Forester Nonie clutched the knife with a sweaty palm, cutting up the washed head of lettuce. The garden aroma lunged out in each slice. The blade barely glazed the sides of the iceberg, imitating the Titanic collision. Her idle cutting became methodic, a systematic gesture, while her predatory eyes stalked the landline, tucked in the corner of the granite countertop beside the carousel of spices. He should call any minute now. Nonie expected the jarring chime, hoping not to be startled. In a debate to cease her kitchen work, she looked down at the block of wood and the half of the severed plant. Okay, I’ll finish this and then go somewhere else. I gotta stop eyeing the damned thing. But she kept her gaze, narrowing her scope on the screen where the caller ID would display. ​It lit up, the hideous orange LEDs, and she read each bold letter. FELDMAN, ALEXANDER. Glancing at the clock, it was FOUR sharp. Apparently, Alex stuck to his word. ​“Hey, Al. What’s the scoop? Did they catch him?” ​His weariness to answer was obvious. Awkwardly, he hesitated, responding with: “We think so. There’s not much I can say, but I’ll tell you this much, the son of a bitch looks guilty. It wasn’t an arrest, Nono. They’re holding him for questioning.” ​“You mean to say that he’s not caught? How long are you keeping him?” Her voice ran a little frantic, and she thickened her words to talk slower. She calmly exhaled. ​“Forty-eight. That’s all we got to ream him. So far it’s a lot of circumstantial. In fact, we have no evidence specifically linking him to the crime. But don’t you worry No. We’ve got him.” ​The phone was wedged between her left shoulder and cheek, her hands left free to hold down the vegetable while pressing the handle sharply. Her chopping was sloppy, leaving uneven shards, like shattered glass. ​“Still there?” ​Jerky cuts, increasing in speed, finished off the nub of lettuce, to the point where it sliced the tip of her thumb. Shit. That’s when she dropped the knife and swung her hand to her lips. Her thumb pressed into an agape mouth, clamped gently by her front teeth. With glee, she sucked. Regression in its prime, she thought, I’m sucking my effing thumb. ​“I’m here,” she grunted. “Listen Al, I appreciate you calling. I, uh...” ​“Don’t mention it,” his voice trailing off as well. The utter of a goodbye between the two and then click. Nonie didn’t bother to place the phone back in the charger where it was docked. It sat on the counter dumbly, the orange dimming after ten seconds of inactivity. Turning to the island, she paused. The lettuce was all cut up, her thumb still a little achy, and the knife was rocking still, side-to-side in a cradle motion. Nonie trudged over to the sink, grabbing the knife on the way, and rinsed it. The faucet made her think of crying, reminding her how deeply she felt like doing just that. But it was almost like the tears leaked inside her empty body. She felt hollow, like a porcelain figurine, filling up with her salty waves of tears. Her eyes were dry, Nonie aware of that. If only they could roll back inside her head and watch as she flooded internally. The thought of the Titanic reiterated itself. She promised to stay strong; in fact, that she would be unsinkable. For the rest of the evening, she sailed through idle tasks, just to keep her mind afloat and off the thought of that man’s freedom approaching by the minute. Unfortunately, this was the maiden voyage of what would be many nights in agony. Maybe, she reconsidered, she would sink into sleep with the aide of an AMBIEN.