The Stranger in the Lifeboat

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Land
LeFleur entered his house quietly. The sun had already set. He had the
notebook tucked into a briefcase.
“Jarty? Where have you been?”
Patrice appeared out of the kitchen. She wore jeans and a lime-green T-
shirt that draped loosely on her thin frame. Her feet were bare.
“Sorry.”
“You left this morning, you didn’t call all day.”
“You’re right.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing. Some junk floated up on the north shore. I had to drive up and
check it out.”
“You still could have called.”
“You’re right.”
She paused, looking at him. She scratched her elbow. “So? Anything
interesting?”
“Not really.”
“I have dinner.”
“I’m tired.”
“I made all this food.”
“OK, OK.”
An hour later, having finished the meal, LeFleur said he wanted to watch
the soccer game. Patrice rolled her eyes. He knew she would. He remembered
a time when their communication was kinder, their exchanges tinged with the
gentility of love. They had lost that in the wreckage of Lilly’s death.
“I’m going upstairs then,” Patrice said.
“I won’t be long.”
“Are you all right, Jarty?”
“I’m fine.”