The day began with the sound of a hornet. From the bedside table near Richard’s ear, the pointed buzz drilled the air, pausing for a moment shorter than a breath, before beginning again. He knew it couldn’t be a real hornet, he didn’t think there were hornets in February, but his imagination was still slightly attached to his dreams so the possibility worried him. After a few buzzes, he rotated slowly like a submarine to see no such bug. Only the sleek edges of his work phone, vibrating every time an email came in.

Christ, he thought, it’s Saturday.

Outside of his home, there was thick sunlight interspersed with a crawling interruption of translucent clouds. A rarity, for February on the coast, as the evening before had been liberated from the reign of an endless, impenetrable cover of grey. It had seemingly lasted from Remembrance Day so when Richard saw the sunrise peek from his side of the bed, he had to take it in an act of forced meditation. He tried to ignore his phone as he dropped it into his pyjama pants. Still, the alerts kept rumbling.

He slid open his glass door towards the sights of the cove in time with the sea’s exhalation. The top two thirds of the door were streakless and clear, as opposed to the bottom which was covered in pale, nearly opaque, dots and lines from the children, Mitchell and Ronnie, and the dog, Stella. This one, slim piece of glass guarded his home against all that nature in one rectangle. It rejected the sound of the world for him, halted the smell of the water, and dampened the enormity of the world’s clamour.

Richard left the door open slightly as he stepped onto his small porch. The rest of house was still asleep, though if Stella came trotting, she would be a welcome relief because she too knew the bliss of silent communion. He wondered if she was really his best friend.

Surfers were already out, each a silhouette playing with nature’s jaws, tickling their fingers through her wet gums. Richard saw them and chose to withhold a wave, thinking they wouldn’t notice one man amidst all the adventure before them. Instead, he watched on as they disappeared into the marine-made clouds, their voices travelling back to the shore with the incoming ocean. Their shrieks and calls shot up in sudden jolts before dropping back into the sound of far mumbles that could have been screams. Richard let his shoulders drop as he let out one final puff before turning back and reentering his home. His waves were awaiting him upstairs.

To his gentle surprise, Stella had come down from their room and had placed herself next to her breakfast bowl. She had fallen asleep again waiting on Richard to be ready. There were sounds of parallel footsteps upstairs, from his wife and the latching without locking of the bathroom door. The lights up there used to buzz, even with the door closed, until Richard took a Saturday last winter to replace the old bulbs with LEDs. They were brighter, cheaper, and quieter.

Stepping, over to Stella's swelling torso and he waited for her to pick up her heavy head at his presence. She blinked as she pointed her mouth at him, dripping in anticipation.

“Well,” he said, “whaddya say?”

Her dark tongue curled out in a yawn as her back legs caught up with her stomach. She stepped unevenly to her feet and, after a quick shake and adjustment of her paws, toured her tongue around her lips and began to pant happily.

“Come on, let’s go,” he said, picking up the bowl.

The routine of the dog’s breakfast was one of predictable sound. There was the sliding of the drawer which thudded as it hit its edge, the rolling crunch of the spoon through the food, the hiss and slosh of the sink’s tap, the out of step nails clipping against the stone, and the quick pants of breath into silence as Stella sat with an upright head and focused eyes.

“Okay,” he said and Stella plunged her head into her breakfast. She would thank him, if she could, he thought.

The door’s latch again sounded from upstairs and was followed by the irregular creaks of the staircase. Richard had his head in the coffee maker, beans already ground the night before, waiting for the initial gurgles and drippings. His phone danced in his pocket and he placed it next to the coffee maker. From the base of the stairs, Susan saw only shoulders as dog and husband hunched face-first over their objects of focus. She slid her slippered feet across the floor and greeted him with a touch. They smiled to each other as he bent over and kissed her forehead in a ritualistic but authentic gesture. Without letting her smile drop, Susan turned to the kitchen’s island and took the entertainment section out of the newspaper, leaving the rest for Richard. His iPad was next to the paper, occasionally flashing as new emails came in.

