It’s her husband, coming down for his coffee. Baia shrugs her shoulders, rolls them up and back, tries to stretch away the stiffness locked there. She should shower, get ready for the day. She should check on her father again. The kitchen door wheezes open behind her. “What’s shaking, hot stuff?” Eddie says, his slippers slapping against the tiles as he walks to the coffee machine. His bright voice irritates her. Baia wonders if he even notices the pulsing emptiness of the house, if he gets a creeping feeling when he passes the rooms where their children used to sleep, the room with her father inside. Baia feels the empty rooms at the top of the stairs like open, bloodless wounds. Eddie never seems to notice. She pulls her robe tighter across her chest. Eddie saunters over and slides his mug noisily across the tabletop. Baia feels a sharp pulse in her temple as he settles into the chair across from her. She looks back at the waves. “That good of a morning, huh?” he asks and she looks at him. His hair, sandy when she fell in love with him, stands in silver shocks at the back of his head. On some other day she would have grinned and leaned across the table to kiss the taste of coffee from his lips. She wonders if her father’s nurse will be on time today. “I think I’m going to ask the nurse to give Dad a sponge bath today.” she says, looking past Eddie’s shoulder. “He’d like that.” He smirks and she knows he’s making a joke, like her father is some pervert wagging his eyebrows at pretty nurses, pinching their rears as they pass by. Baia clenches her jaw. “Or maybe you should do it. He might feel embarrassed with
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the nurse.” Baia laces her fingers together and squeezes until the flesh around her knuckles turns pale. Eddie nods slowly, no smirk. She looks back to the waves. She hears Eddie fumble with something and when he sighs she smells harsh and earthy tobacco. Her eyes snap to him, the angry glowing cigarette between his lips. Her hands hurt from squeezing them so tightly. She shoots from her seat, the chair scuttles back a few inches. “Put that damned thing out!” She slams her palms against the tabletop. Eddie drops the cigarette into his coffee, waves a hand to dissipate the cloud hanging between them. Baia watches a tendril of smoke snake over the rim of the mug, her arms are shaky. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I wasn’t thinking.” He tries to reach for her hand but she crosses her arms. She closes her eyes, exhales slowly, trying to work the tight ache from her throat. “I just forgot for a moment.” he says. She looks at him and his eyes are asking her not to cry. His hands are still on the table, reaching for her. His pleading eyes make her angry. She doesn’t want to cry, but it starts before she can swallow it down. Eddie is next to her now, pulling her close, folding her into his chest. Her arms hang limp at her sides, but she presses her ear to his chest to hear the thump of his heart. She wishes it were another day, another month, so she could kiss him and they could go down to the waves, let the salt wash their bodies. She takes a deep breath. Eddie smells like stale cigarettes and the strange tang of medical supplies. It makes her feel sick. “I should check on Daddy.” she says, moving away from him. “I wish you’d talk to me.” He tries to hold onto her wrist but