“Kristen?” he says, and opens the door.
Out on the delivery dock, a man Wintric recognizes unloads crates of milk. An announcement garbles over the store’s loudspeaker.
In the far corner, behind stacks of paper towels, Kristen sits on a stool with her face in her hands. She’s pulled her hair back into a ponytail. Wintric walks to her and stands close. He can smell her vanilla perfume. It’s cold and he doesn’t know if he should touch her or speak, so he wipes at his wet face and stands there and watches her. Her wedding ring covers her left eye. A bracelet he’s never seen is on her left wrist.
Behind him, the sound of milk crates being stacked. An announcement from the speaker somewhere above them. The voice calls his wife’s name.
Wintric reaches out and touches Kristen’s shoulder. His numb fingertips press against her cotton shirt.
He knows what’s happening. He’ll leave his hand here. He’s aware. He’s facing the moment. He’ll stay right here.
“Please,” she says. She stands up, shaking his hand off her.
She exhales hard and runs her hands down her chest and belly, over to the outside of both hips. She pulls at the bottom of her shirt. She stands close, her shoulder inches from Wintric’s chest.
“Kristen,” he says. He stands, motionless, her smell in his nose. The shape of her neck. The curves of her ear. She could turn to him. So close, she could turn his way. He watches her face. He waits for the turn.
Over the store’s loudspeaker, someone’s calling her name.
She keeps her eyes forward as she walks away and rounds the corner back into the store.
Wintric grabs the back of his neck, then folds his arms.
Someone is calling her name.
He listens to the sound.
Acknowledgments
My deepest appreciation for
–my incredible agent and friend Chelsea Lindman.
–my brilliant editor and friend Ben Hyman.
–the wonderful Houghton Mifflin Harcourt team, especially Leila Meglio, Hannah Harlow, Brian Moore, Laura Brady, and Liz Duvall.
–my parents
–the Goolsby, Archibald, Hunt, Rouland, Moss, and Walton families.
–my dear friend, colleague, and sounding board Brandon Lingle.
–the many people who opened the doors to my professional dreams, especially Donald Anderson, Kathleen Harrington, Thomas McGuire, Blaine Holt, Erin Conaton, Peter Bloom, Lance Bunch, Jessica Wright, Karen Pound, Troy Perry, and Debra Shattuck.
–my great friends and brilliant readers of this book: J. A. Moad II, Brian Turner, Siobhan Fallon, Kristen Loyd, Kerry Linfoot, Gretchen Koenig, Kyle Torke, Charlie Beckerman, CJ Hauser, and Mike Warren.
–my Florida State University family, especially Robert Olen Butler, Bob Shacochis, Mark Winegardner, Diane Roberts, Elizabeth Stuckey-French, Michael Garriga, Brandi George, and Jennine Capó Crucet.
–my University of Tennessee family, especially Allen Wier, Marilyn Kallet, and Michael Knight.
–my Air Force Academy family, especially Jim Meredith, George Luker, Richard Lemp, Ann Reagan, Thomas Bowie, Gary Mills, Wilson Brissett, Bill Newmiller, Max Despain, James Bishop, Kathy Binns, and Jeanette Millar.
–my Wolfpack family.
–Tom and Jackie Quinn.
–Ben Oneto, Tim Campbell, Matt Bateman, Nicholle Tognotti, Glenda Grant, Dave Willhardt, and Kurt Martinson.
–Greg Killingsworth, Paul Hardig, Phil Bryant, and Dave Taylor.
–the Hambidge Center for the Creative Arts and Sciences.
–the community of writers, artists, journals, and magazines that has supported my work.
Most importantly, with all my heart,
–my wife, Sarah, and children, Ella, Owen, and Abby.
About the Author
JESSE GOOLSBY’s fiction and essays have appeared in Narrative, the Kenyon Review, Epoch, the Literary Review, Alaska Quarterly Review, the Greensboro Review, and many other publications. He is the recipient of the Richard Bausch Short Story Prize, the John Gardner Memorial Prize in Fiction, and a Holland & Knight Distinguished Fellowship from the Hambridge Center for Creative Arts and Sciences. A U.S. Air Force officer, Goolsby was raised in Chester, California, and now lives in Tallahassee, Florida.
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