Linda heard the door open and slam shut. Her eyes raced to the clock. It was only 5:20.

"You're home early, dear," she called from the bedroom. Tom must have skipped the bar, for the first time she could remember. Why did it have to be today? How was she going to explain the suitcase? Why hadn't she done this hours ago, years ago?

"My house. Come home when I please."

The newspaper rattled. Linda hurried into the kitchen. Tom was in his chair, shaking open front page. She went to the suitcase onto the kitchen table, cut off the warranty card and attached her black luggage tag.

"Busted pipe at The Star. Get me a brew."

She opened the fridge and took out one of the two dozen filling the top shelf. She pulled his mug from the freezer and carefully filled it, tilting the can against the side and pouring slowly. Tom hated it when the foam dripped down the sides.

"Could you move any slower?"

She put the mug on the arm of his chair. After six large gulps, followed by a prolonged belch, he held out the mug, the paper never shifting. Linda refilled the mug and replaced it.

"Government's full of crooks," The daily news review began.

"What now?"

The suitcase's clasp snapped shut and she quickly looked up to see if he heard it. His arm was extended, shaking the mug. She took it again.

"Damn team's out of the playoffs."

The sports section fell on the floor and he lifted the third beer. A horn blew from the driveway.

"There's always next year."

Her keys jangled as she took them from her purse and laid them on the table.

"Goina to rain all weekend!"

The paper rattled again.

"That's too bad."

Her heels clacked down the hall.

"Paper's full of shit."

He wadded it up and shoved it into the fireplace. The front door slammed.

"When's dinner?"

He looked around the kitchen.

"Linda?!"

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