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Show 250 "Philip?" Julia, his wife. "Yes?" She put her arm around his waist. "I was wrong," she said, "the chicken isn't burnt at all. You did beautifully." "Thanks." When he touched the switch, the yard light suddenly threw an opalescent arc across the brown grass, a hazy halo of smoke and dust. Philip started back to the grill. "Wait," she said. "There's something more I want to tell you." "What?" "I know . . . I mean I think I understand what's been bothering you." "The weather, like I said." "Don't be silly." Ozone, the smell of change. "This drought," he said. "It's going to rain, Philip." "It doesn't matter." "What if I said something is different?" "It wouldn't matter." "Philip, I'm pregnant again." He could smell the earth now, the unlocking of the ground. Could taste microscopic particles of moisture on his tongue. It mattered. |
