![]() Mary was barefoot, her pale arms divided into moonlight, bars of shadow. There was a misplaced coffee mug in one cabinet, and when she took it out she saw it was filled with old coffee. She poured it down the sink briskly. Embarrassed. “Tobias. He forgets things-” “It’s all right.” Roamery said. She was putting things onto the counter. A bottle of red wine, prunes, spices. “Prunes? I know I seem irregular, but this is … ” “You shut up, be patient. Such a mouth on you! I know what I’m doing.” He stood behind her, his arms around her as she poured wine into the sauce pan. Sugar, cinnamon, bringing it to a boil. She was laughing. “I know what I want.” “I’m sure they will be delicious, your prunes. So wrinkly and so sweet.” “Not wrinkly, see how beautiful?” Mary lifted one with her spoon. Black-violet, dripping with wine. He grabbed her hand, held the spoon to his lips. “Mm. Wrinkles.” “Outside! You’ll wake my daughter.” “But what about my prunes?” Mary swatted him out the door, following with the bottle. “It turns into this lovely caramel stuff; you drizzle it with the fruit over mascarpone.” “I’m a lucky man.” They sat on the porch swing, electrically aware of flesh touching, hot skin. “Tonight, anyway.” She’d absently carried out the wooden spoon with them, and now she licked it, looking at him. Roamery touched her lips. “I like the way you talk about food. This whole side of you.” Rocking companionably. He took the bottle from her, drank from it. “You’re different at home.” “We’ve only ever met at your house, you know.” “Have you had many lovers?” “Since I’ve been married... ?” She swayed back and forth, and then grinned at him. “Three… what about you?” “Mary…” He brushed her hair from her face. “What happens now, between us, exists for the moment. It doesn’t exist outside the moment. It’s only for you and me, only for now.” “What if I want it to? This, you, what if I want it longer than a moment? What if I want it all the time?” Her dress between them was river and silm. “I want you all the time, to be surrounded in you...” He scooped her legs up across his lap, listening. “I know it’s selfish,” she whispered. “I know we can’t have everything…” “Can’t we?” His hand rose, and her dress fell back. She was bare against his legs. The shape of her mouth on his, and her shape below, around his touch; a warmer kiss. Mary wriggled, trying to reach his lap, and almost overturned the swing. She was laughing like a girl. “Come here,” she said. “I’m here.” The bottle rolling over the floor, spilling in the dark. The magnolias whispering. They were scrambling over the soft wood, his hand inside her, her mouth around him. And Roamery’s mind climbed to Ada. The girl was crouched on the stairs, watching them through the window. Casting into his mind: “Get out. Please. Get out, go away, stop this.” Impulse to cover her ears, her eyes, but she did neither, unable to look away. “But you enjoy it. I can smell it, Ada, your wanting.” The backs of her thighs itchy with sweat as she crouched, balancing on the balls of her feet. Strangely numb as she watched her mother with him, the strange man. The one Christopher had warned her about. It was him. “Join us,” his voice said. Raspy, warm in her ear. “I know you want to. You’re like a bitch in heat, you can’t help yourself, can you?” Where was Christopher now? Hiding somewhere, silent. He was weak, a coward; that was why he’d killed himself. “Fuck you,” she thought. She came down the stairs. Crashed open the porch door. Ripping silk, feet on the floorboards- Mary bolted off Roamery and leapt over the porch rails, taking off into the trees. Fast when she wanted to be; she’d shot away so quickly she could have been anything. Ada stood there, staring at him. The man, aligning himself, dusting his pants off, he was in no hurry. Smoothing his beard, smiling at her, picking up his tuxedo jacket off the railing..." from Evening's Land Comments are closed.
|
Pauline WestPauline West's first novel, EVENING’S LAND, is winner of the Helene Wurlitzer Foundation Award and recipient of the Carol Marie Smith Memorial Scholarship for the NOEPE Center of Literary Arts. Categories
All
Archives
June 2019
|