David stood by the window, watching the rain run down the glass in long, crooked lines. He had not taken off his coat since dinner.
“The house is very quiet tonight,” I said.
“It is too quiet,” he said, turning around to face me in the shadows. “The walls in this place feel like they are closing in on me.”
He adjusted his silver wristwatch again, the metal band clicking against his cuff in the silence.
“I just need a few hours of quiet, Claire, because this is too much for me,” he said.
I watched him walk toward the bedroom door, his steps light and hurried.
“Are you coming back tonight?” I asked.
He did not answer.
The draft from the hallway reached my face a second later, cold and smelling of the wet night outside.
In the driveway, the low rumble of the car engine started, vibrating through the old floorboards of the bedroom.
I lay perfectly still in the center of the mattress, my fingers clutching my left collarbone.
