it was a spiralbound
notebook coil at the top
in addition to the
pages contained therein stuffed full of loose pages it appeared
wellusedhe assumed prolifically written sketched notated photographs newspaper magazine
cuttings held fast with Scotchtape
it wasnt his
his
daughters
she was thorough
it was coming undone
the spiral badly beatcrushed in places bangedbent into each other wire broken pulled unspooling
he didnt want to say shabby
though overall it was
it
would be difficult to look through the
pages stubborn to be turned
it was unlike her
it laid on an old wood desk he didnt
recognisehe was in a room he didnt recognise
sat in a ladderback hardwood chair
which suited
him
an occasional chair not built for comfort utility
he was waiting
he assumed he was waiting for her
he didnt open the notebook
defied his
curiosity
he respected it was hersmeant for
no one other than she
maybe she left it out so when she
appeared shed share with him
appeared
thinking appeared
he knew where he was was unreal
she
was dead
so much of his life had turned
on herhis daughters
he
knew them longerwas more intimate with them than he knew his wife
who was also
dead
he sat to the side of the desk
kitty-corner from a comfortable chair before it
overhead an elaborate electrical
chandelier lit the room
he didnt look about
her spiral notebook transfixed
him
he waited
he waited
and waited
an waited . . .
6AMish, Sunday,
1 10. 23
1223, Monday,
2 10. 23
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