There was a dead deer on the side of the road.

There and gone in a fifty mile per hour blur. Although it should have been too fast, the details branded the back of his eyelids. The pink-gray tongue lolling out, body bloated in the late summer heat, fur matted with crusted blood. Anthony saw it when he blinked, blink, blink, blink, trying to shake it Etch-a-Sketch style from his head. His fingers tightened on the wheel, his eyes sliding sideways to the silent figure beside him.

She stared out the opposite window, silent and still. He hoped she missed it. Her fingers were splayed over her belly. Still rounded, swollen, but empty. His throat squeezed, unable to swallow at the memory. Her stomach bloated, her sweaty pink-gray face breaking apart. His fingers twitched with the desire to clasp her hand, to hold her somehow, yet the twelve inches between them felt like twelve miles. It felt sacrilegious somehow to grasp the hand over her stomach, to intrude like that. He forced the swallow down, fingers twisting and wrenching the steering wheel, taking the painful desire and placing it in the box in which he held his grief.

Lock it up tight, don't think about it. Don't think about that still little face and the bottomless agony in her ocean blue eyes, Mariana's Trench dark, and twice as deep.

She hadn't come up for air since that moment. His gaze slid over her again, at the tight line of her jaw, flexing in time to the flex of her fingers over stomach. He prayed she hadn't seen that dead deer.

His hands ached by the time they pulled into the driveway, fingers stiff, the imprint of his grip gradually fading as he opened the car door. He walked around the car to open her door. She hadn't moved, still staring out her window with empty eyes, seeing nothing and everything. He couldn't look at her like this, his box was already close to bursting and his heart couldn't take it. Instead, he looked to the house, windows still open, the bedroom light visible. He forgot to turn it off when they left. He gripped the edges of the door, remembering what waited for them in the bedroom. If not for the heat, he would have left her out in the car, certain the house reeked of it. She hadn't moved yet.

"Hayley?"

The smooth line of her neck flexed with a small swallow, those empty eyes faced him. God, it hurt to look at her. He shoved that hurt in his box too. He would let it out later, after she finally fell asleep. He held out a hand to her, patient while she looked at it, like she was trying to remember how to move again. Finally she placed her free hand in his, still clutching herself with the other. He let out a breath and laced their fingers together, ignoring how limp her hand felt in his grip. She shuffled and dragged beside him until they reached the door. They both hesitated, the moment stretched taut, stretched to breaking. Same old cream colored door, same old house, but inside were memories hiding in drawers and shadowy corners. Memories waited in the stiff and stained sheets of their bed and in the room beside it.

Anthony released his wife's limp hand to unlock the door, closing his eyes as he pushed the door open. The house smelled like stale heat and the faint reek of garbage, a mercy for both of them. He didn't take her hand this time, loosely circling his arm around her shoulders as he led her inside, bypassing the kitchen and sink full of dishes in favor of the couch. She didn't fight him, didn't resist as he gently pushed her down. She pulled the afghan over her lap despite the dry heat, curling into herself, her empty hands opening and closing. He stared at her fingers curling on her midriff because he still couldn't look into her eyes.

"Do you want some water?" He longed to sit with her, to take her into his arms and hold her, but she was so closed off, so apart from him. Another small swallow, her delicate blue veins visible against her pale, pale skin as she nodded. He moved because he had to, had to stop hovering over her, helpless. The motions were easy to lose himself in, choosing a plastic cup in case her fingers slipped, filling it with ice and water from the fridge. He set it in front of her on the table, using a coaster without her reminder. He wanted her reminder, and when it didn't come, he needed to lose himself in other tasks.

He bagged and took out the trash, lighting a candle to banish the lingering smell, and washed the dishes. The whole time Hayley sat in silence, the water sweating, untouched. When he finished the dishes, the sun was sinking toward the horizon. He went to their bedroom because it was easier than facing that untouched cup.

Their bedroom door was mostly shut. He pushed it open, memory and nightmare chasing one another on the sour copper smell. His stomach turned hard at the scent, the burn of bile scalding his throat. He forced it down, snapping the reaction tight in his internal box because there was no one else to deal with this. He wanted to go mindless for this too, but his eyes kept catching on the unwanted details, on the reddish brown stain, the sheets stiff as he peeled them free, wadded them up, folding the stain in and out of sight. The mattress was spared thanks to the waterproof pad Hayley had placed there herself a week ago. In case her water broke in her sleep. He rolled it away, throwing sheets and pad in the trash. His mouth still tasted like old pennies.

Anthony yanked the windows open, gulping deep breaths of summer air. When he could breathe again, he shut the windows and lost himself in sliding new sheets onto the bed. He forced himself to return to the silent living room, heart thumping painfully in his chest when he found only her untouched water.

He almost called out her name, though he knew where to find her. He pivoted, his steps slow as he walked past their bedroom to the room next to it. It was dark, curtains drawn tight. Hayley sat in the rocking chair staring at the crib. It was too much for him, too much for his box, so he left her there. He couldn't sleep in the room either, choosing to flop down on the couch. He stared at the ceiling until the sunlight faded. He never did open that box.