Read Online Water Rites by Mary Rosenblum - Free Book Online Page B

lamp in her hand. The dim yellow glow streaked the room with shadows. She wore nothing but an oversized T-shirt, and her hair cascaded down her back and over her shoulders, coarse and gray, standing out from her head as if charged with static. Here eys looked enormous, full of shadows.
    “Are you okay?” Dan sat up, gooseflesh prickling his arms. She looked like a ghost.
    Jesse set the lamp down on the table without answering, stripped the shirt off over her head, and dropped it onto the floor. Her skin was brown, lighter where her clothes had covered her, and her flesh looked lean, tough, dried onto her bones. The soft light outlined the flat ridges of muscle in her abdomen, pooled shadow between her drooping breasts, made her cheekbones stand out sharply.
    She leaned across the bed and ran her hands lightly down Dan’s sides.
    “What is it?” Dan asked, his mouth dry.
    She shook her head once, and the ancient bedframe creaked with her weight as she slid one leg across his thighs. Aroused and uneasy at the same time, Dan put his hands on her hips, felt her shiver.
    She leaned forward, kissed him hard. Her teeth bruised his lips and Dan pulled her down against him, desire flaring inside him like a flame. We are both lost, he thought. They made love fiercely, silently, flesh straining against flesh. Her eyes were dark and opaque in the dim light, focused inward even as she clutched him.
    Her answer to Renny.
    Afterward, she slid off him and knelt on the edge of the bed, face turned to the black rectangle of the window. “I knew it was going to happen,” she said softly. “I knew she was just going to walk away from me one day.”
    Dan searched for words that would have some kind of meaning, found nothing. He touched her arm, but she pulled away from him, shook her head.
    “I drove her away. I could have taken off, on my own. Gotten by all right. But I had a kid. A daughter. I sweated every water bill. I loved my daughter. And I . . . hated her, too. A little.” She stood, shadows streaking her face.
    He reached for her hand, but she slipped away from him, out into the darkness of the main room. He heard her door close softly and firmly. He turned off the fading lamp, got up and limped to the window, drafts tickling his bare chest.
    Outside, the sky was black, starless. Dan listened to the wind roaring down the Gorge. Out in the Drylands, it would be whipping up dust, sending sheet lightning shuddering across the sky. You died in the dust storms. If you couldn’t find shelter.
    Dan didn’t go back to sleep. The wind kept him awake and he could feel Amy out there on the lips of the falls. I hated her, too. A little . Had Amy felt that? Tied to a little brother? Dan sat on the rumpled bed, listening to the wind, waiting for the night to end. This place was full of ghosts and yesterday. If he didn’t leave now, they’d trap him here. And he’d never escape.
    As soon as it was light enough to get around without stumbling over things, Dan fixed his pack. He filled his jug from the kitchen tap, trying not to think about how soon they’d shut off her water, now that she couldn’t pay. He slung the pack over his shoulder, water from the jug trickling coldly down his arm. His knee hurt, but he could manage.
    The sun was coming up. The door to Jesse’s room stood open and harsh light streamed across the neatly made bed. The threadbare T-shirt lay in a heap on the unrumpled quilt. “Jesse?” Wind rattled a loose shingle. “Jesse, you in here?” Renny’s picture had vanished, but a glitter caught his eye. The gold necklace glittered on the floor in a scatter of bright gold. He picked it up, started to put it on the dresser.
    His hand hesitated. Never again. He had made that promise years back. Payback for the gift of his life. Slowly his hand closed over the gold and he thrust it savagely into his pocket.
    And now you can’t come back here , a small voice whispered in his head. He ignored it as he limped out of the