Boom Town

It was Thursday night when a certain “boom” rang out on a quiet suburban street in Connecticut.

Mrs. Liberman shot up in bed.

“What was that?”

“What was what?” Her husband turned over, speaking into his pillow.

“That sound. That ‘boom.’”

“Probably nothing.”

“Won’t you go check?”

“Now?”

“Yes, now.”

“Helen, its 3 a.m. Go to sleep.”

“Fred, I’m frightened. Please check.”

“It's probably nothing, Helen. Now go to sleep.”

Silent now, she sat with her knees drawn up to her chin. She clutched the covers and pulled them up to her nose, solely revealing wide eyes and a head full of pink rollers. Her teeth chattered.

“It might not be ‘nothing.’ I don’t know why you’re so trusting. Not everyone or everything is out for your good.”

“Are you threatening me, Helen?”

“Of course not. Don’t be silly at a time like this. Why you can’t be my husband and protect me?”

“You only need protection from yourself and that imagination of yours. I can’t help you there.”

Mrs. Liberman sighed heavily.

“Fine. If we die tonight, it’s all your fault.”

“If you don’t go to sleep right now, I might kill you myself.”

Her eyes darted left. Her husband lay beside her, eyes closed and hands beneath his pillow.

Mrs. Liberman sunk back down into the sheets. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling and minding Fred’s hands til dawn.