Still Life by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Still Life
Page 9
“Whoa, whoa. All right all right,, but let me just make sure I get everything I need.”
“This is going to be Europe. Everything is there already.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen the London pictures.”
“No, we’re going to the Netherlands. I bought the tickets.”
“Can I bring my glock just in case?”
“Silly boy. ........ Come on, come on. Check in takes forever nowadays.”
Finn sits up and blinks, the dream still clinging to him like cobwebs, brushing pine needles from his shirt. She tosses a duffel onto the couch beside him. It lands with a soft thud, stirring a few pine needles from his boots. The grandfather clock ticks on, unimpressed.
Outside, the wind picks up, rustling the wild roses and sending a flurry of dandelion seeds into the air. The house, for a moment, seems to hold its breath.
Susie stands in the doorway, coat already buttoned, her boots damp from the morning dew. She doesn’t knock, doesn’t clear her throat. She simply waits, the way a decision waits to be acknowledged.