Late Nights

Late Nights

His watch makes a ‘clink’ on the glass top of the bedside end table. Dan begins to unbutton his shirt, making sure not to make too much noise breathing. His lungs are full, and he must sigh loudly to catch his breath.

He knows she’s awake. He pulls his arms out from his wrinkled dress shirt. The tie is somewhere in his Sequoia. Dan doesn’t own a tree, just a moving monstrosity called an SUV. He knows the tie should be inside the house, on him, and he hopes Hanna won’t notice.

She shifts her body beneath the sheets and lets out a drowsy moan. He watches her turn to the other side of the bed, away from him. This time, he thinks, she’s got to know. This time it feels different.

He stands to drop his Dockers; a cheap pair his mother bought him. He only wears them to the office when everything else is dirty. He can’t wash his work clothes without getting them all wrinkled, so unless Hanna does it, he’s S.O.L.

Dan drops his clothes to the ground in a familiar pile. Looking at them on the carpet like that makes him feel something uncomfortable, but Dan has a hard time recognizing the emotion. He kicks them under the bed, and leans over the mattress to kiss his wife.

She yawns in response to his affection, and shifts again, flipping her pillow to the other side of the bed once again. Hanna watches her husband stroll into their master bathroom, flip on the light, and shut the door. These “late nights” end tonight, thinks Hanna, removing the revolver from under her mattress.