Perhaps her morning rush changed everything?
Nurse Ida lived in a wooden area twelve miles from the city. Of gravel stretching from the steps of her front porch to Cimber Road, the path driven every morning was thin, curved, and simple.
This morning Ida was late and took the road by force but, today, found Julius standing on Cimber in her path of urgency. Before the brakes became an option the car stroke Julius, lifting him high into the air. As Ida stopped, she watched Julius slam into an oak tree a third of the way up, descend the bark as a broken slinky down concrete stairs and plummet head first to the earth at the foot of the oak. A blood splatter shaped as a question mark stood strong on the windshield before her eyes. Exiting the car, she found Julius at the foot of the oak still as ice.
"Julius," she whispered. Fear guided her heart, which beat with the absence of steadiness. Five eternal steps she took towards him, leaning forward she said, "Please, get up Julius" and knelt placing both hands on his chest finding no life. Quickly with muscle, grunting, heavy breathing, falling tears, pulling, lifting, tucking, and a scream of unbelief the body was finally place in the trunk. Once sealed shut she examined the oak tree. As strong as the one on the windshield, the same red question mark cradled the bark of the oak. She wiped her windshield clean and made it to Mark Antony's at seven sharp.
Julius had been in her truck the entire day of work. He'd also been in her mind leaving the hospital at five. On the slow drive from the hospital to the intersection at the corner of 15th and Brutus Avenue, the stoplight flashed green and Julius's image was replaced by a lime; small and perfect. "The field," she thought.
There was a road of bishop pine leading to a field of lime trees deep in the woods four miles from her home. She'd found herself circling around the back of this field twenty minutes later. Getting out the car, she pulled Julius out easy as midnight sleep and placed him next to a lonely shrub with many leaves and no fruit. One tear fell as she drove off looking on his body in the rear-view mirror until she disappear down the alley of pine.
At home cooking by the time her husband arrived from a construction project in Capitol Heights, she'd given the final ingredient to the beef cuts and submerged them gravy when she heard the door open.
"Hey honey, ready for dinner?" Ida called.
"Smells good," he said from the front door. "Work went well?" Through the door of the kitchen he removed his yellow hard hat, walked to her and kissed her on the cheek.
"A bus for Madera collided with a big rig. We lost twelve."
"Sorry to hear that," he said sitting at the kitchen table. He slapped his thigh, made kissing sounds in the air, followed by a long whistle in the high E above middle C. "Here Julius," he called.
"Try your keys," Ida said. "He loves those keys."
Turning with two plates in hand she sat on before him.
"What am I gonna do with that dog?"
"Oh honey, I have no idea." She smiled and stroked his hair. "I'm sure he'll show up sooner or later."
