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“I was dead to the world last night,” he said. “What time did we
end up going to bed?”
“Maybe ten?” she answered. She put the coffee beside his empty
glass. “It wasn’t late. You’ve been working hard and I know
you’ve been tired.”
His eyes were bloodshot. “I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t
mean it. I’ve just been under a lot of pressure lately. Since Terry’s
heart attack, I’ve been having to do the work of two people, and
the Preston case starts this week.”
“It’s okay,” she said. She could still smell the alcohol on his
breath. “Your breakfast will be ready in a few minutes.”
At the stove, she turned the bacon with a fork and a splash of
grease scalded her arm, making her temporarily forget the pain in
her back.
When the bacon was crispy, she put four pieces on Kevin’s plate
and two on hers. She drained the grease into a soup can, wiped
the frying pan with a paper towel, and oiled it again with cooking
spray. She had to move fast, so the bacon wouldn’t get cold. She
started the toaster and cracked the eggs. He liked his over
medium, with the yolk intact, and she’d grown adept at the
process. The pan was still hot and the eggs cooked quickly. She
turned them once before sliding two onto his plate and one onto
hers. The toast came up and she placed both slices on his plate.
She sat across from him at the table because he liked them to have
breakfast together. He buttered his toast and added grape jelly
before using his fork to break the eggs. The yolk pooled like
yellow blood and he used his toast to sop it up.
“What are you going to do today?” he asked. He used his fork to
cut another piece of egg. Chewing.
“I was going to do the windows and the laundry,” she said.