Like Loaded GunslowriseflareJanuary 13 2011, 17:06:53 UTC
She listens to his messages one after another, standing in the parking garage with Peter and Eli Gold. Her grip tightens over the car door. There's an oil slick on the concrete.
"Alicia," Peter is saying, in a voice like maybe this isn't the first time he's called her name. "Alicia."
Alicia stares for a moment as if she's never seen him before, a sound like waves and roaring in her head. "What? I mean," and here she slips her phone back into her purse (tampering with evidence; her heart pounds), "Yes?"
Dark eyebrows arc up, curious. "What do you think?"
"What do I...?" Alicia laughs once, slightly hysterical. "Oh, Peter, I have no idea."
*
It occurs to her, halfway to the apartment, that I've loved you since Georgetown isn't actually a plan.
Still: Alicia's hands shake.
*
At home there is dinner to prepare and homework to look at (Peter is better at geometry and for that, at the very least, she is grateful), her fingers pruney with dishwater and the house settling down. Cross-legged like an island in the middle of the bed she listens one more time, silent--a hand inside her nightshirt, heart thudding at her palm.
Alicia dials six numbers, hedges, hangs up.
*
She wanders around the apartment for a while, looks in on her kids curled in bed. Alicia thinks. She pauses for a moment outside of the guest room, imagines knocking, walks away (her whole life a holding pattern, some variation on wait and see). She pours a glass of wine and doesn't drink it. Finally she picks up the phone.
"Hi," she begins, when he answers. Out the window, the skyline blinks blue.
"Alicia," Peter is saying, in a voice like maybe this isn't the first time he's called her name. "Alicia."
Alicia stares for a moment as if she's never seen him before, a sound like waves and roaring in her head. "What? I mean," and here she slips her phone back into her purse (tampering with evidence; her heart pounds), "Yes?"
Dark eyebrows arc up, curious. "What do you think?"
"What do I...?" Alicia laughs once, slightly hysterical. "Oh, Peter, I have no idea."
*
It occurs to her, halfway to the apartment, that I've loved you since Georgetown isn't actually a plan.
Still: Alicia's hands shake.
*
At home there is dinner to prepare and homework to look at (Peter is better at geometry and for that, at the very least, she is grateful), her fingers pruney with dishwater and the house settling down. Cross-legged like an island in the middle of the bed she listens one more time, silent--a hand inside her nightshirt, heart thudding at her palm.
Alicia dials six numbers, hedges, hangs up.
*
She wanders around the apartment for a while, looks in on her kids curled in bed. Alicia thinks. She pauses for a moment outside of the guest room, imagines knocking, walks away (her whole life a holding pattern, some variation on wait and see). She pours a glass of wine and doesn't drink it. Finally she picks up the phone.
"Hi," she begins, when he answers. Out the window, the skyline blinks blue.
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment