just follow the cat

Chapter 2: two rows of buttons

7:17AM PST, Wednesday, January 28th

Hotel Elysian, Oakland, California

("The day was clear but slightly hazy at the lower elevations...")

– The Fresno Bee

As the crow flies, Oakland is a shade over 1,700 miles from Leasburg. For the sun and the moon, that's hardly any distance at all. They make that same trip seven days a week – 365 days each year. For them, this was an ordinary day.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror with her eyes closed, Charon Wilson mouthed the single word, "Wednesday." For Charon, Wednesdays meant something special. Regardless of whether a calendar showed Sunday or Monday as the beginning of the week, Wednesday would be right there in the middle of things. And because of that, it was the one day each week that carried with it a faint glimmer of hope that order would be reestablished throughout the universe. Good could balance evil. Happiness could overwhelm sadness. And all over the Earth, dogs would resume chasing cats. Spring would follow winter which would flow into summer and then fall. And most of all, mothers would find refuge in the laughter of their children. So, each Wednesday for Charon was like a second chance at happiness – the happiness that the first half of the week seldom provided.

Though she was only 28, Charon had already taken those first few terrifying steps across the boundary into a childless middle age, but she tried not to dwell on that fact. Nor on the undeniable truth that few days in a person's life will deviate much beyond middle. Some days will be a little better. Others a little worse. But virtually no day will be exceptional.

Each morning, Charon summoned the energy to ignore the flat emotionless plane of life in front of her. She did this by imagining pictures of herself when she was younger, slimmer, and pretty enough to catch the eye of every pilot in Southern California. On this Wednesday morning (when she finally lifted her head and looked at herself in the mirror), she didn't see someone who was young or slim or pretty enough to catch anyone's attention. What she saw was a figure that was a bit too boyish to be noticed. And her eyes were redder and puffier than she had hoped. It was an awful and ugly look, so she held a washcloth under the cold-water faucet. Then she pressed the cloth to her face. In less than a minute, she was folding the cloth like fine linen and placing it on the edge of the sink. She paused for a moment and waited for her husband to begin his day.

As if on cue, Sam Wilson called out, "Charon, have you seen my gloves? It's freezing out here."

Sam rolled onto his side of the bed and stuck his hands between his knees. He expected to find that spot to be both warm and moist, but it was colder than it should have been so he began wiggling his fingers to get the blood flowing again. Soon, everything had returned to normal: his blankets were pulled up to his chin, his knees were stretched out, and he listened as Charon prepared herself for the day ahead. Everything was good. Or rather, good enough to believe in the possibility of sleeping for a few more minutes.

Although the sun had barely risen, Sam had already been outside that day. Without disturbing his wife, he had left their room to buy a newspaper at the diner adjacent to the hotel. It was only a short run, so he just threw on his bathrobe and hurried down the street. He regretted this decision almost immediately. As soon as the first damp breeze swirled under his robe, he cursed loud enough for the hotel's desk clerk to hear. Then he ran each leg of the race from the hotel to the diner and back to his room. By the time he returned, he knew for a fact that it would be just as frigid as the newspaper headline said it would be.

Cold Snap Enters 4th Day

Sam read the words, shivered, and pulled the blanket up to his chin. Thinking that action wasn't sufficiently dramatic (after all, Charon wasn't there to notice), he yanked hard on the blanket's frayed satin edge until it reached a point just under his eyes. Peering out at the sparsely furnished room, he watched the muslin curtains flutter each time a gust of wind hit the side of the hotel. Fluttered even though the windows were shut.