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Evan kept petting Dog.
Joey said,“What?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
Dog circled the concrete, padding down imaginary leaves of grass. Then he harrumphed onto the floor and went full tipped-cow on his side, tongue lolling.
“Why’dyoucome home?” She’d mastered the teenage art of turning every question into an accusation.
“I wanted to see you.”
She blinked at him. “How’d you know I’d be here?”
“Just a guess.”
“Whatever, X. I’mnothomesick, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I was fine on my own.”
“I know that.”
She scratched at her nose, ambled a few more steps inside, and donned her too-big flannel. She was staring around the great room, taking in the leather couches, the workout stations, the living wall,the view. “So maybe I thought it was time to be back here.” Her face had softened the way it did, making her look younger. “Do you …?”
“What?”
She wet her lips. “Know what today is?”
Evan stood and walked around the kitchen island to where he’d set up two military MREs. Of the meals ready-to-eat, chili mac was the least shitty, the entrée augmented with crackers and jalapeño cheese spread, instant fruit punch, and vanilla pound cake. He’d smoothed the crumpled napkins and set the brown plastic cutlery on them to make proper place settings. The accessory packet contained matches, and he’d bent one from the comb and placed the book atop the pound cake so the solitary match stuck straight up.
He flicked the head against the striker. The match bobbed back up.
A makeshift candle.
“Happy birthday, Josephine.”
She stood there across the cold, hard concrete floor staring at him, and her lips were trembling and her cheeks were trembling and her beautiful big eyes glimmered. Her hands were at her sides, and all of a sudden she didn’t look so tough; she looked like a girl on her seventeenth birthday.
She walked over slowly, dazed, as if in a dream. Then she bent forward, her hair curtaining her cheeks, arcing to nearly meet just beneath her chin. She closed her eyes for several seconds, wish-making, and then blew out the match.
He started up both flameless heater pouches, mixing water into magnesium and sodium to warm up the chow. She sat and watched him.
She wiped at her nose, looked down, looked at the meal, looked up at the ceiling. It was as though it was too much for her to take in at once.
“What about the mission?” she finally asked.
“It can wait a day.”
She wiped at her cheeks with one flannel cuff she’d pulled over her hand like a mitten. He made sure not to look at her.
“What’s …” Her voice cracked. “What’s this?”
She chinned at the black velvet pouch resting at her place setting.
Evan kept warming the entrées. “Why don’t you find out?”
She opened the drawstring, peeked inside. A sharp intake of air. Evan swore he could see the refracted light in her eyes.