“Have you looked at this yet?” she said, at the same volume as the crinkling pages, holding up the rest of the paper.

He looked first to the iPad and then to paper before he shook his head. Susan left the

paper has it had been organized on the island, not bothering to cover the screen’s light.

“Did you hear anything?” Richard asked.

“From where?”

“From the kids’ rooms.”

“Maybe. It sounded like there was a bit of rustling but nothing major.”

Richard took a moment to acknowledge and absent-mindedly glanced over to the stairs. He felt, briefly, like making conversation but instead decided to reach for the iPad, just to see what was being sent. His whole body hunched away from Susan as he scrolled through the emails, mentally sorting them by order of importance. It would be possible to answer a few of them, at least, before the kids got up, he thought. The coffee finished without a buzzer and Richard filled Susan’s cup, she took it in both hands, sipped silently, and thanked him.

“Are you taking the kids to gymnastics today?” Susan asked from across the counter.

Richard’s attention flew from his work.

“I thought you were taking them.”

There was a pause; a wavering attempt at balance between the spouses.

“I just thought—”

The bathroom door slammed and snatched Susan’s thoughts. This was followed by a brief bit of pounding and hollering until given up on and swiftly replaced by a stormy thundering down the stairs. Richard and Susan’s children were four and six and, in the development of speed and strength, the six-year-old was winning the morning.

“Everything alright, bud?” Richard said as little Ronnie waddled and whooshed past him.

“I gotta go! I gotta go!”

“Okay,” Richard said, “you let us know if you need any help.”

The downstairs bathroom door crashed urgently. Susan looked up and across the island with a look of bewilderment settling in.

“How did we get two early birds in this house? I mean, really. What could the odds be.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” Richard’s eyes went briefly to his screen before turning

back to Susan’s.

“Anyway, I was just thinking that maybe you could take the kids to the rec centre today.”

“But it’s Saturday.”

“Yes? And?”

“I’ve got to go to the grocery store today.”

“I know. But do you think we could swap? Just for today? It’s — I’ve,” Susan checked to see that the bathroom door was still closed and that there was no small body sitting on the stairs. She lowered her voice anyway. “I have been running around town with these kids for the past I don’t know how long and today is gymnastics day. Please, Richard, please just take them this one time.”

Nothing Susan said was a lie which made Richard want to bring up his facts too. Facts like the extra hours he had to put in last week made it impossible for him to be there for the kids. Facts like without his income, they wouldn’t have the money for these programs. Facts like it’s one more thing, why couldn’t she just do it? He chose to repress them all, putting his work down firmly before continuing.

“We need groceries. If I don’t go today, when will I have time?”

“It’s okay! I’ll go.”

Richard let his gaze slump down to the dog’s level.

“But groceries are my thing. That’s the one job around the house that we agreed that I

would always do — even if the kids are away, even if we barely need anything.”

“Just this once, please. We can switch. You give me the list and I’ll pick up all the things we need. Come on, you know the kids love it when their Dad goes to watch their activities.”

“But it’s not that simple. It’s not just about getting the food, you’ve got to find the deals and know the quickest way. The people who work there, they know me, they know how much deli meat we get and how we like it.”

“Richard, please, I’ve been to a—”

The conversation had to end as Mitchell hopped down the stairs. In a sudden whoosh, the downstairs bathroom door flew open and little Ronnie raced out, leaving the light on. As Richard paced over to turn it off, the two children continued in their fiery exchange of morning play. Susan turned on the television, in hopes that it would provide a common point of focus and hold back the soaring wings of volume. And it worked, until a commercial came on, then the kids used that time to occupy themselves with various action figures. The smashing and crunching of plastic, not to mention the needed sound effects, blended in with the over-the-top enunciation of the television program. There were screams, sirens, slashes and, somewhere tumbling beneath, was Richard, thankful that Stella wasn’t barking.

With his endurance already fading, and the momentum of the morning becoming almost unbearable, Richard called out in a forced singsongy voice.

