Read After the Fog for Free Online

cheek. Henry watched her cooking and wondered what she’d do if she found out.
    With one hand Rose cracked eggs into her favorite green Corning bowl. With the other she flipped hot cakes. Her lean forearms belied her power, both physical and mental. Her backside was round, but small, and the blue robe fell over her form like a fine dress, exquisitely highlighting her shape.
    She slid across the floor, humming a slow, sad tune. It reminded him of what he’d heard earlier that day about the Greshecky woman. Clearly that wasn’t a case Rose would let go of easily. Still she carried on with her chores. Most women weren’t like Rose.
    She was unsentimental, a machine, like the mills. She did what had to be done no matter how she felt. Nothing interfered with the way she operated. She just moved ahead like a rolling mill.
    Rose wiped her hands on her apron then sniffed under her arms. Henry smiled. His Rose never did like a stench. Her head jerked toward the small utility room off the far side of the kitchen. Her shoulders slumped and she scurried to the room, huffing and irritated.
    He heard the storm door open—the one that led to the landing that they built from trash-heap wood and nails “borrowed” from the mill. The landing allowed Rose to store their garbage on the far side of the house, away from where the family would have to walk past it. What could have called her attention there? No one would ever climb that staircase except someone returning from dumping the garbage.
    “You mangy mutt, Rags!” Her voice hit Henry’s ears and his shoulders hunched bracing on behalf of the dog. He hated to see Rose yell at the sorry pooch. “I don’t have time for this bullshit.” Henry heard the door slam and watched Rose stomp into the kitchen still too distracted to notice him peeking in the doorway.
    Henry was about to tell Rose not to be harsh with the dog. It couldn’t help being a lost soul. But, he stopped when Rose tugged the icebox open and pulled out a package of bologna. She crumpled the wrappings against her leg before tossing them on the counter and disappearing into the utility room again. Henry heard the door open and hit the wall behind it. He slipped across the kitchen floor and poked his head into the utility room.
    Rose stood at the open door; the dog was rolled into a ball, his snout barely peeking out.
    “Now, you go away. You’re not wanted here.” Rose laid the meat in front of the dog’s nose, patted the top of its head and backed away.
    She left the utility room and ran smack into Henry.
    “Hen?”
    “Hey.”
    “What? The garbage doesn’t put itself out.”
    Henry nodded and jammed his hands in his pockets. A smile pulled on the corner of his mouth. He wanted to tell her he knew she liked the dog.
    Rose pulled his face to her, pecked his lips then the creases at the corners of his eyes. She held Henry’s gaze like she was determining whether he’d seen her interaction with the dog.
    Henry wrapped Rose in his arms, pulling her pelvis into his, kissing her neck. The salty taste on her skin after a long night of nursing excited him. She squirmed, sliding out of his grip, and his hand groped for hers before she completely got away. He pulled her back and smoothed loose hairs off her face.
    Rose quickly covered her left ear with the hair he’d brushed back. After all these years, she was still conscious of him seeing her double earlobe—a congenital defect. In utero her ear had folded over on itself giving the effect of having two lobes.
    “Later, Hen.”
    He wrapped around her, pulled her back against his belly, his chin on the top of her head, her hair smelling more like her than the shampoo she used. He could hold her forever, he thought. He was lucky to have any sex at all, let alone regularly. His friends often joked about the fact his wife was a nurse, and worked like a man, but he didn’t care. The times she wasn’t there with a tray of sandwiches, she was there with the sex. He