After finishing the dishes, they leaned against the counter. They stood side by side at the sink, their reflections fitting together in the frame of the window. At eight o'clock the house went black. It made him shy, the way he felt the first time they stood together in front of a mirror.
(2) They'd better, or you'll be browsing in the dark.
(4) No thanks!
(1) We're going to the bookstore to browse, i hear they've got their power.
(3) Want to join us?"
He couldn't recall the last time they'd been photographed. They had stopped attending parties, went nowhere together. The film in his camera still contained pictures of Shoba, in the yard, when she was pregnant.
Shukumar had looked forward to the lights going out. It felt good to remember her as she was then, how bold yet nervous she'd been when they first met.
That time when your mother came to visit us, when i said one night that i had to stay late at work, I went out with Gillian and had a martini.
The Bradfords approached them. They had left a sympathy card into Shoba and Shukumar's mailbox. Shukumar wondered what Shoba would tell him in the dark. What didn't they know about each other?
He knew that when they returned from the hospital, the first thing she did when she walked into the house was pick out objects of theirs and toss them into a pile in the hallway. When she was satisfied, she stared at the mess she'd made and cried.
He remembered that night well; eating with his mother, tired from teaching two classes back to back, wishing Shoba were there to say more of the right things because he came up with only the wrong ones.