The Last Day

THIRTY-FOUR

Ward picked up the sheets off the guest bedroom floor and started to put fresh ones on the bed.

The first night he'd spent in that room was after an argument he'd had with Natasha months earlier. He slept in the guest room the night after that in response to her cold silence the following day. Soon they had both accepted the change in sleeping arrangements as though it had been an order from the health department.

There was a gentle tapping on the door and Ward turned. “Yeah.”

Natasha opened the door. She had a towel around her neck, and her T-shirt was clinging to her bare torso in places. “I finished five miles on the treadmill. Every muscle I have is screaming. Look at this,” she said, holding out her hands. “No shaking.”

“That's great. Maybe it was just stress.”

“Ward, what are you doing?”

“I'm just making the bed up.”

“Yeah, the FBI screwed up the nice job you did making mine this morning. I saw it before they got here. Thanks for the gesture. I appreciated it.”

“I didn't make your bed,” he said.

She cocked her head and smiled at him sadly.

“Anyway it's after six,” she said. “I was going to take a shower and make dinner.”

“I probably need to shower worse than you do.”

She turned to go, then turned back, saying, “With the drought, we shouldn't be wasting water.”

“We have a well,” he said.

“It still seems wasteful,” she said, tilting her head. “Maybe you've forgotten, but the master bathroom shower will comfortably hold two. And there's really no reason to make up the guest room bed, unless you just want to.”

Ward stared at her.

“Ward, I'd like for you to come back home to me,” she said. “If you want to. I really miss us.”

Ward remained frozen, but Natasha crossed to the bed and took his hand in hers and led him from the guest room down the hall to their old bathroom.

Lying in bed an hour later, Natasha said, “The casket. Is it possible the FBI put it there for some bizarre reason?”

Ward felt anger rising inside him. “I don't know. It's the only thing I can think of. It was sick.”

“Somebody made it,” she said. “It doesn't seem possible that Barney got it from one of his friends and didn't show it to us. It might represent something that had nothing to do with a dead child. You know, like some Halloween deal he got that we didn't know he had?”

Ward shrugged. “I really hope that's the case. I mean, we never inventoried his things, but it seems unlike anything that he would have wanted around.”

“I saw where you marked tomorrow on the calendar. We should take some flowers and visit the grave together.”

“I thought you marked it,” Ward said.

Natasha pulled away suddenly and turned to face him, going up on her elbow. “You didn't mark it?”

“No, I didn't. I mean, not that I recall. Nights get weird sometimes.”

“Like the baseball.”

“Okay, so, if I haven't lost my mind, and I didn't make up your bed this morning before I woke up, or put the baseball under the pillow, or take Barney's watch, what does that mean?”

“That I did it and don't remember,” she said.

“But I'm the one who loses time, does things I don't remember doing, says things I don't recall saying. But I never saw that casket thing before you found it, and I certainly would never have put it in his room.”

“I never thought you did,” she said. “What did you do with Buildy Bear? I didn't see him in the guest room or Barney's room.”

“I didn't touch Buildy. Seriously.”

Natasha sat up and crossed her ankles. “Jesus, Ward. This is too freaky. I had him in this bed night before last. I was sort of feeling

… I got him from Barney's closet, and slept with him while you were gone. I went to bed last night and he'd vanished. I thought you took him.”

“No. Christ, Natasha, maybe I do have Alzheimer's. My mother…”

“You're too young for that.”

“I hope so.”

“Ward, if you didn't do any of those things, and I didn't, then who else? We're the only people here.”