He Refused to Save My Mother, But Broke Rules for Her Dog

Chapter 2

It was nearly ten p.m. when Arthur came home.

I sat on the living room rug with a dusty photography book open beside me. I had tucked Chloe's thank-you card between old photographs of Moonridge National Park, leaving only the edge of a red heart visible.

The kitchen lights were off. The dining table was empty.

Arthur removed his uniform jacket and stared at the table for a moment.

"Where's dinner?"

I turned a page without looking up.

"I didn't make any."

He frowned. "Why not?"

"I'm tired."

"You didn't even work today." Irritation crept into his voice. "How could you be more tired than I am after fourteen hours of surgery?"

I used to be a photojournalist.

When we first got married, I could carry more than twenty pounds of equipment through a blizzard all day. Later, Arthur transferred to the base hospital and took on more shifts. He said our home needed someone dependable, so I quit my job, packed away my camera, and moved here with him.

Over the years, he'd gotten used to hot meals, clean uniforms, and a porch light that was always on when he came home.

In his mind, none of it was work I did. Those comforts just appeared on their own.

I felt more like his housekeeper than his wife.

A phone call broke the silence.

The instant Arthur saw the caller ID, the tension left his face.

"Chloe, what happened?"

She spoke for a few moments. Arthur had already grabbed the jacket he had just taken off.

"Have the duty doctor monitor the patient. I'll be there soon."

I finally looked up. "Doesn't the hospital have another surgeon?"

"A postoperative patient's condition changed. Chloe isn't sure what to do."

"She's the surgical nurse manager."

Arthur stopped. His gaze turned cold.

"What are you trying to say?"

I wanted to ask about the base vehicle. I wanted to know whether, while he sat at the veterinary center until dawn, he had thought of my mother dying on that snowy highway.

I wanted to ask why he would save a dog but not her.

By the time the words reached my tongue, they felt pointless.

Instead, I asked, "Do you know what today is?"

Arthur checked his watch.

"Friday."

It was our fourth wedding anniversary.

The cake I had ordered the day before was still in the refrigerator. The icing showed the Big Dipper, just as we had seen it on our first camping trip. A bottle of his favorite bourbon waited in the sideboard. I had even found the blue dress I wore four years ago.

Now it all looked like a bad joke.

"Never mind." I closed the photography book. "Go."

At the door, he turned back. Maybe my calm finally struck him as unusual.

"I'll come home as soon as I'm done. Do you want me to bring you something to eat?"

"No."

Not now. Not ever again.

After the front door closed, I sat alone for a long time.

At 10:30 p.m., the icing on the anniversary cake began to collapse. I threw it into the trash with the unopened candles, then called an off-road vehicle dealership.

"I'd like to order a four-wheel-drive SUV for long-distance mountain roads. Preferably one with a satellite emergency system."

The salesperson asked for my budget.

"No more than seventy thousand."

The money came from photography assignments I had completed before the marriage. It had remained in a separate account all these years. Arthur knew about it but never asked.

He probably assumed I no longer had the courage to go anywhere alone.

"It'll be ready in five days. Are you sure?"

I looked toward the storage room.

My winter shell hung at the very back. A thin layer of dust covered the black case holding my Nikon camera. The postcard of Silverpine's snowcapped mountains was still pinned to the wall where I had placed it before the wedding.

Five days would be enough to pack, finish the paperwork, and recover the pieces of myself I had lost over the past four years.

"I'm sure," I said. "I'll pick it up in five days."