I stared at the box.
“You really have one subject now.”
“Safety?”
“Obsessive safety.”
Ray looked around.
“Where’s your CO detector?”
I pointed.
“Already installed.”
He looked disappointed that he could not lecture me.
I smiled.
“Sit down.”
Ray sat at the kitchen table.
The table had come with the apartment.
One leg wobbled.
Ray immediately inspected it.
“Don't.”
“It's loose.”
“Ray.”
“The kid could lean—”
“Sit.”
He sat.
Barely.
I made coffee.
He tasted it.
His face tightened.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Say it.”
“This coffee has suffered.”
I stared.
“The man who lives on gas-station coffee has opinions?”
“Standards.”
I laughed.
Ben came running from the bedroom holding the star blanket around his shoulders like a cape.
Ray smiled.
Then the smile faded when Ben asked:
“Where's Maddie’s jacket?”
Ray looked at me.
Then at Ben.
“At my house.”
“Does Maddie need it?”
Silence.
I held my breath.
Ray answered honestly.
“No.”
“Why?”
“She died.”
Ben stopped.
Children heard truth differently.
Not less deeply.
More directly.
“How?”
Ray looked at me again.
I gave him the choice.
He turned back.
“Fire.”
Ben thought.
“Like the gasoline?”
“Something like that.”
“Were you there?”
“No.”
“Did you save her?”
Ray's eyes filled.
“No.”
Ben walked closer.
Ray sat rigid.
The boy said:
“You saved me.”
Ray looked down.
“That doesn't trade.”
“What?”
“Saving you doesn't change what happened to her.”
Ben frowned.
He did not completely understand.
Neither did I until much later.
People would eventually tell Ray that Maddie's death had meaning because it taught him to save Ben.
Ray hated that.
Maddie had not died for a lesson.
Her death was not a necessary ingredient in someone else's survival.
It was a terrible event.
What Ray chose afterward belonged to Ray.
Not to fate.
Ben touched his hand.
“I’m glad you smelled it.”
Ray smiled through tears.
“Me too.”
That was enough.
I began applying for jobs.
My old experience was medical billing and scheduling.
Four years.
Then unemployment.
Then the collapse.
The first application never responded.
The second rejected me automatically.
The third interview went well until they asked whether I had stable childcare.
I hesitated too long.
No offer.
The fourth employer wanted evening availability I did not have.
The fifth required reliable private transportation.
I had a bus pass.
Not enough.
By the sixth rejection, I stopped telling Ray about interviews because I hated hearing encouragement.
Encouragement became another obligation.
Keep going.
Stay positive.
You've got this.
Sometimes I wanted someone to admit that trying repeatedly while scared and poor was exhausting.
Ray surprised me.
When I finally told him I had been rejected again, he did not say keep going.
He said:
“That sucks.”
I laughed.
“That’s it?”
“Want advice?”
“No.”
“Then yes.”
That sucks.
Exactly.
Two days later, a dental network called.
Scheduling coordinator.
Day shift.
Health insurance after sixty days.