Later
Nathan Miller was always running out of time.
At least, that was what he told everyone.
“Not tonight.”
“Maybe this weekend.”
“I just need to finish one more thing.”
“Next week will be quieter.”
Next week was never quieter.
Nathan was thirty-eight years old and worked as a project manager for a construction company. He was good at his job. Very good.
Good enough that people called him after work.
Good enough that his phone vibrated during dinner.
Good enough that he brought his laptop on vacations.
The money was decent.
The mortgage was almost paid off.
Both cars worked.
His family had everything they needed.
That was what Nathan told himself.
His daughter Emily was nine.
She liked drawing.
Nathan was not entirely sure when that had started.
His son Lucas was twelve and played football.
Nathan knew because every Saturday morning his calendar displayed the same reminder:
Lucas – Match – 10:30 AM
Nathan rarely deleted the reminder.
He simply rarely showed up.
“I’ll be there next week,” he always said.
Lucas had stopped arguing.
“It's okay, Dad.”
Nathan hated that sentence.
Not enough to change.
But enough to feel guilty for a few minutes.
Then his phone would ring again.
And the feeling would disappear.
One Thursday evening, the four of them sat around the dinner table.
Claire had made pasta.
Emily was telling them about a school project.
Lucas pushed food around his plate.
Nathan’s phone lay beside his fork.
It buzzed.
Claire looked at him.
“Nathan.”
“Just a second.”
“You said no phone at dinner.”
“This’ll take ten seconds.”
“You always say that.”
Nathan opened the message.
A material shipment had been delayed.
Monday morning would be a disaster if he did not answer.
He typed quickly.
Emily stopped talking.
Claire noticed.
Nathan did not.
When he finally put the phone down, he looked around.
“What?”
Claire shook her head.
“Nothing.”
Nathan looked at Emily.
“You were saying something.”
She shrugged.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Come on. Tell me.”
“Later.”
“I have time now.”
Claire gave a short laugh.
Not angry.
Just tired.
“For how long?”
Nathan leaned back.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
“I work for us.”
“I know.”
“This house doesn’t pay for itself.”
“I know.”
“Then I don’t understand what the problem is.”
Claire looked at him for several seconds.
Then she said:
“That’s exactly the problem.”
The next morning, Nathan left before the children woke.
Claire stood in the kitchen wearing one of his old college sweatshirts.
“Movie tonight?” she asked.
Nathan put on his coat.
“We’ll see.”
“That means no.”
“Claire.”
“Two hours.”
“I don’t know when I’ll finish.”
“You never know when you’ll finish.”
Nathan reached for his keys.
Claire looked out the window.
It was raining.
“The kids won’t be kids forever.”
“I know.”
She looked at him.
“No.”
Her voice was soft.
“I don’t think you do.”
Nathan opened his mouth.
His phone rang.
He answered.
“Miller.”
On his way past her, he kissed Claire quickly on the forehead.
Then he left.
He did not leave the office until after ten that night.
Three messages from Claire waited on his phone.
6:12 PM – Movie starts at eight :)
8:03 PM – We’re starting now.
9:47 PM – Drive safe.
Nathan considered answering.
He did not.
Tomorrow.
He would come home earlier tomorrow.
Maybe they could go out for dinner.
Or Sunday.
Sunday would probably be better.
He drove out of the parking lot.
Rain streaked across the windshield.
Red taillights reflected on black asphalt.
Wipers.
Radio.
A gas station.
A traffic light.
Nathan remembered nothing after that.
