This week, we're writing about apples. (Or, at least, names of apples.)
At any rate, thanks to Chuck, as always, for a thought-provoking prompt, and thoughts and prayers for him and his family right now as they work to handle a devastating situation with their beautiful dog, Tai.
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Jarret got home, went to the kitchen without taking off his shoes, and found Lacy sitting at the table in the dark. She had a cup of coffee in front of her.
"Where were you?" she said.
"Out." Jarret poured himself a cup and didn't sit down across from her.
"Is that it?"
"I'm not going to apologize." The coffee was lukewarm, had been sitting around a while. Jarret drained the cup and set it in the sink.
Lacy exhaled behind him. "You know about Matt Oliver?"
He closed his eyes. "What about Matt?"
"He enlisted, last night." The tremor in her voice says that her throat is working, forcing down a lump. "He'll be gone Monday."
"Likewise." Too late to back out now. Jarret turned around.
Lacy stared at him with dry blue eyes. "What did you say?"
He cleared his throat. "Matt and I enlisted together."
Her eyes hardened. "You weren't going to tell me."
"I didn't say that."
"Christ, Lacy, it doesn't mean anything." He swung around to leave, fighting a headache, fighting exhaustion. Fighting guilt.
Her chair scraped across the tile floor. "What do you think you're going to find?" she said, her voice sharp.
Jarret didn't turn around. "A holiday. What else?"
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