From the story Angelfish
As we take a curve past a boarded up farmhouse and a stand of Russian Olive trees, Marjorie stretches her arms out. In my experience with her, this movement and the exclamatory yawn can be like the sound of a bolt-action carbine being loaded.
“How long have you been seeing Gina?” she asks.
“About four months,” I say.
“Is she good in bed?” she asks.
Here, I reflect on my options, to decide whether to be discrete, or salacious, or whether it even matters. I give it a few seconds.
“Remember that thunderstorm last Thursday?” I ask.
“Right,” she affirms.
“She slept through it,” I say. “Didn’t even roll over.”
I look over at her as she offers me a lame smile.
“So, yeah,” I continue, “she’s terrific in bed.”
“Whatever happened to Melanie?” she asks, as we now speed past Angus cattle who look plump and relaxed, as though they’ve never been audited.
I wait for the odometer to register another tenth of a mile.
“Syphilis,” I say.
The tires hum across the grated deck of a small bridge.
“Liar,” she says.
Next story segment, Tenuous