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Becalmed / for Jack
July 28th, 2020
It's late, but not so late Anne's begun to worry. She keeps her own odd hours, and when she knows Jack's gone to visit Eliot, she expects a bit of unpredictability. Jack coming home late, or in some particular mood. Perhaps not coming home at all. An outcome she can imagine, wouldn't even mind, and still has room to doubt. She knows Jack, but she still doesn't know how well he can see himself, if he understands the reasons he does things or the motions of it all. She wishes she were better at laying it out herself. Between the two of them, she thinks, they might make a whole person: someone who watches and can explain what they see.
She's settled on the floor when he finally does arrive home, her back propped against the couch, patiently sharpening one of her blades in the light of a single lamp. She looks up, some of her hair falling across her eyes, and gives him a studious glance. There's some agitation about him, but she can't tell what kind yet. Not that she needs to suss it out herself. He'll tell her.
"Evening," she says, setting her work aside and hoisting herself up onto the couch. She pats the cushion beside her in wry invitation. "Had a nice time?"
It's late, but not so late Anne's begun to worry. She keeps her own odd hours, and when she knows Jack's gone to visit Eliot, she expects a bit of unpredictability. Jack coming home late, or in some particular mood. Perhaps not coming home at all. An outcome she can imagine, wouldn't even mind, and still has room to doubt. She knows Jack, but she still doesn't know how well he can see himself, if he understands the reasons he does things or the motions of it all. She wishes she were better at laying it out herself. Between the two of them, she thinks, they might make a whole person: someone who watches and can explain what they see.
She's settled on the floor when he finally does arrive home, her back propped against the couch, patiently sharpening one of her blades in the light of a single lamp. She looks up, some of her hair falling across her eyes, and gives him a studious glance. There's some agitation about him, but she can't tell what kind yet. Not that she needs to suss it out herself. He'll tell her.
"Evening," she says, setting her work aside and hoisting herself up onto the couch. She pats the cushion beside her in wry invitation. "Had a nice time?"
no subject
His suggestion about tomorrow catches her by surprise, and she looks up at him as he sheds his coat and rolls his shoulder. "All right," she says, no sense arguing, even if she doesn't think it'll amount to anything more than any previous exploration did. It'll just be nice to get on the water again. Maybe that's all it has to be.
It ain't, of course. Timing's off. That this idea would come to him now, that he'd set it in motion after the last pair of days he's had, that he'd voice it to her now. She knows him well enough. But there's nothing to be said, not now, at least.
"Tomorrow, then," she says.