They weren’t a threat before.In fact, I’ve never seen them in person before now.
“So how dangerous are they?”I asked.“What can they do?”
Aster looked down and pressed his head into one hand while examining his uneaten croissant in the other.Mostly they watch.They keep tabs, watch who’s naughty and who’s nice.And when they deem it necessary, they interfere and pronounce judgment.Possibly death.You might call them the Fates.
The Fates.An image of three grinning, shadowy creatures filled my head, a trio of monstrous women cutting threads and determining the fate of all living things from worms to gods.
I couldn’t relax in the cafe after Aster had described them to me.He didn’t want to talk about them, and if they were real—and listening to us—I didn’t want him to talk about them either.
Leaving Red Sails Cafe brought some relief.The sun had ascended to the midpoint in the sky over our heads, and Aster remained silent on the drive home.I expected that his paranoid behaviors would continue for the rest of the day, but instead he returned to my laptop and kept working at the story he now wanted to finish.
I watched him from behind while he worked.I wanted to break the silence, to hear him assure me of an answer or resolution, or at least tell me the details of the book.
Once or twice I brought the matter up.I asked if there was any way I could secure us both against the Fates’ harsher judgments.Aster lifted his right hand and shooed me away, at one point insisting that I would be unharmed regardless.
When I fell asleep that night, I was alone, and I didn’t know if I should expect him to join me in bed or not.My last thought as I closed my eyes was that something inside of me felt decidedly hollow.
THE CEMETERY
Aster had remainedfixed to my computer for several days after he first started writing.He’d gone from wanting to leave this place to immersing himself deeper into it, retreating more into his mind and his creation.Even my presence and my own barely-started book took second place to the masterpiece that now commanded his attention.I should have been free to roam, but Aster still insisted that I stay within earshot.
I tried to keep myself busy.I cleaned the house, fixed the meals, doodled all the more in my notebooks and waited for another streak of inspiration to hit.But until today, I’d worried increasingly that this would never end.
Today was different.Aster excused himself from my laptop and walked into the kitchen.Before I had a chance to ask him what he was doing, he called me to come after him.
I found him standing behind the granite counter in the kitchen, where he poured wine into a pair of glasses.
I want to make a toast,he said as he lifted the bottle from his pouring.
“A toast?”
To you and me and everything else.To summer.
I picked up my glass and clinked it against his, but I waited before sipping any of the wine for myself.
Aster enjoyed his and downed half the glass in a single swig.Then he looked at how little I’d taken, and his brows lowered in frustration.Everything’s coming back together.Aren’t you excited?
I twisted the stem of my wine glass.“No.”
Aster braced himself to answer.
“For me, I’m not,” I clarified.“I can’t rattle around in the living room every day with nothing to do.”
Is it the heat?We could open the windows more…
“It’s the fact that I’m not writing.I’ve tried to keep myself busy.I do things around the house, I clean, I doodle in my notebooks.”
We both looked at the counter, where one of my notebooks currently lay folded open to a doodle of the lighthouse garden as visible from the living room window.Once upon a time, the garden had provided basic sustenance for the Childress family.The later generations had turned it into a decorative flower garden, and over the past couple years it had fallen into a sad but picturesque state of disrepair.
I realize how hard this must be,Aster said as he angled the image to face him better.I feel terrible about it.Awful.But right now I really need you with me.My wrists are getting tired and, well, I think I need a break too.
“Then let’s go somewhere else,” I said.“Let’s explore.”
Now he pushed the notebook back to me.Together, both of us?I’m too committed.I like this scene I’m at now.I can’t walk away.
“But you just said…”
He curled his fingers into tight fists and then flexed them restlessly, stretching his neck as he did so.You make a point, and I’ll admit my hands are tired of holding the same position for so long.How about this?You’re used to this sort of work, aren’t you?And you want a change.How about you type it out for me?
