The High Cost of Flowers by Cynthia Kraack

Author:Cynthia Kraack [Kraack, Cynthia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 1205201416
Publisher: Calumet Editions
Published: 2014-12-09T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

Katherine sat quietly while Art removed her shoes. He led her around as if she didn’t know the bedroom where she slept for forty years. She used the bathroom; let him tuck her under their covers. The room was cool, the way he liked it. He shook her favorite quilt over the other covers. She picked up a corner and curled on her side with the quilt tucked under her chin.

Listening as hard as she could, she wasn’t able to make out what they were saying in the other room. Art’s voice seemed louder than the others. Her parents would be surprised. They thought he was such a quiet man. A boring man. That’s why she had to leave again.

The quilt near her nose held a faint smell of old perfume, not her mother’s, but something familiar. She rested her free hand on her stomach, on top of the baby that grew inside. Art’s idea, not hers. Sex wasn’t all that thrilling with him, but better than nothing. This would be the price. She could do without children. It would hurt. Her mother had been quite clear that childbirth was an awful, painful punishment for that crazy moment of forgetting God put you on earth to remain true to Him. Women bore the pain for luring Adam away from God’s purity.

Her sister’s voice answered Art. Katherine was confused. Time was confusing, this drifting from the comfort zone in her parents’ home to the place where she and Art lived. She wasn’t aware of time shifting, but hated being caught unaware when called to the present. There was no baby. Her parents were dead. She was alone.

Rolling on her back she stared at the ceiling until the light fixture seemed wavy, perhaps ready to fall on the bed. She closed her eyes so that wouldn’t happen. She’d have dinner, watch television and go to bed. She’d sleep in this bed, alone. Art would have to find his own place to sleep. His smell bothered her, his noises disgusted her.

He’d brought her here to have sex. That realization made her sit up then get out of bed and make her way to the door where she pressed the lock. Then she put on her shoes and crawled back into bed. Art hated these shoes. He’d understand she wasn’t interested in him if he made it through the lock and saw her shoes. Flat, old lady shoes, not the spiky heels she wore when she was beautiful. Old, fat-lady clothes and ugly, short-cut hair should send a message to any man. I’m done with you, with all of you. Then she relaxed, turned to her side, and let sleep happen.

She seldom remembered her dreams. Life and dreaming blended someplace in her life. They said she wandered the halls at night talking to the staff and telling crude jokes, but they lied. When she did remember dreams, they were about her holiday dresses and trying them on for some unseen person. The black velvet fit like a glove.

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