The Cable Guy Was Right

Marcus sat on the edge of the bathtub, phone pressed to his ear, while the cable guy from Comcast explained why HBO still wasn't working. Outside, lightning cracked the sky in half — a violent spiderweb of white that illuminated the bathroom's peeling wallpaper.

"Look, man," the guy said, "I told you, the wiring in this building is older than me. You want reliable service? Move somewhere built after 1985."

Marcus hung up. The bathroom mirror showed him what Sarah had seen when she walked out three weeks ago: a man who couldn't even keep the premium channels working.

In the living room, Barnaby — their retriever mix, now just his retriever mix — lay curled on the rug Sarah had picked out from Target. The dog lifted his head when Marcus entered, then dropped it back down with a sigh that felt judgmental. Animals knew. They always knew when things were broken beyond fixing.

The old baseball glove sat on the coffee table where Marcus had thrown it after finding it in the closet. Sarah's father's glove. He'd given it to Marcus during that first Thanksgiving, some weird acceptance ritual Marcus had failed. Now it was just leather and dust, like everything else.

Another lightning strike, closer this time. The power flickered.

Marcus found himself texting Sarah: Barnaby misses you. Then he deleted it. Then typed: I found your dad's glove. Deleted that too.

The dog shifted in his sleep, paws twitching in some dream where things were still whole. Marcus remembered Sarah telling him once that dogs dream in smell — the scent of their people, the texture of a good walk, the particular aroma of a baseball glove worn through three generations of hands.

He picked up the glove, pressed it to his face. It smelled like old leather and Sarah's father's cologne and the ghost of every baseball game they'd watched together on this couch, before the cable went out, before she did.

The cable guy was right about the wiring. Some things were just too old to carry the signal anymore. Outside, the storm raged on, and Marcus sat in the dark, holding onto leather that had belonged to someone else's family, while the dog dreamed of better days.