Nocturne by Saul Tanpepper Page A

one careless, take reckless chances. It invited risks.
    Using his underwear, he meticulously cleaned up the spend from the floor, then carefully folded and disposed of it far into the depths of the laundry hamper. He shaved at the sink using a fresh disposable razor. In the middle of his shower, finding himself still in an aroused state, he considered having another go of it. He gazed at the soap in his hands, but the thought of slipping on the wet floor quickly resurrected thoughts of hospital stays and beeping instruments with wires and tubes that intruded upon the body. The urge passed. By the time he was finished with the shower and dried, the bedroom was empty. He could smell fresh coffee drifting in from the kitchen. He dressed quickly, but carefully.
    The couple passed a wordless breakfast. The empty highchair between them made it impossible to talk comfortably.
    When he reached the end of the front walk, he decided he’d rather drive to work this morning, instead of taking the subway. He told himself it was half a dozen in one hand, six in the other, but that wasn’t exactly true. On good days, when the traffic was light, the car was faster. But there were always so many accidents. Still, he’d lost that five minutes; he’d be lucky to get to the station in time for his train.
    The car was in the garage. He preferred to keep the rolling door open. Carbon monoxide could kill without warning. And there was also the risk of gas fumes evaporating off of the lawnmower. It had been a couple weekends since he’d spilled some onto the clippings bag while filling the tank, and the reek of the gas still permeated the air. One couldn’t be cautious enough, not when the fumes could accumulate in closed spaces such as the garage. A spark from the engine was all the fumes would need to ignite. So he kept the door open, even though, in this neighborhood, it meant inviting other risks.
    The car was a modest, gray Nissan sedan, four-door, equipped with power steering and brakes but with manual windows and locks. One never knew when an electrical failure might occur, trapping the driver inside. He’d read about cars rolling into lakes, the water pressure sealing the passengers inside to slowly die of suffocation.
    He checked the backseat through the window before unlocking the door and throwing in his jacket. He pulled his seatbelt tight, adjusted the mirrors. He inserted the key into the ignition, turned it, put the car into gear, backed slowly out onto the road. These were acts he’d performed a thousand thousand times before, but he was just as careful, just as attentive, this time as any other.
    He was surprised by how little traffic there was on the road this morning, and so he decided to go ahead and take the highway. Usually, there were too many cars, too many of them moving in too many directions. Too little road. But today there were far fewer vehicles and the thought crossed his mind that maybe he’d forgotten a holiday or something. He wracked his brain trying to think what was special about this particular date, or this day of the month, or this day of the week. But nothing came to him. It was going to torment him the rest of the way to work unless he satisfied the question with some sort of answer.
    There was no mention of a holiday anywhere on the radio.
    His cell phone was in the inside breast pocket of his jacket, and the jacket was on the seat behind him. He reached over, still keeping his eyes on the road, felt for the jacket, found it. He flipped it over to find the pocket, felt it sliding off the seat. He brought the jacket up to the front with him, but it was no easier. The jacket was a tangled mess, the pocket lost somewhere in the middle of it.
    He had to take his eyes off the road just for a moment. He didn’t like doing it, but the traffic was light, and there were no other cars within a hundred feet of him. He could feel the damn thing wrapped up somewhere in there, but where the hell was the pocket?