“Knew this was a mistake,” Alison said. Alec had remained outside, wanting to breathe air that tasted cleaner than the hallway’s bloated heat. He’d paused to survey along the fence. A line of roses lay tilted, almost ripped out by currents. Clumps of roots trailed next to them like braided hair.
“What do you mean?”
“That we came here.”
Alec straightened, watching her. Quarter moons of sweat circled under breasts. Her breathing seemed changed, shallower maybe. She looked past him. Yet again she could be gazing at the muddied sides of houses, cars wedged together and the shimmering puddles of water he’d seen churning with mosquito wrigglers.
“This was the change you said you wanted?” she said. “Somewhere warmer? Where you stopped to talk to people rather than wishing they’d get out of your way? Look where it got us.”
Alec asked her to remember why they came here. That after all those years living in a rowdy suburb, they’d decided to find somewhere quiet. With more shades of green than they thought possible.
“They say we take seven and a half million breaths a year,” Alison said. “I’m regretting every one of them.”
She threw out her clothes. Carried them sodden and dripping, dropping them at the gate. Alec could tell from the lurching in her shoulders she sobbed. He looked away, mechanically sweeping on, piling up leaves and garbage. He would’ve hugged her. Even knew what that would feel like. Her angles, the way hips cut into him, ribs pressing like knives needing sharpening. Once she’d been soft in his arms, hardening years later. Now, nothing. So much unspoken.
