April 29, 2008
solitary bees, 40
He stands quietly on the stairs for a moment, holding the glass in his hand. Once the noises have stopped, he makes his way up again and stands in the doorway to the room where she lies, eyes closed, half under the covers.
I brought your water.
She opens her eyes and turns her head toward him.
Thanks.
She sits up. She takes the glass in her hands and drinks from it.
Who was at the door?
A man who used to live out here. He wants to buy the house.
You going to sell it to him?
She wipes her mouth with her wrist and sets the glass on the night table.
I’m not sure. I haven’t really thought about it I guess.
He takes the card out of his pocket and hands it to her.
She looks at it and sets it on the table; her hands folded above the blanket on her lap.
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