“Arthur!” Paula yelled, waking the sleeping man with a start, “Arthur, where are my keys? I’m late.”

He sat up, on the couch, rubbing his back. His new sleeping place wasn’t exactly comfortable, but he and Paula thought it best for the time being.

"Hello? Arthur? Keys?" she continued to bicker, annoyed.

"I don’t know, Paula." he snapped, standing from his makeshift bed, "Last time I saw them, they were near your cell phone, and God knows I don’t want to be looking at your cell phone, anymore." he added recalling reading the text message he had found from Ben that one night.

"Arthur, please! Could you just not, today?"

"Could I just not, what? Could I just not be a little ticked off that my wife is hooking up with her co-worker behind my back? Could I just not be worried that this family is falling apart? Is that what you’re asking of me?" Arthur rolled his eyes as he stalked off toward the kitchen to put on some coffee.

"Nothing happened!" she gaped.

"I have a hard time believing that, honey." he snatched something from the counter, and threw it in Paula’s direction.

She caught the object and looked in her hands seeing the keys she had been looking for. "Thank you," she whispered as she walked out the door not wanting to make Arthur more pissed than he already was.

-~-

I yawn as I walk down the stairs, slinging my book bag over my shoulder. I swear; this thing gets heavier, everyday. I make my way into the kitchen to see Dad putting all his weight into his hands as he leans on the counter, head faced downward. I frown slightly as I take in his expression.

"Dad? You okay?" I know he’s not, but maybe I can do a little to cheer him up.

He lifts his head up and turns around to face me, "Oh, hey, Spence. Yeah, I’m fine." he offers a weak smile. "Just a little sore." he points in the direction of his makeshift bed, and I nod in understanding. It’s still a little weird to think that my parents are like this. After eighteen years just suddenly falling apart.

He narrows his eyes a little bit realizing that’s it’s only six in the morning. He usually doesn’t see me until around six forty-five to sevenish. "What are you doing up so early? Glen and Clay won’t be ready to leave for about another hour."