Free Foundation by Marco Guarda

now.
    But all she did was smirk at him and tiptoe past the far door into the rest of the house. Trumaine couldn’t take any more of it. He rolled his eyes, threw up his hands and, with a groan, he slumped down on the sofa.
    Starshanna returned about five minutes later.
    “Well?!” he just said.
    She waited a little more, still playing with him. Then her eyes gleamed and she broke into cheerful laughter.
    “The house’s just great ... I love it!”
    Trumaine looked relieved. As he stood, grumbling, Starshanna flung her arms at him and awarded him a long, meaningful kiss. He lifted her and swept her in a circle, then looked her in the eyes, much relieved.
    “Hey, surprises ain’t finished ...”
    He put her down, pulled her along through the French windows and both went outside.

    They had come out from a beach house overlooking a stretch of sandy shore, beyond which the ocean washed peacefully and the gulls circled lazily.
    The wide patio had desert flagstones for a floor—the color of silver and dull gray, with rusty highlights. A low bleached table, a battered beach umbrella and a couple of spanking new deckchairs occupied one of the corners of the house. The boundary between the patio and the beach and—on the opposite side—the access road, flourished with majestic samples of Euphorbia Trigona , desert and barrel cacti, low ferns and yucca trees in pots.
    “And what is that? A pool?” asked Starshanna, approaching what looked like a long, narrow pool bordering the patio.
    “Not exactly, it’s a water channel. It runs around the house, then goes straight back into the ocean. The previous owner was a water addict.”
    Starshanna frowned at hearing a strange modulated whistle. She turned at hearing it again, closer now.
    “Hey, I know that whistle!”
    Puzzled, she leaned over the edge of the channel and, in moments, a dark-blue shape drifted through the water, quickly approaching the point where she was.
    The sleek muzzle of a bottlenose dolphin poked out of the water, inches away from Starshanna’s feet, treading water and splashing gently.
    “It’s a dolphin!” she squealed. “C’mere, you!”
    She kneeled, reaching out her hand into the water and the dolphin came closer, clicking excitedly; without fear, he rested his chin on Starshanna’s hand and let her stroke him.
    “His mother was beached,” said Trumaine. “Good for him that the old owner found him. He brought up the dolphin all by himself. From time to time, I feed him some mackerel too, but it’s more for company—I guess he knows how to catch a fish ...”
    They stood there for a while, contemplating the cetacean, then Starshanna stood, turning to Trumaine.
    “I love the house. I love the channel. I love the dolphin—” she got to her toes and kissed Trumaine.
    “And I love you, Chris Trumaine ...”
    He opened his arms, ready to hold her, expecting more kisses, but Starshanna spun on her heels and, to Trumaine’s befuddlement, she started undressing. She got rid of her shoes, her shirt and her Syntex jeans. Wearing only her knickers, she dived into the water and started swimming away with the dolphin.
    Trumaine rolled his eyes with a disconsolate groan, then set to retrieve Starshanna’s discarded clothes ...

    It was early afternoon in the house.
    A couple of recently used pans sat on the unlit cooker. In the sink, a bunch of dishes waited to be scrubbed, along with discarded forks and knives. On the dinette table, two empty glasses and what remained of a bottle of wine gathered dust.
    In the living room, the plastic sheeting was still in place, but the aluminum ladder, the folding platform, the paint cans and the dirt brushes had been moved against the opposite wall, as if some last-minute touch up had just been done.
    The room looked deserted. It would also be quiet, if a soft, odd, repeated noise didn’t break the silence.
    The noise grew in strength and rhythm, until it was clear they were stifled moans of pleasure of two