Sleep brushed its lips against her bare, brown shoulder and seduced her while Lee read just a little longer, suspecting nothing.
And inside her dreaminess, his each turning page became a lone cricket’s love call—Shhh, perfectly spaced. Shhh, then paragraphs of waiting, listening for response. She was that girl she once knew back in Michigan, between sheets still crisp from this morning's clothesline. And out that window, a Robin tirelessly penned its vocal signature, inking until the curtain closed, sundown. And the rusty, chain-link swing creaked with a voice so delicate only a child would notice.
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