Free The Dwelling: A Novel by Susie Moloney

not to be listening. He would periodically lean back on the sofa and hold his hand near his face, his eyes automatically squinting against phantom smoke. It was his smoking posture; Becca recognized it. When he was working at the old place, he would get that look, assume that posture, when he was thinking about some project or other. They had agreed that he wasn’t going to smoke in the new house. Seeing him like that, she felt almost guilty, the two seemed to go together so completely. She supposed she should give him credit for not smoking.
    “I sort of see her as strong, but vulnerable. That nun analogy is good,” he said, looking off into space, nodding. “Short hair, I think. Something framing her face. You got a name for her yet?” Max shook his head.
    “The Reporter,” he said.
    “She could be nameless; it could give her a mysterious quality,” Kate said. The three of them nodded. Stoned thoughtfulness.
     
    They smoked more dope, outside. Kate and Dan went out into the yard a few times to smoke regular cigarettes and more beer was drunk.
     
    Becca had a beer and two glasses of wine, and by the time the evening was wrapping up, she felt light and relaxed. The two of them stood out on the front stoop to say good-bye. It was dark out, and warm, a lovely beginning to summer. Soon it would be barbecues and lawn chairs and Saturdays spent tanning with the radio. The thought filled Becca with hope and anticipation. Summer was nice.
    They closed the door when the car pulled away and Dan draped a happy, loose arm around Becca’s shoulders and she didn’t shake him off or wiggle away. She felt good inside. Warm, from the wine and the sweet, outside air.
    He flicked off the hall light and in the same motion—his arm still around her—turned on the porch light outside. The hall got dark at the same time the porch light shone in through the small, narrow window at the bottom of the stairs. Then he turned and kissed her.
    It caught her by surprise and she kissed him back. They stood for a moment in the dark hall, their mouths moving familiarly through the steps, moving this way, then that, warm, soft, then pressing, releasing. Dan ran his tongue over her lips and through the wine, it was good. He tasted of beer and cigarettes. Like always.
    “Let’s go to bed,” he whispered wetly in her ear. It was nice, his breath in her ear. She wanted him to breathe into it, it tickled sweetly, warmed her neck, made the flesh rise. She wished wistfully that that was what sex was, just warm breath. She nodded slowly.
    The lights were on in the kitchen and the living room. Beer bottles and glasses and bowls of chips, the jar of salsa, were all still out. She pulled softly away, wanting to be agreeable, knowing that it was time, and that it would be all right.
    “Lemme just put a couple of things away, and I’ll be right up,” she whispered back. His mouth was still at her ear. He was leaning on her, not moving much. He was a little drunk. So was she. That made her giggle. He laughed in her ear, from his throat. She felt it on her shoulder, a rumble.
    “Want me to help?” he said. Breath in her ear. They spoke with long pauses between words. She because of the breath in her ear; him because he was a little more drunk than she was.
    “No. I’ll do it.”
    “Don’t be too long,” he said, singsongy, promising. He swayed away from her, turned and thumped heavily up the stairs.
    Becca grabbed beer bottles and put them on the counter in the kitchen. She went back for glasses and just dumped them into the bowl of chips. She giggled, shutting off the lights in the living room, flooding the downstairs with darkness.
    In the hall she noticed light coming out from under the door of Dan’s studio. She debated only briefly, thinking of the electricity bill and the fact that they already left the stove light on in the kitchen at night, and lights at both the front and back doors.
    Her footsteps echoed in the dark hall. Upstairs she