The Signal Lost

Elena had been running for three years when she found herself in another stranger's living room, coiling ethernet cable like a noose she'd learned to tie without thinking. The house smelled of lavender and something rotting underneath.

"You're the third technician this month," the woman said, watching Elena work. "The others couldn't fix it."

Elena nodded, keeping her eyes on the cable. She'd been the third technician everywhere she'd gone, moving through eight cities in as many months, always running from what she'd left behind in Portland.

The dog — some mangy golden mix — watched her from the doorway. Its ribs showed through dull fur, eyes following her hands like it understood something the woman didn't.

"His name was Arthur," the woman said, following Elena's gaze. "My husband. The dog misses him more than I do."

Elena's fingers paused on the connector. She'd left an Arthur behind too, though she never said the name aloud anymore.

"I can fix the signal," Elena said finally, "but I can't fix what comes through it."

"That's more than most," the woman said, and there was something in her voice that made Elena look up really look at her — the wine-dark circles under her eyes, the wedding ring tan line, the careful arrangement of photographs turned face-down on the shelf.

The dog whined, a sound like something being slowly pulled apart.

"I keep running," Elena found herself saying, the words foreign in her mouth. "Every time I think about stopping, I just keep running."

"Me too," the woman said. "Arthur's been gone six months and I'm still running. Just in place, mostly."

Outside, rain began to drum against the windows. Elena finished the connection, the cable clicking into place with a sound like a small bone settling. The signal bars on the modem flickered, held steady, turned green.

"It works," Elena said, but she didn't move toward the door.

The dog approached slowly, pressed its warm side against her leg. She hadn't touched anyone in three years.

"Stay for dinner," the woman said. "I made too much."

Elena should have been running, should have already been halfway to the next town, but she found herself nodding, her hand resting on the dog's coarse fur, thinking maybe some signals were worth staying to receive.