someone, during the night, had pulled all the flowers out of the window boxes in front of the shops. Clumps of earth and broken petals made a ragged trail before her. The wreckage rounded a corner. Constance wished Ben were with her. They could just walk along, they wouldn’t have to say anything. Constance returned to the house and went back to bed. Shehad another dream in which crews of workmen were cutting down all the trees around their home, back on the mainland, in another state.
The weekend that Gloria arrived was extremely foggy. Gloria was from the South. She was unsmiling and honest, a Baptist who had just left her husband for good. She had been in love with Steven since she was thirteen years old.
“My parents are Baptists,” Constance told her.
Fog slid through the screens. A voice from the street said, “Some dinner party, she served bluefish again!”
Gloria had little calling cards that showed Jesus knocking on the door of your heart. Jesus wore white robes and he had a neatly trimmed beard. He was rapping thoughtfully at the heavy wooden doors of a snug little vine-covered bungalow.
“I remember that picture!” Constance said. “When I was little, that picture just seemed to be everywhere.”
“Have one,” Gloria said.
The heart did not appear mean, it simply seemed closed. Constance wondered how long the artist had intended Jesus to have been standing there.
Gloria took Charlotte and Jill out to collect money to save marine mammals. They stood on the street and collected over thirty dollars in a Brim coffee can.
“Our salvation lies in learning to communicate with alien intelligences,” Gloria said.
Constance wrote a check.
“Whales and dolphins are highly articulate,” Gloria told Constance. “They know fidelity, play and sorrow.”
Constance wrote another check, made herself a gin and tonic and went upstairs. That night, from Steven’s room, she heard murmurs and moans in repetitive sequence.
The following day, Gloria asked, “Have you enjoyed sharing a house with Steven?”
“I haven’t seen much of him,” Constance said, “actually, at all.”
“Summer can be a difficult time,” Gloria said.
On the last day of August, Ben rented a bright red Jeep with neither top nor sides. Ben and Constance and Charlotte and Jill bounced around in it all morning, and at noon they drove on the beach to the very tip of the island, where the lighthouse was, to have their lunch. Approaching the lighthouse, Constance was filled with an odd excitement. She wanted to climb to the top. The steel door had been chained shut, but about four feet up from the base was a large hole knocked through the cement, and inside, beer cans, a considerable amount of broken glass and a lacy black wrought-iron staircase winding upward could be seen. Charlotte and Jill did not go in because they hadn’t brought their shoes, but Constance climbed through the hole and went up the staircase. There was a wonderful expectancy to the tight climb upward through the whitewashed gyre. She was a little breathless when she reached the top. Powering the light, in a maze of cables and connectors, were eighteen black, heavy-duty truck batteries. For a moment, Constance’s disappointment concealed her surprise. She saw the Atlantic fanning out without a speck on it, and her little family on the beach below, setting out food on a striped blanket. Constance inched out onto the catwalk encircling the light. “I love you!” she shouted. Ben looked up and waved. She went back inside and began her descent. She did not know, exactly, what it was she had expected, but it had certainly not been eighteen black, heavy-duty truck batteries.
In bed that night, Constance dreamed of people laughing. She opened her eyes. The clock beside her had large bright numbers which changed with an audible
flap
every minute. “Ben,” she whispered.
“Hi.” He was wide awake.
“I dreamed of laughing,” Constance
The weekend that Gloria arrived was extremely foggy. Gloria was from the South. She was unsmiling and honest, a Baptist who had just left her husband for good. She had been in love with Steven since she was thirteen years old.
“My parents are Baptists,” Constance told her.
Fog slid through the screens. A voice from the street said, “Some dinner party, she served bluefish again!”
Gloria had little calling cards that showed Jesus knocking on the door of your heart. Jesus wore white robes and he had a neatly trimmed beard. He was rapping thoughtfully at the heavy wooden doors of a snug little vine-covered bungalow.
“I remember that picture!” Constance said. “When I was little, that picture just seemed to be everywhere.”
“Have one,” Gloria said.
The heart did not appear mean, it simply seemed closed. Constance wondered how long the artist had intended Jesus to have been standing there.
Gloria took Charlotte and Jill out to collect money to save marine mammals. They stood on the street and collected over thirty dollars in a Brim coffee can.
“Our salvation lies in learning to communicate with alien intelligences,” Gloria said.
Constance wrote a check.
“Whales and dolphins are highly articulate,” Gloria told Constance. “They know fidelity, play and sorrow.”
Constance wrote another check, made herself a gin and tonic and went upstairs. That night, from Steven’s room, she heard murmurs and moans in repetitive sequence.
The following day, Gloria asked, “Have you enjoyed sharing a house with Steven?”
“I haven’t seen much of him,” Constance said, “actually, at all.”
“Summer can be a difficult time,” Gloria said.
On the last day of August, Ben rented a bright red Jeep with neither top nor sides. Ben and Constance and Charlotte and Jill bounced around in it all morning, and at noon they drove on the beach to the very tip of the island, where the lighthouse was, to have their lunch. Approaching the lighthouse, Constance was filled with an odd excitement. She wanted to climb to the top. The steel door had been chained shut, but about four feet up from the base was a large hole knocked through the cement, and inside, beer cans, a considerable amount of broken glass and a lacy black wrought-iron staircase winding upward could be seen. Charlotte and Jill did not go in because they hadn’t brought their shoes, but Constance climbed through the hole and went up the staircase. There was a wonderful expectancy to the tight climb upward through the whitewashed gyre. She was a little breathless when she reached the top. Powering the light, in a maze of cables and connectors, were eighteen black, heavy-duty truck batteries. For a moment, Constance’s disappointment concealed her surprise. She saw the Atlantic fanning out without a speck on it, and her little family on the beach below, setting out food on a striped blanket. Constance inched out onto the catwalk encircling the light. “I love you!” she shouted. Ben looked up and waved. She went back inside and began her descent. She did not know, exactly, what it was she had expected, but it had certainly not been eighteen black, heavy-duty truck batteries.
In bed that night, Constance dreamed of people laughing. She opened her eyes. The clock beside her had large bright numbers which changed with an audible
flap
every minute. “Ben,” she whispered.
“Hi.” He was wide awake.
“I dreamed of laughing,” Constance
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