DARYL SNEATH
Settled in TOM LIES FLAT IN BED, NO PILLOW, THE SHEETS SHOVED DOWN TO THE END.
Rebecca returns upstairs with the coffee, the Sunday paper, still cold from the snow, and the dog, Kumor. She hands Tom his mug, says, “Careful.” He takes it without sitting up, says, “Always.” Kumor goes to Tom’s side of the bed, drops her chin on the mattress, sighs. Tom reaches out and pets her. Like the paper, she has the freshness of winter on her. The dog circles her own bed, then settles into it: an oversized grey pillow with wine trim. Rebecca sets her mug down on the antique table beside the bed – she restores and refinishes everything herself (she does interior design) – puts the mug on the stone coaster that goes with the “historic” motif of the room. Above the antique dresser on the opposite wall hangs a “Live Love Laugh” sign, a decorative fragment of faux rock purchased from the environmental gift shop in town. TOM HAD LAUGHED WHEN SHE BROUGHT IT HOME.
She pretended to ignore him, thumped the wall with a closed fist to find the stud, said, “It’s nice. I think it’s nice.” The nail for hanging the sign was between her teeth, the hammer at her side. She set the sign on the dresser, leaned it against the wall, stepped back, and turned to Tom. He was smiling. “Don’t laugh,” she said. He looked at her, and without looking away he stepped forward and drew a line with his finger under the word “Laugh”. She pursed her lips and furrowed her brow, put the nail up to his forehead and mimed the hammering. Tuck, tuck, tuck. Tom let his tongue hang out, dropped his head back, and fell onto the bed, taking Rebecca with him. The way they fell, the hammer drove into his lower back and the nail stuck into his elbow. He didn’t notice the nail. The hammer sent him upright. He arched his back, set his feet on the floor, said, “Jesus,” and looked over his shoulder. Rebecca sat up, laughing, and shimmied to the edge, plucked the nail from his elbow and showed it to him. He turned his arm up expecting blood. There was none. He looked puzzled. She straddled him and pulled off his shirt, took his arm in her hands and squinted. The pretend doctor. She squeezed the elbow skin. Still no blood. Brought the elbow to her mouth and kissed it, said, “You can’t feel anything here,” then bit down. “See?” 37