The Lightning's Last Laugh

Arthur had been running from the truth for thirty years, and the marathon was finally catching up to him. At fifty-three, with his knees throbbing like they'd been replaced with rusted hinges, he found himself standing in the supplement aisle at CVS, staring at a bottle of vitamin D pills that promised to fix everything that was broken inside him.

Outside, lightning fractured the sky, and the fluorescent lights flickered in sympathy. His phone buzzed — Sarah, again. Three missed calls, twelve texts. She wanted to know why he'd walked out of dinner without explanation.

What could he say? That he'd looked across the table at her — beautiful, patient Sarah, who'd waited seven years for him to get over his dead wife — and realized he'd never love her? That he'd spent their entire relationship treating her like some kind of emotional supplement, hoping she'd cure what was missing in him?

The automatic doors slid open, and a woman walked in with an elderly golden retriever. The dog's muzzle was white, its eyes cloudy with cataracts, but it moved with a slow dignity that Arthur suddenly envied. He'd always wanted a dog. Elaine had been allergic. He'd never gotten one after she died because it felt like betraying her memory, even though cancer had betrayed them both first.

That was the bull in the room, wasn't it? The colossal, steaming pile of it. He wasn't honoring Elaine's memory. He was just scared. Scared to move forward, scared to be happy, scared that choosing to live again would somehow cheapen the years they'd shared.

The dog paused at the end of the aisle and looked at him. Just looked at him, like it knew every cowardly choice he'd ever made.

Arthur grabbed the vitamins and marched to the counter. His hands shook as he paid. Outside, the storm had broken. Rain slashed against the windshield of his car. He sat there for a long time, engine idling, phone gripped tight in his hand.

Sarah picked up on the first ring. "Arthur? Are you okay?"

"No," he said, and the word felt like running into a wall and coming away bruised but finally, finally awake. "But I think I'm ready to be."