Free Coda (Songs of Submission #9) by CD Reiss

you might get bored?” Margie asked when I was halfway through the stacks.
    “Yes. But I don’t know what to do about it.”
    “There’s this thing I heard about. You might be interested. Could kill some time. Definitely burn through some cash.”
    “Go on.”
    “In Switzerland. They’re really close on an artificial heart.”
    “No.”
    “It’s made from tissue. It doesn’t need an external battery,” she said.
    “No.”
    “They need a lot of money for development, but you have it.”
    “Am I speaking the wrong language? No.”
    “Why?”
    “I don’t like the Swiss. The cheese offends me.”
    “Nice answer. Got a reason that makes sense?”
    I put down the pen. I knew my mouth was set because I felt the tension in my jaw. “What would be the point? To get my wife’s hopes up when it won’t work? Then I die anyway? The sooner she starts coping with it, the better.”
    She pushed the pen toward me. “Finish up.”
    I got back to signing at the tabs. Full signature for yellow. Initials at purple. “I have the Arts Foundation to run. That’ll keep me busy.”
    “Yeah. And you don’t have to waste your time hoping for anything. You don’t have to build a future.”
    “I’m the one who wants kids.”
    “That’s not a future if you’re dead. That’s called a legacy.”
    I checked the details and flopped the last contract closed. “Just like a lawyer to get hung up on semantics.”
    “Just like a man.” She restacked her papers, clacking them against the counter. “You just want to piss on the world one last time like it’s a fire hydrant you’ll never see again. I don’t blame her for holding out on you.”
    Coming from anyone else, I would have been enraged. But Margie’s love was so unconditional, I didn’t know if she could ever say anything to make me truly angry.
    “You know this is not about legacy,” I said.
    “Not consciously.”
    “It’s about Monica.”
    “The everlasting gift of your DNA? Way to woo a girl.”
    I laughed. I had nothing else for her. I couldn’t even explain myself to myself.
    “It’s nice to see you laugh, little brother. I thought they’d transplanted your sense of humor there for a while.”
    “Are you staying for lunch? I could stand to be insulted for another hour.”
    “Sorry.” She plopped the papers in her briefcase. “Some of us have to work.”
    “I have a thing,” I said. “For the birthday dinner later. I need you and Sheila to help.”
    She raised an eyebrow at me while she snapped the case closed. “A thing?”
    “You’ll like it. It involves jewelry.”
    “I hate jewelry.”
    “You’ll like this.”

chapter 12.
    MONICA
    I  exited the studio in the mid-afternoon, completely unsatisfied with my work. I went into the kitchen and, seeing as Jonathan wasn’t around, reached for his box of pills.
    I didn’t know where I’d picked up the habit of thinking it was all right to count someone’s meds. From living with Gabby, maybe. Jonathan had Laurelin to monitor him, make sure his medication was taken, and help him mind his Ps and Qs. That didn’t stop me from peeking in his little plastic box with the days of the week on it.
    Too many sets and subsets of pills. No wonder he needed a medical professional.
    “Stop it¸” I told myself, snapping the box shut.
    I pushed it back into the corner between the toaster and the fridge, but it was too late. The medicines had a smell, and they brought it all back. The inevitable images of him dying in that fucking hospital, his heart breaking right out of his chest. The colors of the hospital lounge carpet, the paint, the cafeteria, the recovery room, all of it flashed before me. I closed my eyes as if that would block out the smells and colors of those weeks.
    “He’s fine,” I said to myself. “Stop it.”
    “Stop what?” Jonathan came in from the patio, slick with sweat and ocean water. He’d been jogging.
    “Stop tracking sand all over the floor. Look at this