Page 34 of Rainshadow

“Thank you,” he said. “We probably shouldn’t do that again… but thank you.”

She smiled at him. “I think we both needed it.”

He got up and tugged on his pants, then his shirt, wearing it open as he walked to the door. “Get some sleep, Flora. We’ll see each other again soon.”

She smiled at him, then snuggled into the bed, her face against the feather pillow. She smiled, closing her eyes as he shut the door.

In the morning the house was tomb quiet, and Flora woke alone, swished mouthwash, and dressed in her clothes from the day before. She made coffee in the kitchen with stale grounds, couldn’t find any cream, and sat at the dining room table drinking it, black and bitter, hoping that Ethan might appear. She imagined the coy way she would smile at him, imagined the hushed tones they would speak in, whispering innocuous good-mornings and shy how-did-you-sleeps. Ethan didn’t get up though, and by the time her unappetizing coffee was cold, she knew there was nothing left to do but get to work.

The air was thick with fog, so dense it seemed to muffle the sound of her footsteps as she stalked out to the barn, her coat pulled tight around her. She went through her morning chores with a feeling she couldn’t quite explain. There was a tenderness to everything, to Rainshadow, that she hadn’t felt in a very long time, a feeling of belonging she’d longed for. She fed the horses, rubbed their velvet muzzles, watered them, and after they’d eaten, she let them out into the paddock to graze, both of them bolting out into the mists, ghostly in the grassy field.

When she saw a familiar yellow car trundling up the long driveway, Flora felt her blood cool.

What could Blythe possibly want? She had wanted to savor the day, the simmering, warm feeling Ethan left her with.

She stood still-as-stone watching as Blythe got out of the car and looked up. When she saw Flora, she put her hand to her heart and visibly relaxed.

“Flora,” she said. “Thank god you’re here. I thought for sure?—”

“For sure what?” Flora asked. She felt her heart thump once, hard.

“Have you been here all night?”

“Yes,” she said, and her heart thumped again.

“Flora, there was a fire. Your house burned down. Your mother is dead.”

Flora stood, staring at Blythe. The words were like a puzzle she couldn’t put together, all different shapes that didn’t make sense no matter how she tried to make them fit. Mother. Fire. House. Dead.

“What?” she asked, incredulous. “Blythe, what are you talking about?”

“Come on,” Blythe said, getting back in her car. “I think you need to come with me.”

The rest of the morning was a blur of smoke and ashes, fire trucks and police stations. Flora answered questions honestly, with a flat affect, still numbed by a feeling of swimming, gauzy unreality. She drank the coffee they handed her. She nodded or shook her head. She said “Thank you” when people said they were sorry. She identified her mother, who looked like a charred, gray, waxy mannequin.

“That’s her,” Flora said, but it wasn’t. Her mother was a living woman, and this was just a thing, no life in it at all, no memory of life, nothing.

“Do you have any family you can call?” a county cop said, a man with dark, short-clipped hair whose mouth was a straight line.

“No,” Flora said, “but I’ll be fine.”

“You have a place to stay?”

“Yes, I think so.”

Outside, in the parking lot of the county building, Blythe took her hand. “Come stay with me,” she said. “Don’t go back out there.”

“I belong at Rainshadow,” Flora said, pulling her hand away. “If you won’t drive me, I’ll walk.”

Blythe nodded, her face drawn. “I’ll drive you, Flora.”

At Rainshadow, Flora saw Sylvia before she even got out of the car. She had caught Zeta and was leading her from the grazing paddock to the arena. She stood, watching, as Flora emerged from the car.

“I won’t get out,” Blythe said, her voice hushed, as she met Sylvia’s eyes, the two women gazing at one another.

“That’s fine,” Flora said, and zipped up her jacket before tugging herself out of the low-slung car seat into the brisk, still-foggy air.

“Hi,” Flora said, walking up to Sylvia, her hands shoved in her pockets.

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