Eduardo's Arc

Chapter 10 of 60

The next morning Eduardo did not climb to the roof. He sat on the porch step with his coffee and let the cup go cold in his hand. The shingles could wait one more day. He had said her name last night like he was giving it back. This morning it came back to him on its own. He thought of the things he should have done. He should have come home when she called from her sister's house that winter. He should have paid the light bill before he sat down at the table with the cards. He should have held her when she cried at the sink and not asked her what was wrong in the voice he used when he already knew. He thought of what he would tell her now if he could. That she had been right about the man he handed his contacts to. That she had been right about the drinking. That she had been right the last night on the stone step when she said he would not stop until he lost her. He would tell her he was sorry in a plain way, without asking her to answer. He thought of the small house they had almost rented once. Stone front. Green shutters. A little balcony over the door with iron scrollwork. She had stood on the sidewalk and said it looked like a house for two people who had chosen each other. He had laughed at her for it. He had laughed because he was afraid. He could see now that she had been showing him what she wanted, and he had answered by hurting her. He thought of the night she had let him sleep on her couch after he lost the money in the spring. She had put a blanket over him without a word. She had saved him that night. He had not known it was the last time. He wondered what would have happened if she had let him stay. He stopped the thought. That house was not his to build in his head. She had told him not to come back. That was the answer. He set the cup down. He walked out to the yard and looked at his own house. Sagging roof. Cracked wall. A door that stuck in the frame. It was not the house on the sidewalk with the green shutters. It never would be. It was the one he had. He went inside and got the ladder. He carried it around to the back and set it against the eave. He climbed up and put his hand flat on the shingles where they had lifted. The wood was soft under two of them. He would need to cut those out. He climbed back down for his knife. The regret was still in him. It did not leave. But it did not stop his hands. That was the change.