Now it was July. She thought of the house beneath her. The marble table in the hall with the silver communion dish on feet and a drawer tangled with keys, a clay head sculpted by Margie. Then the hooks under the stairs and coats hanging. More coats in the closet. A row of flower prints on the wall. In the living room the fireplace mande had a wooden crucifix from Mexico from her honeymoon with Ted and the twisted silver Stackpole candlesticks, one with a dent from the time Ted threw it goddamn it Ann and the French clock of Oscar’s. On the floor a wire basket filled with magazines, on the bookshelf framed photos propped against crimson leather, gold letters, tides sideways, books in shelves up to the ceiling. With the lights out the living room hushed. The dining room, grey and white floor. Teddy and Paul used to hide in the elephant ear plant, playing jungle. Once Paul bit a leaf. The chairs pushed tight around the table, the china basket in the center. In the pantry the cabinet latches painted thick, the cocktail glasses behind the glass, a glass ashtray with bubbles.
