The Heaven of Animals: Stories
“A curve of jaw, the weekend beard, shows through the window tint. He has on flannel, a checkerboard of red and blue.She stands and turns. The stump she’d been seated on is smooth, rings blurred by a century of sittings. The sides sag, soft and damp. A spine of yellow mushrooms climbs the trunk like Frisbees someone’s hammered into wood. There’s grit under her nails from where, the last hour, she’s worried the bark.She knows Arnie’s behind her before she feels his hands on her waist, before she ...bends into the abbreviated hug. It’s enough, for now, and they separate.“Maddy’s soccer game,” he says. “Sorry.”“It’s all right,” she says.She’s learned to wait, sometimes for hours. It used to upset her, but it doesn’t upset her anymore. He always shows up. The waiting, that’s just part of it.He’s married, and she’s waiting for him not to be. He’ll never not be. She knows this and she doesn’t. She knows it and at the same time thinks: Someday.In a heartbeat.MoreLess
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