Sea Glass_ A Novel - Anita Shreve [101]
“Only I don’t know how.”
“On the sunny side of the street.”
“You could tell me how pretty I am again,” she says.
“Say, Honora, you look very pretty tonight.”
She waves him away. “I should probably get something to eat,” she says. The lights are low, and it is hard to see across the room. McDermott shifts his chair so that their elbows are suddenly touching, but Honora cannot bring herself to pull away. She glances over at the front of McDermott’s shirt, unbuttoned at the collar. His sleeves are rolled as well, and she notes, as she has done often in the last several weeks, the fine dark hairs on the back of his wrists. There are sweat stains under his arms. The temperature has risen inside the roadhouse, and even the open windows and door aren’t helping much. McDermott takes a sip of his drink. “What happened to you today?” he asks.
“I had a nap,” she says. “Overslept.”
“Your husband said you weren’t feeling well.”
“He said that?” she asks, surprised.
“Can this be love?”
“You believe that stuff?” he asks.
“What stuff?”
“What Sadie was saying. About free love and all.”
“I missed the beginning of the conversation,” she says. “So I’m not sure.” She pauses. “But probably I don’t believe in it, no.” She watches him finger the condensation on his glass. “Shouldn’t we have these in paper bags?” she asks.
“What? These innocent little glasses of tonic?”
“What if the police come?”
“They’re here already,” McDermott says, gesturing with his thumb. “See that bald guy over there?”
Honora looks in the direction McDermott is pointing, her eyes resting on a shiny pate.
“Chief of police,” McDermott says.
Cigarette smoke curls upward in the beams of dim electric light. A blue haze hangs only a foot or two above their heads. “I really need something to eat,” Honora says, standing.
The sea air hits her face as soon as she steps outside. She removes her pumps, which pinch in the heat. She inhales as deeply as she can, hoping to clear her head with a couple of good breaths. From a jalousie back window, she can smell meat cooking. She thinks briefly of knocking on that window and asking someone to hand food out to her. Anything, she would tell them. She takes a few steps forward, hoping she is not staggering, as are some who are moving toward their cars. But because the parking lot is gravel underfoot, she turns and drifts toward the back of the building, enjoying the cool blades of grass on the soles of her feet. She moves into the darkness, away from the light, putting her hands out so she won’t walk into a tree. She thinks perhaps she should sit down, or better yet, lie down, and when she has gone far enough, she does so, feeling the dew all along her back. Fireflies dart and tease with their light. She tries to follow them, but they are tricky insects and never where she thinks they’ll be. She closes her eyes, and her head begins to spin. Above her, the leaves of a tree are making a sound oddly like water.
She smells cigarette smoke and soap. She opens her eyes.
McDermott
“You’re following me,” she says.
McDermott lowers himself to the grass beside her.
“I’m drunk,” she says.
“I noticed.”
“Not used to holding my liquor.”
“You didn’t eat.”
“No excuse.”
Beyond the seawall, he can hear the surf. There is a commotion in the parking lot.
“Is Alphonse all right?” she asks.
“Sadie has taken him under her wing.”
“I guess he’ll learn a thing or two tonight.”
“He’s incorruptible.”
In the distance a woman says, I saw the way you looked at her.
A mist crawls in from the water. He can hear the music from the open door. The lantern at the entrance to the roadhouse is furry with light. He smoothes Honora’s hair off her forehead and worries that his fingers, with their calluses, will be too rough.
“Honora,” he says. He brings her face around so that he can see it. “I have to see your mouth, remember?”
With a slowness that would give her time to turn away if she wanted to, he leans over her and kisses her mouth. Her mouth is open, as if surprised anyway. He kisses her again. She