Chapter 8: The Morning After
The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains of the living room, casting pale geometric patterns across the hardwood floor. Arthur woke up on the sofa, his neck stiff from resting on a round bolster pillow. He was still wearing his white dress shirt from the previous day, though he had removed his tie and shoes.
From the kitchen came the faint clatter of silverware and the rich, dark aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Arthur sat up, rubbing his eyes and listening to the quiet sounds of the apartment waking up. He could hear Helen’s voice murmuring softly, followed by Clara’s low response.
He stood up, stretched his aching back, and walked down the short hallway toward the kitchen. Clara was already dressed in a cream-colored sweater and dark trousers, her long brown hair tied back in a neat clip. The red dress was draped over the back of a chair, the grease stain treated with a white powder that had dried into a chalky crust.
"Morning," Arthur said, his voice rough with sleep.
Clara didn't look up from her coffee cup. "Morning. Helen is checking the dry cleaner’s schedule online to see if they can rush a chemical treatment before the gallery opens at noon today."
Helen looked over the rim of her reading glasses, tapping the screen of her tablet. "There’s a specialty shop three blocks from here that handles theatrical costumes and formal wear. They charge a minor fortune, but they can turn it around in four hours if we drop it off by eight-thirty."
Arthur reached for the coffee pot, pouring himself a mug of the dark liquid. "I’ll take it. It’s the least I can do."
"You've done enough carrying for one week, Arthur," Clara said, her tone level but firm. "Helen and I will take the dress down to the shop. You need to go to your office and handle whatever fallout there is from your departments missing you yesterday afternoon."
"I took a personal day," Arthur said defensively.
"No, you didn't," Clara replied, turning to face him directly. "You took an unauthorized absence to bail out your brother. Your supervisor called my cell at seven this morning looking for you because the quarterly compliance report isn't on his desk."
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Arthur set his mug down on the counter, the coffee sloshing slightly over the rim. "They can wait two hours. My family is falling apart, Clara."
"Your family has been falling apart for ten years, Arthur," Clara said, her voice cutting through the kitchen with cold clarity. "The only difference is that now you’re dragging me down into the debris with you."
