He'd worked on the molding for months, selecting the trims, miter box, glues, stains, prepping the walls and joins, measuring twice and cutting once. His deft fingers slid the last few pieces into place as smoothly as they'd once slid into her.
Standing in the empty doorframe, empty despite having lived there for over two years, empty despite her entreaties for a door, a door with a proper latch so they could shut the world away for a few hours, empty because it wasn't a priority for him, not like the molding or the wainscoting or the inlaid parquet flooring, empty because it just never got done. She wondered why he bothered wearing the gold band on his fourth finger where it sometimes snagged nails, springs, wiring and long ago, her flesh.
He leaned back, tilted his head to check the alignment of the trim and nodded, pleased with his handiwork. "Look, honey, the trim's done. Could you get me the sealant? It'll save me having to climb up and down. Honey? Please? Honey?" But the only answer to his entreaties was silence.
No comments:
Post a Comment