“Give me that broom,” Amanda demanded in a stage whisper as she closed the door to her hybrid car. Hart padded the last bit of orangey-brown leaves into the corner, but to no avail as three more dropped from the giant oak just as he slowly haunched down onto the red metal porch chair. You’d think the tornado that was Amanda would ruffle the pile of leaves as she approached Hart.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I gotta stay busy.”
“Well be busy reading, or looking at the clouds or anything but what you’re doing.”
Hart leaned back, a heavy sigh emanating from his chest. His bald head felt cold in the crisp autumn air. His head shook a bit as the screen door uncharacteristically slammed shut. He shuffled to the door, pried it open and sat at the kitchen table, freshly laden with goodies from the store. They would have to wait for their proper place of rest as Amanda bent under the table, stretched the broom out from the tips of her fingers in an attempt to retrieve days-old cereal nuggets lodged under the white radiator.
“Stop, Amanda. Just stop. We gotta both stop.”
“I can’t.”
“Neither can I, but…
Amanda fell into Hart’s lap, her limp shoulders heaving up and down. Hart collapsed onto her back. She heaved, he rose, she exhaled, he rested. Nothing needed to be said and yet the comforting lock of their bodies said it all.
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