“Fog’s lifting a bit,” he offered in the silence, she trying still to figure out the fingering on the harp piece she wanted to play. And she didn’t want to seem like an amateur while warming up. Thus the quiet except for the nearby low roar of the backwards positioned waterfall. “Well?” he then said. “What are you, I mean, what are you and Newt going to do?” It was obvious to him that they should stay in the area, this Nawt Vaya inland sea of the Jeogeot continent in the world of Our Second Lyfe. *Their* Second Lyfe. Hopefully still.
“We’re meeting at the parrots today to talk about it. I’m just going to admit everything. You — not Art, because he doesn’t seem to be involved.”
“The hubby.” Ed liked Art but didn’t love Art. Good thing.
“Yeah, the true one, the Whitehead in Da Woods. I guess I should express remorse or something.”
“Naaah,” responded Ed.
“Thinking along the same lines,” she admitted. What they had was good. It was just something to pass the time, mostly the late afternoon of each of April May’s days. And she knew she was irrisistable, ha. Especially since she’s ditched the child part from top and bottom. Wheeler she is again, without trapped-in-the-past Shelley. She and Newt remain childless in this reality. The reality of Nawt Vaya. Almost time to make a decision on that.
—–
She gets her ass up from the writing desk and moves toward the door, relieved it remains unlocked as she nervously tests the knob. She is still free to leave this place.
(to be continued)
Sunklands 