Bound

One

Darren sat at the end of the bed, head in his hands, rubbing his temples. When he rose, he snuck over and gently kissed his wife's forehead. "Bye, babe," he whispered.

"Be careful on your walk, wear a jacket," Susie said. A sleepy haze still loomed about her eyes as she lifted her head to kiss him on the cheek.

"I will, don't worry so much," Darren said.

"You know me, I can't help it," Susie said.

He smiled. He wouldn't have it any other way.

Darren finished shaving and washed his face in the sink. After blotting a piece of toilet paper over a small cut, he walked into the kitchen. A sweet aroma tickled his nose; the morning's coffee had just finished brewing. He poured himself a mug and sat down at the table, savoring the quiet of the early morning.

The rising sun slowly painted the room with its warm, orange hue. Darren loved watching the leaves fall from the old oak tree in the yard, especially during this time of the day. The light shined through the leaves and cast shadows into the room as they fluttered and danced through the autumn breeze. The shadows momentarily blocked out little spots of the orange light, and it looked as if an old, grainy film were being projected through the window and onto the wall behind him.

Darren sipped his coffee and started reading the newspaper, something he did out of habit. He didn't care about the current events of Oarville because nothing happened there. And that was the point. Oarville was a quiet little town where everyone kept to themselves. The biggest news in the past month was that a black bear had rummaged through Mrs. McCreary's garbage and was shooed away by her heroic, broomstick wielding son. Today the front page of the Oarville Enterprise showcased the local woodworker, an old man by the name of Lincoln Cartwright, posing with his prize winning rocking chair. The headline read: "CARTWRIGHT CARVES THROUGH COMPETITION". This week would be as riveting as ever.

A knock on the front door jarred Darren from his trance. He looked up from his coffee to see a man peeking through the screen. He had his face pressed up against it, like a dog waiting to be let in for supper.

"Unlock the door," he said.

Darren stood slowly, taking his coffee with him. His bathrobe swirled about his yellowed toenails as he shuffled to the entryway. "I told you to wait for me to come over, Eric," Darren said. He unlocked the storm door and allowed his brother to step through.

"Jesus, good morning to you too," Eric said. "Can I get some of that?"

"Sit down," Darren said. "There are biscuits over there if you want one."

Eric took a biscuit from the countertop and sat as he was told. He began to chew and watched Darren expectantly, rapping his fingers on the table. "Have you thought about it?" Eric asked.

"Yeah," Darren said. He took a seat across from Eric and gave him the coffee. Eric's eyes brightened. To Darren he looked like a hobo fresh off the street, some stranger he had graciously welcomed into his home. He looked tired, had bags under his eyes. His mop of black hair was unkempt and curling around his ears, and his patchy beard hadn't been touched in weeks.

"Well?" Eric asked.

Darren looked down at his lap and scratched his head. "I talked it over with Susie and we don't think it's a good idea," he said.

Eric set the coffee and biscuit down and slumped back into his seat. "You're shittin' me," he said.

Darren rubbed his face, couldn't look him in the eye. "No," he said.

Eric gritted his teeth and leaned forward. "Is this your decision, or hers?"

"Don't go there. I just can't do it, I'm sorry."