Tracy
’
s Porsche quickly closes in on an old Cadillac sedan. The round silhouette of the driver is barely visible over the steering wheel.
“
This is the fast lane! Get your big ass over!
”
Jonathon pulls the phone away from his ear, shaking his head at the angry plastic.
“
Always so sunny in the mornings.
”
How did I ever fall in love with this woman?!
He takes another bitter drink of his coffee. North Korean troops march proudly in unison through Pyongyang on his TV. A growing part of him wishes he were there instead.
As the awkward silence lengthens, he decides to change the subject and bypass another bickering foray.
“
Have you heard from Chris?
”
“
Last night. His team got knocked out early, but he did alright. He said the scouts noticed. Isabel
’
s meeting him at the airport.
”
“
Good,
”
he says. Jonathon shifts impatiently on the leather couch, realizing he has absolutely nothing left to say to her. The crackling noise coming through the phone line stretches on uncomfortably in their stubborn duel. He looks at his watch again. 7:10.
“
Look, I gotta go. It
’
s
…
”
“
I expect you to get this taken care of, Jonathon,
”
Tracy interrupts. She always had to get the last word in.
“
I
’
ve moved on, and this needs to be finalized. Now. I don
’
t like these calls any more than you do.
”
“
Somehow I doubt that.
”
Jonathon violently digs his finger into the remote
’
s power button and storms out of the living room.
“
You
’
ve already proven
how good you are at moving on
. What was his name again, Tracy?
”
The adulterous act should have made her feel guiltier, but it didn
’
t. She had never felt more alive. It was the blame that somehow this was all her fault that lit her like a fuse.
“
Don
’
t you dare. You had your little fling at work a long time before my eyes wandered. That cute little Asian thing with fake boobs? Don
’
t think for a second I didn
’
t know.
”
Memories flicker through his mind. His navy blue eyes soften.
“
I
…
”
“
You know? I don
’
t want to do this again, Jonathon.
”
Traffic is heavy on northbound I-5. Cars and trucks create draft lines of arcing water that splash wave after wave onto Tracy
’
s windshield. She turns the wipers up, wishing they could somehow wash it all away.
“
If I don
’
t see those papers this afternoon, I will subpoena your ass and we can do this little song and dance in front of a judge.
”
“
I said I
’
d take care of it.
”
“
Fantastic. Gotta go.
”
She taps her cellphone screen and tosses it onto the passenger seat, swerving to pass yet another impedance to her life.
7:12 a.m.
“
Oil prices continue to climb as protests in the Middle East intensify,
”
the CNN foreign correspondent says. His streaming video phone slowly begins to break up. The mosaic imagery stutters then stops. Screaming protesters behind him are distorted into silence. Their frozen faces enjoy just a moment of peace before the voices erupt into violence yet again.
“
The United States has increased its troop-load in the area, drawing more criticism from leaders of OPEC who have threatened to reduce supply.
”
Lights around the Clackamas neighborhood spring to life. Devin Bane shuffles into the kitchen and pours himself a steaming cup of coffee, kissing his wife
’
s cheek familiarly. Katherine barely turns. Her eyes are locked on the news instead as she sits at the island, nurturing a cup of her own. The video flickers from Middle Easterners rallying within broken cities to the swaying of machinery harvesting black gold from a dying earth.
Devin scratches his matted red hair. He tries to yawn away the sleep in his abnormally upbeat eyes.
“
Anything interesting, love?
”
he says. His hearty, English accent makes him sound more intelligent than he really is. Cocky even. He leans in front of Katherine, staring into the glossy flashes of color at the corners of her gaze.
“
Saber-rattling and finger-pointing,
”
she says. Her eyes are transfixed, staring ahead but not really focused quite yet. Katherine blinks away the media
’
s grip, finally looking back at her husband. She lays a flirtatious hand on the muscles hanging just out of his favorite black t-shirt.
“
You know. Politics at its best.
”
“
Right,
”
Devin says, rolling his eyes. His chiseled face sports fresh stubble the color of a fine Merlot.
“
Each person bending the next one over
’
til we
’
re all eventually screwed.
”
He stirs two spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee and watches as the crystalline purity melts into the shadows.
“
Picked a bad time to quit drinking by the looks of it,
”
he mutters, cloaking the idle desire with his usual quick humor.
