His fingers slid against the wall as walked to the back of
the house. She carried a ten pound fish freshly gutted.
-Are you sure they won’t mind?
She dropped the carp on the counter and cracked the
refrigerator, the cold air rippling across sweat, prickling the hair on her
arms. He looked at the pictures on the wall, none of the smiling faces looked
familiar. He picked up one with a little boy in a baseball uniform posing with
a bat.
-Do we know him?
She finished chopping the garlic and paused only slightly
before slicing a lemon. She closed her eyes like this when he asked too many
questions, like she held all of her words back with her eyelids. He looked all
the small signals on her face, but struggled to read them. When she worked her
face was an empty sky. He wondered if he asked this question before and put the
frame back on the shelf.
-Can I help?
This time she registered so little response he wondered if
she heard him. In her hands the fish transformed into fillets. He almost
repeated his question when she finally spoke, gesturing with the knife towards
the photograph.
-That’s you.
On the stove, a pan sizzled with butter. When the garlic hit
the heat the room filled with a familiar aroma.
