“They’re having fun.”
“Do they have any friends here?”
“Yes,” I lie and set down the brush.
“That’s good.”
I look at my face in the mirror and don’t feel like myself. “We’ll be back in a month and a half anyway,” I say. “We’ll see you then.”
His hand remains suspended on the silver cord of the fan. Then he yanks it. “That’s right.” He nods. “That’s right.” He flicks off the light.
“And it is a long drive.”
He lifts the sheet and slides into bed. “Very long,” he agrees. I lie on the other side of the bed. He reaches across the space and lays a hand on my breast. “I’m sorry,” he says and kisses me with some guilt, or sadness. He moves closer and kisses me again. I am annoyed with him, with his hand on me. He must sense this because he hesitates then moves away.
He leaves after lunch
