Rabbit Redux (51 page)

            "We put on our clothes and walk out the door. But let's have a nap first. You're talking nonsense already."

            "It'll be so embarrassing. The guy at the desk'll think we've been up to no good."

            "He doesn't care."

            "He does, he does care. We could stay all night to make him feel better, but nobody else knows where we are. They'll worry."

            "Stop it, Harry. We'll go in an hour. Just shut up."

            "I feel so guilty."

            "About what?"

            "About everything."

            "Relax. Not everything is your fault."

            "I can't accept that."

            He lets her breasts go, lets them float away, radiant debris. The space they are in, the motel room long and secret as a burrow, becomes all interior space. He slides down an inch on the cool sheet and fits his microcosmic self limp into the curved crevice between the polleny offered nestling orbs of her ass; he would stiffen but his hand having let her breasts go comes upon the familiar dip of her waist, ribs to hip bone, where no bones are, soft as flight, fat's inward curve, slack, his babies from her belly. He finds this inward curve and slips along it, sleeps. He. She. Sleeps. O.K.?

The End

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