He ducked underneath when it was high enough to do so and stepped around the rental car to the trash bin outside and opened it and dumped each of the smaller plastic bins into its mouth. The heat outside a respite to the temperature of the garage but still blazing. The sun moving into the west but what did that matter now?
His phone buzzed in his pocket and he looked at the screen. It was Barb and he realized that in calling her moments before he had given her his new phone number. Shit. He sighed audibly and flipped open the phone to answer the call.
“Did you get the storage unit squared away?” she said.
“No,” he said. “You could have told me that’s what you did. Christ, Barb.”
“Don’t get mad at me,” she said.
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
He sighed again but said nothing.
“Where did you think everything went?” she said.
“The garage, Barb. I thought everything was in the garage.”
“This whole time you never looked in the garage?”
He was silent. It sounded absurd and indeed it was.
“You need to call the storage,” she said.
“I know that.”
“And I left some of Quinn’s stuff in there for you too. It’s in a box by the door.”
“What? What did you say?”
“I said that some of Quinn’s stuff is in the storage by the door.”
He was silent for a moment. Then he said, “What kind of stuff?”
“I don’t know. Stuff I thought you’d want. Quinn’s schoolwork that I was saving. And some photo albums.”
“Her schoolwork was in the storage?”
“Yeah, it’s in there in a box by the door. Don’t you want it?”
He was silent now, breathing, trying to breathe, the sun blazing upon his head. The construction at the end of the cul-de-sac long since complete for the day. No sound from the vacant lot. Nicole appeared from across the street, already jogging in his direction. “Barb,” he said into the phone.
“What?”
Then there was no air, only a terrible sense of void, of absence.
“What, Keith? What?” her voice came through the speaker, increasingly distant as he moved the phone away from his ear with a motion so slow it was almost imperceptible and then clicked it closed and stood there unmoving. A sense of sinking, of falling, flooded through him all at once.
“Captain Keith,” Nicole said, arrived now, panting.
“Hey,” he said.
“My dad’s out on another trip,” she said.
“OK.”
“My mom said you’d want to know.”
“Listen, I need to go in,” he said.
“They had a big fight,” she said, apparently ignoring him. “Your name was part of it.”
He looked down at her. She was smiling, although he did not know why. “That’s not good,” he said.
“Anyway, I guess my dad was mad that you had dinner over here. He probably wanted to meet you because you’re so famous. Anyway, he yelled a lot. Not as loud as my mom, though. She can yell really loud.”
The tractors were silent in the field but at some point the workmen had moved the sofa to the edge of the space at last so that it rested very near the sidewalk, looking like a bloated park bench, and he stood watching it as if it might move back to its more familiar location of its own accord but it did not do so. What was happening now? How had his life come to such fragments?
After a moment, his phone began to vibrate in his pocket again and he did not look at it and after a time it too was quiet once again. He looked down at the little girl who stood at his feet, a girl who reminded him in odd moments of Quinn, and saw her mouth moving but could not hear her and he looked up then, at the flat blue of the sky as it fell slowly toward the darker gloaming of twilight and then across the street to Jennifer’s house and again up to the end of the cul-de-sac and the field where the two tractors stood unmoving. My god. The world fading all around him or no not even that: the world steady and continuing ever and always and he the one dissolving into some endless and incomprehensible eventide.
“Anyway, my mom said you’d want to know that,” Nicole was saying, her voice rising slowly from that mute and soundless eclipse.
“Christ,” he said.
“You shouldn’t say that.”
“What?” he said suddenly, his eyes returning to her.
“You shouldn’t say that.”
He stood blinking, staring at her without comprehension.
“Were you even listening?” she asked him at last. “One-two-three, eyes on me.”
“I was listening.”
“What’s the last thing you heard me say?”
“What?”
“The last thing you heard me say is ‘what’? I didn’t even say that.”
“I’m going back inside now,” he said, but when he turned back toward the house again he was met by the huge and staggeringly empty rectangle of the open garage door and he froze again there, unmoving. He did not want to reenter that terrible vacancy. That much was certain.
“Do you want me to tell my mom something?”
He turned to her once more. “What do you mean?”
“She’ll ask me what you said.”
He looked across the street at Jennifer’s house again, realizing now that the little girl was asking him something and expected an answer and then wondering if he should answer her at all. Behind him the empty garage continued to loom out at him like some enormous well of gravity that had somehow managed to draw everything into a crushing void that was the cardinality of an empty set. How could he have been so stupid?
“So what do you want to tell her?” Nicole asked him.
He looked down at her and as he did so his phone once again began to buzz in his pocket. This time he looked at the screen. It was not Barb this time; instead, it was Jim Mullins calling from his JSC office. Christ. This too? He knew he should answer it but could not fathom talking to the office now so he waited for the call to ring through to voice mail as he watched the little screen that held his name.
“Anything?” Nicole said. She looked exasperated, hands on her hips and staring up at him.
“Tell her …,” he began, then stopped and looked at the two white plastic trash bins he had brought outside to dump, both of which flanked him now. Empty. Erased. “Tell her I’m sorry,” he said at last.
Nicole cocked her head sideways. “Sorry for what?” she said.
“Just sorry.”
“That’s weird.” She looked disappointed.
“Yes, it’s weird,” he said. Then he added, “Probably.”
“Well, OK.” She looked back at her house for a moment. If there was a signal from some quadrant there he did not see it. “I have to go,” she said. “Bye.”
She turned and ran to the sidewalk, looked up and down the cul-de-sac with ceremony lest some car come barreling down the asphalt, and then ran the rest of the way to her front door. He could hear her shout, “Mom!” as she opened the door and then it closed and what transpired therein he was not privy to and never would be.
He stood for a long time, staring off toward the street, the two white plastic trash bins on either side of him, as if waiting for something or someone to arrive but there was no traffic in the cul-de-sac. The twilight was approaching and he remained there until the sun reached the tops of the houses that stood on the ridge to the west and until the empty lot, now partially filled by the promise of construction, grew into a field of daggerlike shadows and then darkened and until the sky burned chrome and alizarin and then all at once flickered out and until all that remained were the uncountable pinpoints of light flickering against an atmosphere that ringed a further darkness that was the true color of the universe and ever would be. He did not know how long he stood there but he knew he was indeed waiting for someone, waiting with a gasping and terrible hope that verged on despair. He could not bring himself to reenter the empty house. Not now. Indeed in that moment he felt as if he would never be able to enter the empty house again, suspended between distal points so far away that their sources could no longer be ascertained. He stood there until at last the silhouette of the now-familiar figure rounded the corner of Riverside and entered the long bight of the cul-de-sac: the short, steady gait and the dark appendage of the telescope protruding up above him like a compass needle gone awry.