I Paid for the House, So I Sold It

Sophie's text came through.

The house is in your name. Your paperwork's solid. Don't go soft on her.

Moira came home at noon.

She handed me a cup of warm water.

"I lost my head last night. This weekend I'll go with you to pick out the suit."

I looked at the cup.

There was still a temperature label stuck to the bottom, the kind Ronald used.

Forty-five degrees.

I didn't take it.

Her phone buzzed.

A voice message from Ronald.

"Moira, the throw's a little damp. I can't fall asleep."

Moira picked up the car keys.

"I'll run it to the dry cleaner and ask. I'll be back soon."

I asked, "What about the suit?"

She stood in the doorway.

"That's not urgent."

I looked down and submitted the early-payoff appointment.

A confirmation popped up on the screen.

I tapped confirm.

She was busy saving a throw blanket.

I was busy taking apart a marriage.

Moira had promised to come with me to the hotel tasting.

I'd booked the slot two weeks ahead.

Her parents had foods they couldn't eat, and I'd noted it three times.

Just before we left, Ronald called.

He said he didn't dare go to his psych follow-up alone.

Moira glanced at me.

"You go ahead. I'll take him to his appointment and meet you there."

I picked up the car keys.

"Fine."

She let out a breath of relief.

"Dirk, I knew you'd be the bigger man about it."

I let the line go by without answering.

The hotel manager brought out the seating chart for the reception.

There was an extra name beside the head table.

Ronald Henson.

The note was very detailed.

Away from the speakers.

Away from the lights.

Close to the lounge.

So Miss Gilbert could keep an eye on him.

I held the pen.

"Who changed this?"

The manager checked his computer.

"Miss Gilbert called last night to confirm it."

I set the pen down.

"The head table is for the bride's and groom's parents."

The manager gave an awkward smile.

"Miss Gilbert said Mr. Henson's situation is special."

Half an hour later, Moira arrived.

Ronald trailed in behind her.

He had the cashmere throw draped over his shoulders, a folder of medical records clutched in his hand.

"Dirk, maybe I shouldn't have come?"

I looked at Moira.

She stepped in front of him.

"He should get used to the venue ahead of time, so nothing goes wrong on the day."

I asked, "It's my wedding. Who approved him getting used to it?"

Ronald's eyes went red.

Moira's face hardened.

"Don't take it out on him. He can't handle a single harsh word."

I opened the menu.

"Then he shouldn't be here."

The tasting began.

The first dish, a fish, came out.

Ronald covered his mouth.

"Too fishy."

Moira called the manager over at once.

"Replace this one."

The second course, a soup, was set down.

He frowned.

"The flavor's too strong."

Moira said, "Replace that too."

The manager looked at me.

I pushed the menu across.

"Do whatever Miss Gilbert says."

They played the music sample.

It was the warm-up song I'd chosen.

Ronald bowed his head and gripped the throw.

"That sound presses on me. I can't breathe."

Moira turned.

"Switch it to the white-noise piano track."

I looked at her.

"Are the guests coming to a wedding, or to sleep?"

She lowered her voice.

"Dirk, the wedding is just a formality. Ronald can't be overstimulated."

I asked, "And me?"

She paused.

"You've always been stronger than him."

The words settled onto the table.

I closed the folder.

Ronald spoke up softly.

"Maybe I just won't come, so you two don't fight."

Moira grabbed his wrist at once.

"No one's telling you to leave."

I saw her hand clearly.

Only then did she catch herself and let go.