“Who wants breakfast?”

The choir of two met the question with unison cry of “Me! Me! Me! Me!”

Before, the room was filled before with aural chaos, now it was physical. Mitchell began chasing Stella as she tried to insert her nose between Richard and the counter. Susan got hold of little Ronnie and asked her what she thought they should have for breakfast. She never got an answer since the heavy cries demanding to be set down won the interaction. There were pans that clanked and sizzled, toast that popped and thudded, and thick ribbon of human voices spiralling, knotting, and pulling through the kitchen. Richard still could see the occasional flash of his work email, enveloping part of his focus. He didn’t notice the first few pieces of toast had burnt in his mental absence. Those would have to be his and Susan’s, he thought.

Dining was not a calmer story. Since Mitchell had a year and half of school behind him, he knew how to sit at a table and eat within a designated time. But that meant nothing to his missed mastery of an indoor voice. Patiently, and repeatedly, Susan hovered her hand near the table in an effort to both lower his voice and avoid damaging his development. Richard, then, took control of helping little Ronnie with her food, making sure it was cut into proper portions, that those portions stayed either on the plate or in her mouth, all while his food chilled beyond enjoyment. The two adults could reason that these efforts were investments and, eventually, they could have well-behaved children that thanked them for what they did and ate with distinction. For now, this feast better resembled seagulls on a dock: squawking and chirping as bits of food were mangled and fought over.

It would have been pleasant if the morning’s affairs peaked at breakfast and it looked like they might have. Richard was able to load the dishwasher and respond to his growing digital pile while Susan took to washing the larger pieces of cookware. Even the children settled themselves on the couch to continue watching the morning’s indistinguishable cartoon. Until Mitchell decided, without a flash of intent, to spit in his sister’s eye.

The moment the loogie landed, her head arched back like an opened can and out flew a combination of shriek and pain that no amount of coaxing from her brother could silence. With Richard’s head down, Susan dashed out of the kitchen to pick up her crying daughter while Mitchell pleaded and pulled at her legs that it was an accident. Richard looked across the room and saw the three faces, rising red in colour like a thermometer, while the noise escalated to a pitch hitherto unheard. It was like his wife had been transmogrified into the statue of Laocoon — except the snakes were the voices of the children also being devoured. Louder and louder they cried as Richard began trembling at their explosion.

Overhearing Susan’s shushes, Ronnie’s tears, and Mitchell’s bargainings, any passerby would have called the police and recommended eviction. As Richard stood, growing in an unplaceable frustration of his own, he looked over the table near the door and saw the car keys and his wallet illuminated by one finger of sunlight. His eyes went to the keys, and then back to Susan’s, as her face decayed between pleading and melting. There were more vibrations from his phone and the screen on the island flashed like a fast beating heart.

Work. Family. Work. Family. Work. Family. The two tectonics of his life were slipping.

“I have to go to the grocery store.”

“You... you what?!”

Richard didn’t hear the rest of his wife’s plea as he, still in his morning sweats, snatched up the keys without jingling and let the door fall closed behind him. He could still hear the faint cries grow more confused as he walked to the car, sealed himself in, and started the engine which overpowered all the sounds of his young family. His hands shook through to his forearms.

Part of him expected Susan to run out of the door, arms wide, with an expression of confused exhaustion. He didn’t know what he would have said to justify his choice but he also wasn’t glad that she was still inside. With the radio off, the low sound of tires on asphalt was louder, smoother and the steering wheel squeaked harshly as he made his turns. It wasn’t much but it was loud enough to cover his darting thoughts and separate him from anything nearing regret and reshuffled his present deck of emotions.

The town grocery store was attached to the gas station and Richard pulled in to the shared parking lot. As he put the car in park and ceased the engine’s rumbling, he let himself deflate in the front seat, taking a moment to separate himself from the world clanging outside. His mind went neither to his work nor his family.

