Homing by Stephanie Domet Page B

as she swirled clean water into the sink, washing the cleanser down the drain, the basin was noticeably brighter. Leah saw what she’d done and decided it was good. She leaned back against the stove and felt calm.
    She wished she had a cigarette. Smoking used to punctuate her days, signalling an end to every task, the beginning of another. But she’d had to give up when Nathan got sick. It seemed too willfully stupid to keep smoking when he had cancer, even though the kind he had had nothing to do with smoking. Nothing to do with anything,as far as they’d been able to work out. It was just cruel and unusual punishment for — for what? For nothing. What had Nathan ever done to anybody? Sure, he was a pain in the ass older brother, but what older brother wasn’t? And she was sure he’d crossed a few people in his time, but come on. In terms of big sins? There just weren’t any; that she knew of. She’d seen him fight with Rebecca, but what could you expect? They were both totally stubborn. Of course they fought. Didn’t mean they didn’t love each other, weren’t perfect for each other. The whole thing just beggared belief, but if she started down that road, Leah thought, she’d never get off it. She’d never, ever again get to sleep. Better simply to lose herself in whatever she could. In this case, on this night, that’d be scotch and housework. She moved to the hoosier, took down the bottle of scotch and a clean glass. Poured the drink, not worrying this time about adding ice. She took the first warming sip, then pulled a tea towel from the drawer, put the drink aside, and began to wipe the dishes dry, one at a time.
    * * *
    Henry leaned over the bar and shouted, “Two tequila and orange juice” to the bartender, but he might as well have been whispering. She looked at him and shrugged, her beautiful naked shoulders rising and falling like a wave he could drown in. He wanted to put his lips right against her ear, talk right into her, and given the chance, he wouldn’t waste his breath ordering drinks, oh no. But there was no way he’d be making time with this girl. She was way too beautiful, and besides, she was already irritated with him. He gave up on the mixed drinks, held up two fingers and yelled, “Two Keith’s.” She understood that one alright, turned away from him in a flounce of hair and breast and perfume — he swore he could smell it rising above the sweaty, smoky crowd — and bent to the beer fridge. He admired her perfect ass in its perfect low-rise jeans, each cheek lovingly outlined by the clinging denim. He felt the blood pounding in his head and in his pants and forced himself to imagine the machinations that would be involved in getting a girl like that to go home with him. Hell, in getting a girl like that to talk to him beyond telling him how much he owed for the two beers. That straightened him out pretty fast. It was an impossible situation, and he was already in one of those. No need to furthercomplicate his deal. By the time she whirled around again, two cold and sweating bottles in her hand, he was over her. Or, more properly, he was over the moment of weakness that had let him think he would ever be in a position, ever be a lucky enough bastard that he would get the chance to get over someone like her. Hell, he couldn’t even get over Tina, and it had already been almost a month since she’d kicked his sorry ass to the curb.
    God, Tina. He grabbed the beers from the beautiful barkeep and took a long swallow out of one of them. She snickered in disgust. “Eight bucks,” she yelled over the throbbing dance music. “It’s eight bucks.” He remembered himself, and grabbed for his wallet, his upper lip wet with perspiration and beer. He pulled out a five and a handful of loonies and pushed them toward her. Then he grabbed the beers again, treated himself to another long swallow, and