to keep the flimsy, ink-heavy papers upright.

            She crunched her yogurt, filled with berries and granola, and looked over her notes for the classes she’d be teaching today. Her husband finished his breakfast, folded his paper, and placed his dishes in the sink. She heard his keys rattle and scrape the table by the front door as he picked them up.

            “I’ll see you tonight,” he called.

            She didn’t bother answering, and she soon heard his car pulling from the driveway.

            She placed her own dishes in the sink, shoved her notes in her laptop bag, and left for work.

***

            Joanie taught biology at the local high school; Ben taught history at the local university. Ben usually had later classes and office hours while Joanie was finished by four, so dinner was always on the table when Ben arrived home. Tonight was no exception.

            When Ben came home, the oval dining room table was set, a plate of salmon with rice and asparagus at his usual chair. A glass of water had been placed to the upper right; the ice had melted and the condensation on the glass had slipped down the crystal until there was a darker wet ring on the light blue table cloth around the bottom of the glass. Key lime pie had melted and begun to sag on the small dessert plate above the larger dinner plate; the whipped cream topping had all but evaporated. The silverware lay untouched on the table. The place across from his seat had been cleared; the only evidence of her dinner were the ringed indentures in the tablecloth left by the plates and the damp dark blue ring where Joanie’s glass had been.

            Ben sighed and dropped his laptop and his keys on the front table by the door before clearing his dinner from the table and turning the lights out.

            Upstairs, he slipped quietly into the master bedroom and saw that Joanie was curled on her side under the heavy white quilt on their bed. She didn’t move when he flipped off the lamp she’d left on for him, so he assumed she must be asleep.

            He brushed his teeth in the bathroom they shared, avoiding the mirror that was hung above the sink. Lately he’d been noticing more – more forehead at his hairline, more silver in his hair, more wrinkles around his eyes and mouth.

            Closing the master bedroom door softly behind him, Ben took his clothes for the next day, his shampoo and soap, and his toothbrush to the guest bathroom down the hall. In the guest bedroom, he turned down the tired blue and green quilt on the bed, changed into his worn gray pajama pants, plugged in his phone to charge, and set his alarm for six in the morning.