The Constellations

Fergus had been

FErgus Had BEEn a confirmed night owl in his bachelor days. Once married, however, he had incentives to change his ways. First, Deb was a morning person. His chances for lovemaking peaked around 6 a.m. and steadily fell to nil around nine in the evening.As the promise of steady lovemaking was one of the reasons he married, Fergus felt he should play the percentages. Second, early morning offered the opportunity to write in quiet. He used the time for brainstorming and working in his notebooks , and the noisier afternoon for the less Muse-driven work of banging on the typewriter. The creaky hideaway bed reported Fergus turning over to get up. In a burst of wishful thinking he went to the study’s single small window to see if dawn was far enough away to let him sleep a little more. But from the looks of it the sun had risen a half hour earlier. “Do you want me to make you coffee?” Deb mumbled.“They have this tricky old coffee pot.” “I can figure it out,” Fergus said.“The percolator I used in grad school brewed the coffee that washed down the Donner Party. Promise me you won’t smother Roy in his sleep.” “He’s home?” “He came in about three.” Deb rolled over onto one elbow.“Are you okay?” “Better than the table,” Fergus said. “Seriously.” “I’m being serious.” Fergus patted her on the behind.“Let me work. Go to sleep.” Fergus went downstairs to the kitchen and spooned up enough coffee to make it strong—he’d slept badly and had a drive back to the city ahead of him.With the dining room table hors de combat, Kevin Cunningham 101 he set up in the kitchen. Shortly after sunrise he heard someone coming downstairs. None of the kids possessed the weight to make the stairs creak so loudly. Roy banged around the kitchen, went to the bathroom, let the dog out and the cat in. It was ten minutes before he said,“I didn’t mean what I said.” “Sure you did. Booze is the poor man’s truth serum.” Without looking up Fergus pointed to the counter with his pen. “There’s coffee if you want it.” ...