“
Oh,
”
she chides lovingly. Katherine pulls him to her.
“
But you
’
re such a ray of sunshine now.
”
“
Is that what you call it?
”
he laughs, trying halfheartedly to push her hands away. The surprisingly iron-grip refuses to let go. Devin
’
s emerald eyes widen.
“
Oh, alright,
”
he sighs, seeing the twinkle of desire on her face. He tries to give her another peck. But she latches onto the back of his head and pulls him in for something more.
“
Down, love,
”
Devin shouts. Color splashes his cheeks.
“
Isn
’
t it a bit early for all that?
”
Devin walks into the living room and checks to see if the other TV is on. Seeing that the screen is dark, his eyes dart back to his wife.
“
Kids up?
”
he asks. Marital mischief springs into his own eyes. The gentle curves of his wife
’
s neck round her shoulders, entering the top of her clinging shirt with regret.
“
Not a peep.
”
He paces back into the kitchen, hands moving with purpose. Katherine sinks into his arms.
“
You
’
ll be late for your flight,
”
she sings weakly but hopes he won
’
t care.
“
But couldn
’
t we just
…
”
he blurts. His British
inflection
almost pleads out the words.
Disappointment eats through him when he glances up at the clock. His shaking hands beg to finish their work. Reluctantly, they retreat back under the assault of another day
’
s schedule. Devin raises his baritone voice, still staring longingly at his wife.
“
Kids! Time to get up,
”
he shouts.
“
Daddy has to get to the airport!
”
Devin waits a second, not hearing the usual sounds of activity.
“
Let
’
s go!
”
He pops his head into the hallway and claps his hands.
“
Haley! Tyler! Now, please!
”
Haley opens her door, looking angrily out from the shadows. Her room
’
s entrance is covered with Gothic crossbones surrounded by black-and-white band photos.
“
Not that school
’
s important or anything,
”
she mutters.
She walks coolly past him into the hallway, quickly averting her eyes. Normally
electric blue
, they now look bloodshot and exhausted. Haley
’
s clothes are stylishly frayed, with holes in the knee caps and a graying Ramones shirt about two sizes too small around her.
Devin squints.
“
That
’
s not what I said. And hey,
”
he says, his tone sharpening. Colored streaks now punctuate his 15-year-old
’
s blond hair.
“
What
’
s with the pink, Picasso?
”
He holds up a lock of the multi-colored hair to the light before his daughter can escape.
“
Expanding the palette a little?
”
“
So?
”
Haley rolls her eyes, snatching the strand away. The teenager speeds away from the interrogation and storms down the short hall into the kitchen.
Katherine puts one arm protectively around her daughter.
“
Mom,
”
the teenager whines. She pushes out of her mother
’
s overbearing embrace. Hiding under the tiered cuts of her shoulder-length hair, she can feel her parents
’
knowing gaze upon her.
Katherine glares at her husband.
“
Well, I like it,
”
she announces, bending down closer to inspect.
“
No accounting for taste,
”
Devin shouts back. Knowing he
’
s drastically outnumbered against an aligned feminine will, he spins back into the hallway before they can interject the last word.
“
Guess I should
’
ve run it by the hair Nazi first,
”
Haley grumbles.
“
I heard that,
”
her father
’
s voice echoes from the shadows. The demure look in Katherine
’
s eyes follows her husband up the steps, two at a time. It disappears the instant he reaches the top.
“
So do you want to explain last night,
”
she snaps. Her eyes are as hard as the granite countertop.
“
Or should I just use my imagination?
”
“
What?
”
“
Don
’
t
‘
what
’
me. I saw his motorcycle leave this morning, Haley.
”
Steely concern paints the brown and green flecks in Katherine
’
s eyes.
“
If your father would
’
ve been awake
…
”
She cranes her head to look back through the kitchen door.
“
Remember last time?
”
Kat asks, lowering her voice.
“
We
’
re lucky that boy
’
s parents didn
’
t sue us.
”
Haley stares at the television set and rhythmically chews. The parental frequency is like static in her ears.
“
Not my fault Dad
’
s an alcoholic.
”
“
Haley!
”
her mom hisses. Katherine
’
s emotions flash from surprise to sadness
—
then outrage
—
in a single heartbeat. Their echoes linger on her face.