it back upright to find out what it was. Malcolm pried the cardboard insert out. Beneath he found a cache of cards. What cards? Why here? Had they been condemned or just overused?
Malcolm gathered them all up and started reading. He was near the end when Dinah opened the door.
“Were you the one who tucked these out of sight?” He held the cards up, looking to resolve the mystery.
Dinah didn’t answer him. Her cheeks were red. Her hair was wild. She was absolutely beautiful and visibly upset. He straightened, staring once more at the door—the outside world that had offended her.
She went straight to the stove and picked the kettle up. “Fuck.” She slammed it down again. “Why do I forget to fill this thing?” She grabbed a dish towel, lifted up the lid, and poured water inside before setting it back on the stove. “It’s cold out there.” True perhaps, but by no means did that explain her agitation. “Do you want tea?”
Malcolm nodded. Set the cards aside.
He watched her, desperate to be busy, that was clear. When had he seen her sit, except when eating? Had he ever? She opened up the fridge and started pulling out containers. Her movements were brisk, economical, precise. Perversely he imagined trying to stop her. If he put himself in the way of this frantic activity, what would she do? Stab him, or go mad?
For the moment, it was safer to observe.
She pulled some leafy greens into a bowl, adding this and that until she seemed to have the mixture just the way she wanted it, at which point Dinah set a plate at the two settings and began slicing up bread. She’d put a pot onto the stove, and now she lifted off the lid and gave the hidden contents a quick stir. The fragrance from the heated dish was pleasantly hearty. He thought of the lasagna waiting for the man who’d died. It would have been a good life while it lasted.
“You’ll eat with me, won’t you?” He nodded his assent. Dinah ladled soup into two bowls and set the salad on the table. She sat. “I’m starved,” she said and blew into her spoon, pausing only to dish up some salad, digging into that as well. After a few minutes she breathed a sigh and seemed to come back to herself. Her agitated gaze landed on Malcolm, and her brow wrinkled with consternation. He’d been too busy watching her to make much progress with his plate. At last, she took note of the cards beside him.
“Are you cheating again?”
“I found these tucked away inside the bottom of the box.”
Dinah wiped her hands and looked at them. She seemed perplexed for just a minute, and then her thoughts cleared, and she tucked the cards back precisely where he’d found them. “No anal,” she explained. “I took all the ‘pirate claims your booty’ out, along with anything remotely butt related, so Cy knew better than to get ideas.”
Malcolm took the time to chew his salad, swallowing carefully. “No anal,” he repeated.
“That’s what I said.”
He laughed a little. Then he laughed a lot.
“Ha-ha,” she echoed placidly. “Do your best to make it sound amazing if you want. I’m not about to fall for it.”
“Give me your hand a second.” He put his spoon down, turning toward her. She held her hand out with no hesitation. While Malcolm spoke, he brushed her middle fingertip slowly back and forth. “If we had anal intercourse,” he told her in his softest voice, “the inner layer of your body, the deeply buried core of you, would feel burning hot, like heated clay aching to be molded. The outer layer of your body would begin to move like water. And when you came, you’d feel it here.” He slid her fingertip into his mouth and bit. “For days.”
He’d gotten her attention. There was blood in her cheeks again. He even saw a rise of steam, but it was just the whistling kettle. She rose to turn the heat off and sat down again.
In that small interval, he’d lost her. Lost it all. She wasn’t thinking about sex of any kind. Troubles had their
Malcolm gathered them all up and started reading. He was near the end when Dinah opened the door.
“Were you the one who tucked these out of sight?” He held the cards up, looking to resolve the mystery.
Dinah didn’t answer him. Her cheeks were red. Her hair was wild. She was absolutely beautiful and visibly upset. He straightened, staring once more at the door—the outside world that had offended her.
She went straight to the stove and picked the kettle up. “Fuck.” She slammed it down again. “Why do I forget to fill this thing?” She grabbed a dish towel, lifted up the lid, and poured water inside before setting it back on the stove. “It’s cold out there.” True perhaps, but by no means did that explain her agitation. “Do you want tea?”
Malcolm nodded. Set the cards aside.
He watched her, desperate to be busy, that was clear. When had he seen her sit, except when eating? Had he ever? She opened up the fridge and started pulling out containers. Her movements were brisk, economical, precise. Perversely he imagined trying to stop her. If he put himself in the way of this frantic activity, what would she do? Stab him, or go mad?
For the moment, it was safer to observe.
She pulled some leafy greens into a bowl, adding this and that until she seemed to have the mixture just the way she wanted it, at which point Dinah set a plate at the two settings and began slicing up bread. She’d put a pot onto the stove, and now she lifted off the lid and gave the hidden contents a quick stir. The fragrance from the heated dish was pleasantly hearty. He thought of the lasagna waiting for the man who’d died. It would have been a good life while it lasted.
“You’ll eat with me, won’t you?” He nodded his assent. Dinah ladled soup into two bowls and set the salad on the table. She sat. “I’m starved,” she said and blew into her spoon, pausing only to dish up some salad, digging into that as well. After a few minutes she breathed a sigh and seemed to come back to herself. Her agitated gaze landed on Malcolm, and her brow wrinkled with consternation. He’d been too busy watching her to make much progress with his plate. At last, she took note of the cards beside him.
“Are you cheating again?”
“I found these tucked away inside the bottom of the box.”
Dinah wiped her hands and looked at them. She seemed perplexed for just a minute, and then her thoughts cleared, and she tucked the cards back precisely where he’d found them. “No anal,” she explained. “I took all the ‘pirate claims your booty’ out, along with anything remotely butt related, so Cy knew better than to get ideas.”
Malcolm took the time to chew his salad, swallowing carefully. “No anal,” he repeated.
“That’s what I said.”
He laughed a little. Then he laughed a lot.
“Ha-ha,” she echoed placidly. “Do your best to make it sound amazing if you want. I’m not about to fall for it.”
“Give me your hand a second.” He put his spoon down, turning toward her. She held her hand out with no hesitation. While Malcolm spoke, he brushed her middle fingertip slowly back and forth. “If we had anal intercourse,” he told her in his softest voice, “the inner layer of your body, the deeply buried core of you, would feel burning hot, like heated clay aching to be molded. The outer layer of your body would begin to move like water. And when you came, you’d feel it here.” He slid her fingertip into his mouth and bit. “For days.”
He’d gotten her attention. There was blood in her cheeks again. He even saw a rise of steam, but it was just the whistling kettle. She rose to turn the heat off and sat down again.
In that small interval, he’d lost her. Lost it all. She wasn’t thinking about sex of any kind. Troubles had their
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