Free After the Fog by Kathleen Shoop

she was smiling at him, making him feel as though there was room for him to make his world right.
    * * *
    As soon as Johnny dashed out the front door Rose was struck by his absence. Henry took her hand, his familiar calluses hit her palm in the spot they always did. Resentment sputtered through her body—irritated that he’d taken up for Magdalena before they had a chance to discuss the fact she was throwing her life into the toilet for no good reason. She refused to look at him and started back down the hall.
    Henry came up behind her and grabbed her by the waist. He turned her around, forcing her to face him. Henry wore his half smile, lips not parting even as his eyes squinted. He kissed her forehead and cheeks gently and she stepped against him, his smooth steps leading her to a slower rhythm than the music suggested.
    “I’m goddamn angry you kept that from me. It’s bullshit, Hen,” Rose said into his ear. “You conspiring is…” Just saying the words was like a million knives in her pride, eviscerating her position in the house. Magdalena had trusted Henry over her. She had gone to him her whole life with little tiny things, but this was important. This wasn’t about a dance on a school night or buying an extra sweater. Henry knew Rose believed in getting an education above anything else; he’d always agreed, yet there he was, approving of Magdalena’s irresponsible plans.
    Henry pulled Rose closer, her chest against him, his lips brushing her ear as he unknotted her chignon in a single swoop. His fingers combed through her hair. His other hand sat gently in the small of her back making her body meld into his.
    They danced their way back toward the bedroom, the passion that marked their relationship for nearly two decades was reborn as Henry lay Rose on the bed and slowly, artfully, and as though there was nothing else in the world that mattered other than her being, pulled her robe open and ran a hand up her slip.
    And, the two knew what they meant to each other in a way that they never seemed to find the words to convey. She closed her eyes and let his hands wander over her body. She rubbed and squeezed him; her legs wrapped tight around his waist, and smelled his skin, the familiar scent of sweat from the night still there in spots his shower did not reach.
    His lips on hers, his body inside, he unbolted her heart and filled the emptiness. Rose had never felt love the way she did when having sex. It was the most potent form of it, the only way she felt she belonged with Henry completely. And so, there was never a time, never once, that she said no.
    * * *
    Rose sighed as Henry rolled off of her and onto his back. She looked at his tranquil face, the way he appeared completely at peace when his eyes were shut. Nice for him. Other than the few minutes during sex Rose couldn’t seem to find peace in any aspect of her day, eyes closed or open.
    She sat up and swung her feet to the floor, stretching her arms above her head. She went to the dresser and took the fresh washrag from a drawer. Its fluffy, terrycloth loops were long flattened into near-useless cotton.
    She looked over her shoulder at Henry. How could he have agreed that Magdalena should quit school? Rose dipped the cloth into the water basin, rung it out and rubbed it with her beauty bar to add a scent that would freshen and cleanse.
    He had never lied to her before. With the cloth she rubbed her neck, her underarms, scraping away the dead skin. She imagined Magdalena confiding in Henry, discussing how they would keep it from Rose until just the right time.
    She whisked away the sweat and filth between her legs, rinsing the cloth then running it down her ankles to her feet, between her toes. She tried to cover up the sadness those realizations brought by focusing on what lay ahead—the data she needed to present to get the funding from Mrs. Sebastian.
    Henry coughed making Rose turn back to him. He tamped out his cigarette in the chunky, glass