No Strings

Chapter 49--Boy Has Fleeting Return

If William looked haggard coming home from Los Angeles, he looked worse coming back from this trip. His hair was standing on end. He must have rung his hand through his hair so many times that it stayed that way. He didn't chat. I could see his lips moving, but no sound was coming out. If he was on the street I would have thought he was homeless. Even his trench coat was soaked with stale airport coffee.

The first thing he did when he returned to the house was collapse on the couch. He didn't try to unpack his bag. I stared at it from the front steps and then at him sleeping. He was never this bad from one of his trips. I pulled a blanket over him. He was muttering in his sleep. He never talked in his sleep before.

When he woke up to the sound of another Lifetime movie I was watching, he stumbled towards the kitchen with his coat and shoes both still on. I followed him. I found him raking his hair again.

"Was it that bad?"

He nodded and rubbed his neck. He rotated his head. "Death wouldn't have come in a more cruel form."

I crept up to him and then rubbed his neck. He groaned. "A little up."

We stood there like that. Reaching up was difficult. At some point, he realized this and sat down at the kitchen table.

When my hands were sore, I stopped rubbing his back.

"Your jacket."

"What?" he asked.

"Your jacket. You didn't take it off... or your shoes."

"Oh," he said. He looked up at me. His eyes were half-lidded. I saw wrinkles there that weren't there before.

He got up and took off his jacket I took it and put it in the front hall closet. I heard the coffee going. He took off his shoes in the middle of the kitchen. I put those away too. He didn't seem to see me at first. When he did, he jumped though I'd been standing in front of him for a full two minutes.

When the coffee was finished, he reached for the handle in the wrong place and had to run his hand under cold water. Then tried to pour the coffee, but it spilled on the counter and over his hand. He shook it with such vigor I thought he was awake.

When he was drinking the coffee with his left hand, he seemed to come back to Earth from wherever his head had left to. I could see his eyes recognize I was there.

"Why are you here? Aren't you going to watch that movie?"

He was still a little grumpy.

"It's dinner time. I wanted to know if you wanted something special."

"Oh."

It took a while for the words to sink into him. He took two sips of coffee, before looking out of the window.

"It's dark..."

"What would you like for dinner?"

He poured out his remaining coffee.

"Whatever you want."

"There is leftover Chinese food," I said.

I needed to tell him I missed him. But the words were getting stuck. He was in a mood that would be hard to break. I knew a night's rest would do him good.

"OK, Chinese food sounds good."

He was perking up. He smiled at me and then said, "I'm glad I'm home."

I wanted to say, "I am, too," but the words got stuck again. My tongue was thick with wanting to tell him. But I couldn't.

"Was work hard?" I asked instead. It was a rhetorical question, but one I wanted an answer to.