“He settled his big hands on her hips. He let them slide slowly down to cup her ass which she had jammed into a Spanx hide and seek high rise panty. Before slipping on the slinky purple faux wrap dress that her daughter had given her after surviving being held at gunpoint together gift the prior fall. Stella was fairly sure she would enjoy the sensation of Goat’s strong fingers kneading her flesh if it hadn’t gotten numb in its fierce polyester lycra prison hours ago.”

“[...] And before she knew it the word was on her lips, lips being bitten and nibbled by his. “Pill,” she burst out on a breath. “I’m on the—”He was inside her before she could finish the sentence. Inside her, stretching her. Pumping into her, one hand yanking her leg up around his hip, squeezing her arse, the other cupping and kneading her breast, pinching her nipple.”

“You are burnt beyond recognition," he added, looking at his wife as one looks at a valuable piece of personal property which has suffered some damage. She held up her hands, strong, shapely hands, and surveyed them critically, drawing up her fawn sleeves above the wrists. Looking at them reminded her of her rings, which she had given to her husband before leaving for the beach. She silently reached out to him, and he, understanding, took the rings from his vest pocket and dropped them into her open palm. She slipped them upon her fingers; then clasping her knees, she looked across at Robert and began to laugh. The rings sparkled upon her fingers. He sent back an answering smile.”

“Alannah?” He held her limp body waiting for a response. “Don’t do this.” He put his hand over the other cut whispering his words and healing it as well. “Alannah?” His voice begged, as he held her face in his hand Still no response. He looked at the ground she had laid on realizing that she had lost a lot of blood. Then from the corner of his eye he saw the rise and fall of her chest and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. She still lives.”

“I didn't have a chance to buy you anything," she said, then held both closed hands toward him. Uncurled her fingers. In each cupped palm a brown egg. He took them. They were cold. He thought it a tender, wonderful thing to do. She had given him something, the eggs, after all, only a symbol, but they had come from her hands as a gift. To him. It didn't matter that he'd bought them himself at the supermarket the day before. He imagined she understood him, that she had to love him to know that it was the outstreched hands, the giving, that mattered.”

“Don’t you like them?” She ran her fingers across the waistband ofher panties.“I’m afraid I can’t appreciate them in such low lighting. You will have to take them off and let me have a better look.” He tried to smile innocently. She rested her hands on her hips and shook her head slowly.“Very well. I will have to do it for you.” He took a step closer to her.”