The Reality Show

“Yeah, but he was only sixty-two! He was so good. I’ll bet he would have made a lot more gorgeous pieces for many more years.”

“Probably. Hey, you think Garrett is going to pick Melissa or Joann to propose to tonight? It’s the finale you know.”

Stacy watched reality shows with religious regularity. Mort knew without asking that this was a pointed message to him. He needed to shut up and let her watch ‘The Proposal’ or suffer the consequences later.

“And you know . . . “ he started.

She glared at him.

Undeterred, he continued, “. . . a mother apparently killed her six –year-old son before killing herself yesterday. Now you’ve got to agree that’s a tragedy.” He looked around the edge of the paper to make eye contact.

Stacy didn’t look at him. “There’s bad people out there, Mort,” she said, studying the commercial of the cat dancing for its dinner.

“The sixty-two year old had so much more beauty to create and well, the six year old could have done so much. We’ll never know.” He continued looking at the pictures on the obituary page.

“Oh, for goodness sakes! I don’t have time for your morbid musings. Garrett is proposing tonight, and you’re getting all philosophical on me. I’d hate to go to work tomorrow and have the girls spoil it for me.” Stacy turned the volume up on the TV. Mort ignored her, dropped his head back to rest on the chair, closing his eyes.

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