Excerpt from R. Edwin Dugert
Bob Dugert jogged up the path to the front door, looked at his watch, and for the thousandth time got ready to explain to his wife that it wasn’t his fault the bus was late. Brushing the snow off his construction helmet and overalls, he pushed open the front door.
The front room was empty. His son’s books were strewn across the floor, but he wasn’t there and neither was Alice. The light wasn’t even on. Bob slipped off his boots and helmet and listened for sounds of life. He could hear the soft music of Alice’s yoga video coming from the family room around the corner. He took a deep breath and walked down the hall, into the room.
The TV was on showing dozens of women in the same strange contortion. Alice’s yoga mat was there on the floor, but there was no Alice. He took another few steps forward and then saw her curled up on a chair staring—somewhere.
“Hi,” Bob offered.
“Hi.”
Bob knelt down next to her chair. “Darling, I’m really sorry. I know you needed me home early but the bus was really late.”
Alice remained silent.
Bob looked into her eyes, but she continued her nowhere stare. He sighed. “I told my boss I needed to get off early because we had Christmas shopping to do and—”
“No, it’s not that,” said Alice, finally focusing her gaze toward him.
“Are you worried about your parents this Christmas? Maybe we should look at the tickets again. Maybe they’ve gone down in price since we last checked them.”
Alice looked up. “Your son won’t talk to me.”
“Our son won’t talk to you?”
“He’s not supposed to learn the silent treatment until he’s a teenager. He won’t forgive me and it’s your fault!”
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