Joan wakes up and sees light moving across the wall opposite her bed. She gets up and looks out the window. The trees are black against the new snow. She sees Josh get out of the Jeep and slam the door. He’s smoking a cigarette. She can see the smoke rising above the silver car. She hates it when he smokes in her car.
She looks at the clock. 5:15. She’s wide awake – no point in trying to go back to sleep now. She always wakes up early these days, (but not always this early) and once she's up, she's up. She gets her robe from the back of the door, but stands there and waits until she hears her son cough, pull hard on the storm door, come inside. She doesn’t want to seem like she’s confronting him by meeting him at the door.
Her head aches. She needs a cup of tea. She smooths her hair back and waits.
Josh’s movements are all so familiar to her. She hears him throw his coat across the trunk in the porch, knock his boots off. When she hears the wooden floor creak as he goes through the living room, she waits another minute, then opens her door. She turns on the living room light. Josh has already turned the kitchen lights on and is looking for something in the refrigerator.
“Morning,” Joan says, moving toward the sink to fill the kettle.
“Hello,” says Josh, and he clears his throat loudly. He’s taking things out of the refrigerator and piling them on the counter – bacon, eggs, green peppers, mushrooms, an unopened brick of cheese.
“There’s some cheese already open,” Joan says.
“It’s moldy.”
“What? It looked fine yesterday.”
Josh shrugs and opens a can of Mountain Dew.
They don’t talk as the kettle heats up. Joan has to remind herself to just put two tea bags into the pot, not four. She sets the timer on the microwave and goes to the porch to put on her boots. The paper has already been delivered, thankfully. She stands for a minute in the cold, watching the sky lighten over the lake. It's supposed to snow again this afternoon.
She can hear the grease popping on the bacon when she goes inside. It already smells good. She pours her tea and goes into the addition to start the crossword. With the lights on, her son home, tea in hand, she can almost pretend that things are normal. In fact, she's determined that they are. Cyril will certainly come home today. He went farther than she expected, calling in at work, but she's sure it won't last.
"It's almost ready," Josh says from the kitchen. Joan gets up and brings her tea to the table. She gets out plates, silverware, paper napkins. She puts bread in the toaster.
Josh brings in the pan of eggs, scrambled with the peppers and mushrooms. He's such a good cook. It's so funny that he, and not Laura, inherited that interest. He throws a potholder on the table and sets the pan down. Then he goes out and gets another pan of bacon. Joan sighs but doesn't say anything. She wishes he had just used one pan.
The toaster pings and she takes the toast out.
"Toast?" she says to Josh.
He shakes his head and dumps eggs onto his plate.
Joan wishes she hadn't put in two pieces of toast. But she can eat them both. She reaches for the margarine, on Cyril's side of the table.
"So, what did you guys do last night?" Joan asks.
"Not much."
"Did you get to see Alex?"
"Yeah, he was there for a little while." Josh clears his throat again, then goes to get another Mountain Dew.
"I made an appointment for you to see the lawyer this afternoon," Joan calls out to the kitchen. Josh doesn't say anything.
"Did you hear me?" she says when he sits down.
"Yeah." He grabs a couple of pieces of bacon.
"Do you think you can get up and go to the appointment?"
Josh frowns. His resting expression is a frown. He's looking for something.
"What do you need?" Joan asks.
"Salt and pepper."
She hands them to him and waits. He keeps eating, noisily.
"Josh?"
"What?"
"Do you think you can get up and go to the appointment?"
"Sure, I guess." He pushes his chair back (she winces as she thinks of the floor getting scratched) and leaves the table. He puts his dishes next to the sink and takes his Mountain Dew with him.
"Do you want me to wake you up, or are you going to set an alarm?"
"What time is the appointment?" he yells from the stairs.
"One."
"Okay."
"Okay what?"
"Okay, you can wake me up."
"All right," Joan says. She doesn't want to, but can't help but add, "You're not going to be mad this time, are you?"
Josh doesn't respond.
"Because I don't want to have a problem waking you up."
He's already gone to bed. Joan sighs and finishes her toast, then takes a bit of egg and bacon. He's made too much egg -- a lot of it will go to waste. She wonders if she can put it in the refrigerator for later. She probably could. But who's going to want re-cooked egg later?
She gets up and finds an empty margarine container, puts the egg in that and puts it in the refrigerator. She eats the last piece of bacon and runs water into the pan. She scrapes Josh's plate and puts it in the dishwasher. For a minute she stands with her hand on the handle of the refrigerator and thinks of Cyril. Goddamn Cyril.
