Julian’s name came up once in a claim file, a old signature. Alicia initialed the file and told Daniel that night. He said throw out the part that’s done. She said it’s a claim. He said then finish it and stop reading the signature. She finished it. The signature was ink. Ink was not a man in a chair. She washed her hands after, a ritual she did not defend. Rituals could be odd. Odd was allowed if the chair stayed empty. It stayed empty. Miles did homework at the island now, seven, tongue out. Daniel checked a math problem wrong and Miles corrected him. The correction was a joy. Alicia listened from the stove. Joy in a correction was a country she had not ruined. She stirred the soup. Soup was the rent. She paid it. The what man was a old question with a answer in another city. The soup was tonight. Tonight was the scale she trusted.
Miles’s friend Derek slept over and they built a fort in the family room. The fort used the sectional cushions. Daniel said the cushions had a job and also this job. Derek said forts are cool. Miles said cooler than jackets. Daniel looked at Alicia. Alicia looked at the soup she was not making. Miles did not know he had fired a old gun. He was talking about a costume at school. Daniel said costumes are fine. Fine was a rescue. The fort held. In the morning the cushions were a mess. They fixed them together. Fixing cushions was a ordinary. Alicia wanted a life of cushions. She was building one. The chair in the office had a sweater of hers on it now, burgundy, hers. Daniel had seen the sweater and said nothing. Nothing remained a gift. She did not thank him. They were past thank-you for empty.
The contractor laid Daniel off for two weeks in a lull. The lull was a fear and a opportunity. He was home. Alicia worked her three days. The other days they did not perform happiness. They went to the hardware store again. Miles rode in the cart again. A man in a varsity jacket passed the aisle. Miles said cool. Daniel said heavy. Miles said yeah. The yeah was nothing. Alicia’s hands stayed on the cart. The man turned the corner. The corner was the end of it. They bought tape. Tape was for a poster. The poster went up in Miles’s room. College was not the theme. Trucks were the theme. Trucks were neutral. Neutral was a blessing they were collecting.
Renee asked Daniel, once, on the step, if he was going to punish her sister forever. Daniel said forever is a commercial. Renee said then what. He said Saturdays, and the truth if a sleeve shows up. Renee said that’s fair. Fair was a word he could wear. He went inside. Alicia was on the floor with a puzzle, a child’s puzzle, Miles directing. The puzzle was a bridge. Daniel sat. He put a piece in wrong. Miles corrected him. The correction was the joy again. Alicia did not narrate the difference between puzzles. Narrating would have poisoned the piece. She handed Daniel a edge. Edges were honest. He placed it. The bridge held. They left it on the board until dinner. Leaving it was trust that nobody would steal the picture. Nobody did.