Looking out the speckled windshield, he saw the entrance of the grocery store as he had never seen it before. It was now a looming tower with automatic doors wider than two eagles’ wingspans. Each exiting and entering person, on their own track of life, pushed their carts past one other, some offering friendly greetings while others kept their expressions low and forward like grazing farm animals. Richard thought about joining the pack of adults in the constant stream of food and goods and preparation and it all felt like work. Sick, relentless work that, even though he had done it every week of his adult life, suddenly felt like a weight too heavy to separate him from his chair. It felt like the combined weight of Susan, Mitchell, Ronnie, Stella, all his clients, and another version of himself. He let the seatbelt loosen around his retreating chest as he thought about taking a nap right there in the parking lot.

Before he closed his eyes, he let his head drift to the window on his side. Slightly embellishing the world outside, he could still clearly make out the writing on the huge neon green star affixed the corner of a sandwich board. It said: SALE $2 ICE CREAM SANDWHICHES. He didn’t register that the final word had been misspelled or that there was no punctuation to speak of, only the meaning — which found resonance in his soft heart and shaky stomach. Against his previous will to stay put and disappear from the day, Richard undid his seatbelt, carefully closed his door, and walked to the gas station.

The bell rang softly when he stepped into what looked like every other gas station he had ever been in. Bright packaging competing with harsh light mixed in to the constant whirr of freezers passing between the shuffling bodies. Without even greeting the clerk, who was pretending to be interested in her register, Richard sauntered over to the deep freezer near the door and pulled out an ice cream sandwich. The wax paper crinkled against his palm as he went over to pay for it, not having compared it with other brands nor reading the nutritional information. As the sign was true, the clerk rang him in for a total of $2 and Richard, slightly embarrassed, paid for it with his credit card, not having any change on him. She returned to her pretend work and he exited through the door, leaving only the bell’s ring behind him.

When he got back to the car and resumed his position in the front seat he expected the ice cream in the sandwich to be half-melted. Even though it was February, the brief lick of sun through the glass might have been enough to affect the make-up of such a thing. Richard even expected as much. But beneath the semi-thick wrapping was an ice cream sandwich as pristine as it was when it came off the line at the factory. In the style of one of his kids, Richard succeeded in fitting just over half the sandwich in his mouth. He had to take his jaw around in big, imperfect circles to begin the chewing process as his other hand cupped near his chin to catch straggling crumbs. His shoulders released as he let out a great gust of breath right before swallowing. All of his spine was touching the seat as he looked down to see how much of his sandwich he had left. With a series of smaller bites, he worked his way horizontally across the dessert until the only evidence was the empty wrapper and the matching thick collections of crumbs on his index finger, thumb, and cheeks. Even though it had only taken a few seconds, in that time, Richard neither saw nor heard nor felt anything other than that ice cream sandwich. It had detached him from his identity, his responsibilities, as well as the general ceaselessness of his life.

It should not have been possible to get that much pleasure from a $2 ice cream sandwich but the feeling lapping over Richard could only be compared to a state of meditated nirvana. He childishly licked the remnants on his fingers and, with the assistance of the crooked rearview mirror, turned his tongue into a gymnast to get the last dustings from his face and back teeth. His heart and stomach smiled. When it was all finished he let out an audible sigh that belied not only enjoyment but relief and a touch of satisfaction. He looked out again at the grocery store, this time seeing through the windshield as if it wasn’t there at all, and it had returned to its ordinary form. A cozier and more familiar building with people moving through it, yes, but not the hordes he had imagined before.

There was a feeling of shame that would come later. It would be something that he and Susan talked through after the kids went to bed, though Richard doubted his ability to speak on the meaning of his trip. Perhaps he wouldn’t say why, wouldn’t try to arm himself with his version of the event, only sincerely apologize and know that, on his next solo trip, he would again enjoy a morning dessert in solitude before tending to his duties. It was a harmless secret that needed no other hands to keep. A safely transgressive act that, in moments, could soften his internal eruptions. Surrounded by the transparency of his car and filled with the empty calories of the ice cream sandwich, Richard was ready to try to be a good dad again