The Shadow of Doubt

All day long I am thinking of zippy little replies to the text I imagine Scott will eventually send.

"Whatcha doin'?"

"Evidently nothing very important or interesting."

"Hi, dear. What's cookin'?"

"You wouldn't have to ask if you'd called earlier."

And I busy myself with all manner of to-dos. I replace the screens from all 4 doors with the storm windows. Use my set of girly tools and tighten everything just like Scott had taught me. I clean them all with vinegar and water and polish them until they sparkle.  I note that the one door knob seems loose and to ask Scott to tighten it like he had done with one of the others last year.

And still no call. Still no text.

I go out into the garage to get the saw and cut some of the dry branches into pieces small enough to fit into the fireplace. I pile it all in the firewood ring, wipe off the saw, and straighten the garage before I stow the saw on the shelf.

And still no call. Still no text.

I begin to wonder if something happened to him. Did he fall off the roof?  Did a tree fall on him?  Did he drive his big manly truck across some washed out road and get washed away himself?  Maybe I've been mad all day and should be worried instead. Would his girls know to call me?  What if the tree fell on them, too?

And then I see that his daughter has posted something completely normal on Facebook.  I can assume no one has been pulverized by a tree.

I help Hil get dressed for her Halloween party (delayed by the storm) and take a cute picture for Facebook. She is a Hipster Nerd and she is adorable, though I don't know what a Hipster Nerd is supposed to be and don't want to ask. I am just shocked that no one goes out as a Hobo anymore. Is that because it would be socially offensive?

And still no call. Still no text.

I take Hil to her party and return to have dinner with Pat. We rent a movie. We finish that and watch another. We confine Trinket to the basement and let Gidget run around the house on her own. Eventually, I fall asleep on the floor, waiting to hear from Hil about a ride home, and well, from Scott, too.

I am awakened at 9:45 pm by a text. I hope that it is Scott, but before I even look, I know it is from Hil.  I put on my coat and shoes to go pick her up and realize that at this hour, Scott has probably gone to bed. And has never contacted me. Not even a quick goodnight text, however lame that would be.

In my sleepiness I begin to wonder if I am somehow to blame. (Sleep has a way of making the irrational seem rational...)

I text him.

"Did I do something?"