Word of the day: Time
The days stretched one into another. Marty’s nightmares subsided, but he was in no hurry to use sharp objects again. Leslie told him it would take time and he would be fine, but to talk to her about it. That’s what marriage is all about, she told him. Relying on one another. Leaning on one another. Lifting each other up.
“Besides,” she told him, “you may have to help me through a tough time. It’s what we do.”
One night about two weeks after the meat cleaver incident, Marty sat reading a book while Leslie chatted in a Facebook group dedicated to furniture refurbishing. Mason played with some toys on the floor in front of them. It was the kind of quiet night at home that Leslie and Marty cherished. They shared a glance and smiled while Mason made some motor noises while pushing a dump truck around. He stopped and looked back at nothing in particular. His parents turned their attention toward him.
Mason remained still and quiet as he stood and walked past his parents and into the dining room. Leslie furrowed her brow and turned back to Marty who also found it odd.
“Where ya goin’, buddy?” he asked. No answer.
The two stood and stepped to the dining room entrance and found their son seated cross-legged on the floor in front of the corner chair.