Sunrise

A phone notification is the start of a reckoning Frank must face

The last time Frank saw Katie, she was waving from the front seat of a sky-blue convertible. The sun obscured the details of her face, but her silhouette was unmistakable. Her hair in a ponytail rippled like a flag, to which he semi-waved and half saluted. That was ten years ago. Today, he stared at her name in his contacts list, a finger hovering, waiting for instructions to scroll past or tap the call button.

A birthday reminder notification blipped on the phone. Frank didn’t want a reminder, had already hurt for so long. He could have disabled the annual reminder, but he rationalized that he needed an annual reminder to feel anything.

His finger sliding across the glass screen made a sound he hadn’t noticed before, which reminded him how quiet this small cabin by a lake could be. He swiped two more times to hear his finger make contact with the glass and swoosh away the active screen. When he was done, he turned the phone over, reclined his chair raising his feet, one of which revealed a hole at the big toe.

Ronnie put his paws on the leg rest and tugged at the sock, the hole expanded to expose Frank’s toe–the one that needed its yellowing nail clipped. Ronnie licked the toe a few times. The rough texture, dry enough to make Frank laugh any other day, caused him to pull his foot back.

“Knock it off, Ronnie.”

The dog tilted his head, tongue dangling from the side as his breath huffed with a careful understanding. Ronnie walked in a circle on the rug before settling on a position where he lay on his side with a paw under his head.

Frank nudged the socks of both feet. He let them fall from the leg rest and crumple on the floor. The mantel on the fireplace still contained remnants of the past, a small plushie of a seal from an amusement park, a framed photo of the trio as they entered the theme park. It usually looked like a blur without his eyeglasses, but today it was clearer than it ever had been. Katie, holding Olive in one arm and himself with an arm around Katie—a picture-perfect image of a young couple in love; the ocean behind them with the sun rising across the horizon.

A stranger offered to take the photo and said the rising sun would be a metaphor for their rising relationship. Katie was insistent on getting an old painted rendition but relented when a pressing matter stopped all discretionary spending. “Another time,” she contemplated while aligning the photo frame until it was just right.

Everything was fine—until it wasn’t. That was when Olive stopped breathing.

Neither spoke for days after the funeral. Their existence consisted of subtle gestures with the hand, head, and eyes. From serving an extra cup of coffee to being covered by a blanket as they sat in a somber embrace on a sofa that had crumbs and toys between the cushions.

The fourth day, Katie’s sister Erica arrived. Convertible backed into the driveway, as a few boxes and suitcases filled the trunk and backseat. She needed time. He understood—ten years ago. Was it enough time? He wondered.

Frank positioned the recliner back to normal and walked down the hallway, past the bathroom, guest room, to the far end, where a closed door concealed a moment of time, a moment of possibilities, love, and comfort. All that had been torn away from them and the door remained closed ever since.

He placed his fingers around the knob and let them linger. He shifted the ball left and right, just enough to engage the latch, but not enough to open it. Was he ready? He asked himself. He didn’t want to stand there and debate himself so when the latch clicked, he used his toes to open the door enough to let the stale air run through his nostrils. He turned his head. Frank slid his foot further into the room, the door pressed against his toe as he dug in his heel so he couldn’t shut it.

The sun was bright, piercing through the curtains. He had to shield his eyes as the door opened fully, letting go of the knob, and making his way to the center of the room. He surveyed the room, the wall decorations, the furniture, the custom name plate that Katie had painted earlier that day with the letters that make up their daughter’s name.

His arms felt heavy, dragging him to the floor, where he sat with his legs outstretched. Quiet whispers of moments bounced from wall to wall, surrounding him and poking him in the chest. He held his breath, afraid to let the air out of his lungs in case they didn’t fill back. He ran his palm over the carpet and felt the indentation of tiny feet alongside larger ones.

Visual images flashed of the last time he saw Olive and her porcelain face just before the casket closed. The weightless words from everyone who tried to console the two seemed to run through his ears as though a dozen people were in the room. Frank shook off the feeling when the slow jingle of a collar caught his attention.

Ronnie had made his way into the room. A room that he wasn’t allowed to enter since he was a pup. He walked slowly, sniffed the carpet, furniture and a few toys. He returned to Frank and laid his head to rest in Frank’s lap. Frank placed his hand on Ronnie’s head and gave him a gentle rub, feeling the furry flesh crinkle and then smoothen out with each scritch.

Frank reached into his pocket and fished out his phone. He stared long at the contacts list. With a trembling finger, he pressed the green button.

The phone rang,

and rang,

until she answered.

The sun in his eyes, “Hello? Katie?”

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