Page 54 of Recollection

DESPITE MY LATE-NIGHTconfusion, the week that follows is a good one.

A really good week.

It’s one of the best I can remember.

Arthur is more present than he was before. Not so much the amount of time I see him but the way he acts with me. It’s more like he’s fully invested, not holding large parts of himself back the way he was before.

He’s no longer a stranger, and he’s even more than a friend. I see him every morning in the breakfast room, and I see him in passing throughout the day. We have the normal counseling appointments, and we also have outings with Fred to the vet and to the groomer and to the pet store to buy him a carload of supplies and toys and a great big luxurious dog bed.

Every day we have dinner and spend the evening together, taking a walk or watching a movie or going for a ride or simply talking.

Our evenings together are starting to feel like dates. They generate the same giddy anticipation and the same fluttery responses.

I can’t help but wonder if he feels the same.

On the following Friday, he’s not up before me, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper in the breakfast room like normal. I linger even after I finish my bagel, thinking maybe he just slept in.

He doesn’t make an appearance, and eventually it’s eight o’clock, which is my self-imposed starting time for work. Fred has been sitting in hopeful attention beside the table, and he follows me to the library when I go.

I’ve been feeling good enough to work full days this past week, and I’m getting into the rhythm of assessing, evaluating, and cataloging book after book, sometimes finding the work engaging and sometimes tedious, which is my impression of almost every job on earth.

I keep waiting for Arthur to make an appearance. He usually stops by the library at least a couple of times a day to see how things are going and what I’m working on.

But not today. I don’t see him at all, and the door to his home office whenever I walk by is closed.

Something is off. Maybe something is wrong. This isn’t like him at all.

I chat with Stella on and off, but she offers no explanation. I don’t ask directly, weirdly shy about admitting I want to know.

By the afternoon, I’m anxious and restless. What the hell is going on?

At five, I save my work and clear my desk, then get up and march to Arthur’s office door, Fred at my heels.

This is ridiculous. I’m going to knock. If something is wrong with him, I need to know what it is.

I’ve raised my hand to rap on the door when I hear his voice, slightly muffled by distance, coming from the entry hall.

Fred gives a happy yap at the familiar voice. He and I hurry toward the sound, bursting out from the hallway to see him standing near the front door.

His hair is pulled back, and he’s wearing a dark gray suit with a white shirt and a blue-and-silver tie. He’s set a briefcase on the floor next to where he’s standing, and he’s talking to Stella.

He looks tired. Very tired. As tired as I can ever remember seeing him.

At my arrival, he glances over. His face softens into a smile.

I stand perfectly still, rattled and disoriented and deeply touched by that particular smile. It’s like seeing me is the best thing to happen to him all day.

Stella’s eyes move between him and me. Her eyes glint with what might be hidden laughter. “Dinner will be ready around seven,” she says. “Let me know if you need anything before then.”

“Thanks for everything, Stella,” Arthur says, his eyes not leaving my face even as he leans over to pet Fred, who has run over eagerly for his greeting.

When Arthur straightens up, I manage to step over so I’m standing right next to him. “There you are.”

His forehead wrinkles. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I didn’t know where you were all day. I didn’t know you were gone.”

“Of course I was gone. What did you think? That I was hiding away in my office or bedroom all day without saying a word to you?” He sounds almost offended.

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