Taking Care
Lewis Horne
—came to mind during love, carried perhaps by the breeze that feathered his ankle. Came close to the edge of awareness, centered on the peak he had achieved, and hovered as he sank to stillness. To tenderness he registered with a wistful kiss and then closed eyes as warm hands settled on his back. The breeze entered as though fanned by the branches of the tall spruce outside the second-floor bedroom window, cooling damp skin, and out of the past came the lovely odor. The voice.
"Don't that smell good!"
The sound came to his mind, drowsy and unfocused, of a car motor. Legs lifted from his. A jeep. The air came through the open doors of the vehicle, the rear flap billowing where Anson had failed to fasten it as tightly as he should. The headlights opened up the darkness. The hands moved from his back, and in the darkness, as he lifted himself, he smiled and kissed his wife once more, Lynette's lips touching his cheek. He settled near the edge of the bed, uncovered, the breeze drying chest and belly. "Don't that smell good!"
