Neither of us mention that it’s probably going to be sooner than we want it to be. How much longer do we have? A few weeks, if that. A few weeks, nothing more.
* * * *
In the morning, I lie in bed and listen to the sound of him breathe beside me. It’s nice to feel arms around me again. I hate waking alone. I keep my eyes closed and snuggle back into his embrace, our bodies curved together like two halves of one whole, his hands on my stomach and my hands on his. I can feel his hair tickle between my shoulder blades, soft and feathery. His legs ensnare one of mine. I’ve never felt so safe, so warm, but there’s something missing. Something’s wrong. Something—
The salt.
I open my eyes and listen. All I hear is Ricky’s breath. Nothing else. Nothing. No taps against the window. No drifts across the glass, no salt beating down on the side of the building. Nothing at all. It’s stopped.
Stopped.