Funny how now all he could remember clearly about Rachel was her body, not her face. The only face he saw when he thought of Rachel was the one of rage and anguish on Cathleen, the one that told him she knew everything. Ten years gone, and he didn’t even have a good memory to show for it.

The pack of Marlboros teetered on the edge of the railing where he’d left them and he grabbed them, panicking at almost losing them. He had to laugh as the adrenaline subsided. He was just as much of a junkie for them as when he first quit four years ago. Cathleen got him to stop. He remembered that last day. She was carrying on like a Baptist preacher, that he was acting like a bum when he was supposed to be an example for the children. How can you call yourself a Catholic, take Communion every Sunday, call yourself the head of the family when you can’t even control an addiction to a paper stick, she’d admonished him, grabbing his last cigarette from his mouth, flushing it down the toilet like it was a virus.

With bemusement, he said then that he’d quit for her, doing it partially so he wouldn’t have to hear her yell anymore. Now all he wanted to do was hear her voice again, but as he took another drag on the cigarette, all he heard was silence.

He wondered what his family was doing now. He hadn’t even gotten to speak to them today; when he called them, they were already out. They were at her parents’ house in California, three thousand miles from home. Cathleen was already talking of moving there for good. Shawn was starting first grade this year and she needed to have a permanent school. Besides, the kids liked the weather better there, Cathleen said. But there was no mention of his joining them.