No speech.
No argument.
No tears.
I walked out of the dining room.
Through the kitchen.
Out the sliding glass door.
To the patio.
Outside, the Arizona evening smelled like dust and freshly watered grass.
The sprinklers had just gone off. The lawn was wet. The pool lights were on. Blue and shimmering.
The sun was going down over Camelback Mountain. Pink and orange. The saguaros on the hill behind the house black against it.
I sat down at the patio table.
Under the string lights Renee hung for Caleb’s birthday party.
I had a notebook in my cardigan pocket. A little spiral one. I always carry it. Grocery lists. Soccer schedules. Doctor’s appointments.
I took it out.
I took out a pen.
I opened to a clean page.
I wrote five things.
1. Move out.
2. Stay calm.
3. Protect assets.
4. Buy a home.
5. Remember this feeling.
I looked at number five for a long time.
