Ice

I unbind her wrists. She slumps on the bed, curling up, almost in a fetal position. I untie her legs, she stretches out and yawns. I put a towel between her legs. She pulls a pillow under her head. I clean her up, pull her straight in the bed, and unfurl the sheet over her again. She rolls over, gathering the sheet between her knees.

I stagger into the bathroom, turn on the shower. The cold water is at last cool. I stand there naked, in the white noise of the falling water. Drying myself off, combing my hair, walking quietly into the bedroom, A is already asleep. I put on a bathrobe and sip the last of the watery Crown Royal, gazing down at A, her hip rising like the swell of a guitar under the sheet.

Tomorrow the air conditioning will be repaired. Tomorrow, I will drive to work. Tomorrow I will fill the ice trays. Tomorrow I will buy A some Toblerone of her own and not hide it behind the frozen spinach. Tonight I will sleep, curled up beside A.