100 Proof

Inside, trails of sand showed where everyone had been. A ghost of a footprint here, a smudge of salty mud at hand-level there. If she could have cradled the house in her hand like a shell and held it to her ear, she knew she could hear their voices again.

Outside, seagulls hollered like old women as they wheeled above the sea. She stepped back into the bright summer light from the dusk of the foyer and shut the door behind her, still unable to sweep away the signs that they had, once, been hers.

The phone was holding her book open when it rang. She was reading an 18^th century British novel, the kind he refused to read, so it seemed odd to see his name pop up on the Caller ID. She sat there, watching his name, not sure whether or not to answer. It had been so long since they’d last spoken. It had been so long since he’d turned that page.

The breeze shifted, and the world smelled of salt and seaweed and carnival. In the sunlight, they passed a handful of sand back and forth. Small grains slipped between their fingers.

“I never knew it could be like this,” she said, and he could not find the words to piece together the sheer thrill of a bathing suit strap, her palm against his, the sea green of her eyes when she smiled.

Heavy-mooded, he was as stompy and slow as a New Orleans funeral march.

Sazerac? she asked, because she didn’t know any other solution to the problem.

He nodded, and she muddled an extra sugar cube in with the rye, hoping to impart a little extra sweetness.

That evening, she performed her routine at normal speed, though no one would have begrudged her anything slower.

It had only been six days since she last saw him wave to her. That moment was just after he backed the car out of the driveway. She had just packed him a lunch: a turkey sandwich, an apple, some Oreos.

It had only been six days since he emailed from work to say he would not be coming home again. Life moves so quickly, he said in the message. Thank you for everything, and goodbye.

She’d managed to stay with him longer than anyone expected. Sticky-footed as a fly, she held on, no matter what direction he turned, no matter how abruptly he went the other way.

She didn’t expect anyone else to get it, really. There were so few people, she’d found, who inspired her to want to burrow deep under the surface of their skin.

Warm me up, she said. I didn’t ask for air conditioning in this car.

He took a solid drag off his cigarette, let the smoke loose in the air. He shook his head. I know what I want when I see it, he said.

She laughed, because that’s how she’d been trained. But it was icy laughter, the kind so brittle it breaks if you give it any kind of opportunity.