She wanted to
look at him next to her like this, but before she could take in
their togetherness, he kissed her again, gently this time,
teasingly. She expected that in any second he would enter her,
have her.
But instead he gently clasped her hands in his own. "Your hands,
Greta, this is the first time I have felt them."
"Feel them. Both of them. Go on."
It took him a moment to register. "Oh, Greta. Is this why you
have been afraid?"
She began to cry again. "It's so horrible. I was once a hand
model, and then that happened. And everything ended."
He said nothing. He kissed her, told her softly to cry and let it
out. "What happened, Greta? You must tell me. There is nothing
bad about it to me."
When she stopped crying she wiped her eyes and sat up, allowing
his hands to remain on hers through the entire story, which she
recounted in a quiet monotone.
"We were on a yacht anchored in a windy lagoon, celebrating a new
soda of Matthew's that was a huge success. I'd had a lot to
drink. At one point I was standing off to the side all by myself.
I was poking my ring finger in the little hole of an empty can,
thinking about how Matthew and I were going to start a family.
Apparently we were getting ready to sail some more. It was dark.
I remember they were taking Matthew's picture just a few feet
away.
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