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Feb. 15th, 2011 04:38 pmShe doesn't say a single word as they drive along the dim, winding parish road, staring out the window at the telephone poles as they flash by, her hands in her lap, holding onto her phone and purse with grim determination, and though she can feel Sam looking over at her now and again, he doesn't say anything, either, just pushes the Bronco along with a thrum of the engine that eats up the few miles between the bar and home.
She'd left the lights on, a precaution that, it turns out, would probably not make any difference, and her steps are steady enough as she walks along the crunching gravel of the driveway, but when she shoulders open the screen to unlock the door, the keys shake in her hands and she can't seem to fit the right one in the lock until she can feel Sam come up behind her, following her in by unspoken agreement, and she makes an effort, finally fits the key and turns the lock, opening the door with its familiar creak.
Inside the entranceway, she finds herself at a loss, one hand still clutching her phone, the other holding the keys, and she turns to Sam with wide eyes, trying to rally herself. "Do you want some iced tea or lemonade or somethin'?" she asks, falling back on the most basic manners, trying and failing to keep the green-eyed girl from dying over and over again in her head. Her voice comes out stilted, and she turns towards the kitchen, uncertain.
"Or I've got some beers in the fridge...would you go ahead and just lock that for me? I should really, really go change..."
She's rambling and she can't seem to stop herself, walking towards the kitchen as if in a dream, feeling like a wheeling kite with its string cut and a gust of wind shunting it irrevocably out to sea.
She'd left the lights on, a precaution that, it turns out, would probably not make any difference, and her steps are steady enough as she walks along the crunching gravel of the driveway, but when she shoulders open the screen to unlock the door, the keys shake in her hands and she can't seem to fit the right one in the lock until she can feel Sam come up behind her, following her in by unspoken agreement, and she makes an effort, finally fits the key and turns the lock, opening the door with its familiar creak.
Inside the entranceway, she finds herself at a loss, one hand still clutching her phone, the other holding the keys, and she turns to Sam with wide eyes, trying to rally herself. "Do you want some iced tea or lemonade or somethin'?" she asks, falling back on the most basic manners, trying and failing to keep the green-eyed girl from dying over and over again in her head. Her voice comes out stilted, and she turns towards the kitchen, uncertain.
"Or I've got some beers in the fridge...would you go ahead and just lock that for me? I should really, really go change..."
She's rambling and she can't seem to stop herself, walking towards the kitchen as if in a dream, feeling like a wheeling kite with its string cut and a gust of wind shunting it irrevocably out to sea.
