From "Artifacts"

    She was waiting for him to come back, content in the knowledge that he would not. She was waiting because it gave her an excuse to not do anything else, and so that, later, she could say that she'd waited. Watching headlights come over the hill, she wondered how much longer she had to wait, until she achieved plausible deniability. Until she could say "I waited half the night, but he never came back," and everyone would nod and frown and not ask questions. She was waiting because it would seem too strange not to, later, explaining it. Idly, she wondered where he was. It was his business, of course, but she couldn’t help but wonder. Some time after the traffic died off and even the drunken shouting of neighbors waned, she turned off all the lights and bolted the door from the inside.
    In the morning, she had all the locks changed. The new keys fitted easily on her old key ring, caught a little in the locks, wearing smooth. They settled in her pocket, faintly jingling as she walked to the corner, and she wondered if he would keep his old set. The thought passed quietly from her mind as she ordered coffee-- large drip, room for cream-- and she focused on other things. Juggling wallet, coffee, and carafe in familiar intricacy, Rivkah concentrated on her hands, watching the fingers in their appointed tasks, careful not to let them rest too long on hot or cold, still persistently aware of simple mechanics.
    The nursery was first, because waiting for the weather to break didn't mean letting the plants die. She was halfway through her coffee when she reached the cheerful striped awning and windowboxes that quietly graced Greens and Gardens, est. 1973. She shouldered the door open and squeezed through, bell jangling confusedly as the door hung up on some unexpected obstacle. The girl rearranging the succulents straightened up and smiled as she cleared the door, making to pull the pallet of potting soil out of her way.
    "Hey, Rivkah. We're just starting the fall annuals if you're looking to add anything, but the greenhouse is sort of a mess today. Need something particular?" Amy wiped both hands off on her green apron and maneuvered the pallet the rest of the way out of the traffic flow.
    "Yeah, actually. I bought a few of those water meters last week and decided I liked them, so I'm going to need about four more and a packet of fertilizer stakes. Oh, and probably a can of borax."
    "Worried about aphids?" She switched the lights on over the shelf of assorted cacti and pulled her gloves off, stuffing them in an apron pocket.
    "Mostly I just want to keep ants from moving in when I rotate the plants."
    "That'll work, then. It's actually just past feed and fert, on your right. I'll be up at the front when you're done."
    "Thanks, Amy." Rivkah set off in the indicated direction, picking up what she needed and checking out in good order. The plastic bag Amy handed her went into the messenger bag over her shoulder, and she turned to the rest of the day's errands.

    She found the book when she got back, sitting unremarkably on the counter. Before she touched it or read the title she knew he'd left it there for her. She may have seen him with it, once or twice, sitting on her couch or leafing through it in her back garden, or her brain could have been helpfully manufacturing memories of things which had not happened. Either way, she knew that it had been his, and that it was now hers.
    Otherwise, the house was empty. She cleaned up after the locksmith first, the smudges on the doorjamb and chips in the paint bothering her more than she'd expected, and then tended to the houseplants, keeping her back to the book in the kitchen. Her left hand twitched, the dead part knocking her pruning shears off the windowsill without reporting back, and she watched until the distant fingers stopped trembling and she could continue.

Posted at Friday, November 27, 2009 03:58 PM
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