A Night With Grimes
Nancy ran fingers through her sweat soaked hair. Her palm smelled of oysters and pennies — sex. She lay in the afterglow of passion. Gary had been ravenous, like he had never been in their entire ten years of marriage. She was sure that some of the things they had done were illegal in some States. Nancy didn’t know what had gotten into him.
Maybe the funeral had revved his sexual engine, as odd as that sounded. No, they had been to funerals before and it had never driven him to that level of passion. Nowhere close to it.
She leaned against her elbow and gazed at Gary. The sheet was damp, cold. Sweaty strands of hair stuck to his forehead. She brushed them away with a light touch and lay back down.
“I shore like them flower’s, Mrs. Nancy.” Gary said. His voice was gruff, hoarse. It was a perfect mimic of the neighbor across the street. The voice of the old man who use to gaze at her with the lust of a teenage boy, the pervert who would absently lick his cracked lips while watching her work in her yard. It was an often-said comment used by the old man who had been buried earlier in the day.
She leaned over Gary and glared. “That shit isn’t funny, Gary. Goddamn! I know the filthy old man was a pain in the ass, but that isn’t any reason to make jokes, not this soon after he died.”
Gary yawned and opened his eyes. They were clouded and full of sleep. “What are you talking about, Nancy?”
“Your impersonation of Old Man Grimes. It wasn’t funny.”
“I don’t know what your talking about, honey. You just stared yelling and woke me up.”
“You didn’t just mimic Mr. Grimes? You know, the way he always said he loved my flowers when we both know that he wasn’t talking about my garden.”
“No.”
Nancy pulled the blankets to her chin, stared into the dark and shivered.
great story! my favorite of the issue so far.
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