Page 165 of Roadrunner

He looked at them.

Looked at me.

Put them back in his pocket without commentary.

Some men announce their growth.

His just changed pockets.

The hospital did what hospitals do.

They put a belt on my belly and a look on their faces that was professionally kind and not at all convinced.

The waves spaced out.

Then they quit like a crew that had only come to see if anyone was paying attention.

The nurse, who had seen this movie, patted my wrist.

“Braxton Hicks,” she said. “Or a dress rehearsal. Either way, you’re not staying. Drink water. Rest. Come back when they get closer and don’t let up.”

Riley stared at the monitor as if he could shame it into a different plot.

Arthur sat in the chair with the bag on his lap the whole time.

He had not put it down.

“So she’s not coming,” he said.

“Not tonight,” I said.

He nodded, crushed and relieved in the same face, which is a lot to ask of eleven.

Riley rubbed a hand over his mouth.

“I left the good charger at home,” he said.

“I know,” I said.

“And one boot.”

“I know.”

Arthur held up the bag.

“I didn’t drop it.”

“I know,” I said. “That’s why you’re in charge of it next time too.”

We drove home under a sky that had the nerve to be ordinary.

Arthur fell asleep against the window before the highway lights quit.

Riley drove with both hands on the wheel, ten and two, like the desert might still pull something.

In the driveway he sat there after he killed the engine.

“I hated that,” he said.