Nothing“It’s nothing,” he says, not for the first time.
She watches him straighten his tie in the hall mirror. So he doesn’t have to make eye contact, she thinks.
“I fear nothing?” she says. “Then I must be fearless. I don’t feel fearless.”
Leaning against the kitchen doorframe, she hugs her faded blue dressing gown around her as if she’s holding the universe together. She’s staying home. Again.
He shakes his head. He does that a lot lately.
“I mean there’s nothing out there to be afraid of.” He picks up his briefcase, ready for another day.
But she knows that it’s not just another day.
“Nothing out there,” she repeats.
“Nothing.” He stands by the front door of their little bungalow. “Are you going into work?”
He knows I’m not, she thinks. But not asking would mean he accepts what
