…Viv entered their sitting room, where she lay down to think, pulling the afghan strewn across the loveseat around her. More thinking, however, didn’t last long: Viv fell asleep. Somewhere in her dreams were photographs of children at play.

“…today?” Rick’s voice.

“Huh?” Someone was shaking her foot.

“I said, do you think you’d like to wake up and join the rest of the world today?”

“Huhnmm…” Viv managed and sat up. She grimaced at the pain jabbing her neck.

“I can’t believe you slept in here all night. Gotta crick?”

“Yeah, I guess. Time izzit?”

“Quarter till eleven. Alna’s already been in here wanting to wake you. We’re supposed to be taking her to get new fish, remember?” Rick’s reply carried a touch of excitement.

Viv loved his voice. He spoke with a mellow baritone that translated well whenever he sang (something Viv wished he did more often). He sounded sexy as hell over the phone.

“How could I forget? She’s been bugging us about it for a week.” Viv shook off the last vestiges of sleep. She’d dreamed of three women, void of eyes and noses, but with menacing smiles, screaming, “Ain’t love grand?” as she bolted from a dark room.

“And we’ve been putting her off for three. I’m starting breakfast.

You want eggs?” Rick had already showered, unfortunately had shaved, and wore black sweats. She didn’t care for sweats on Rick. He usually wore his sweatpants baggy; she couldn’t see his butt well enough.

“Sure.”

Rick headed away.

“Rick?”

He turned back to her. “Yeah?”

“We have to talk, okay?” She tried to sound as neutral and unassuming as possible, but apparently not neutral enough. Rick nodded curtly and continued out the door.

Viv stood and stretched, turning her head left and right to work out the stiffness. She had no idea what she was going to say to him. She didn’t think Rick would easily accept anything she said, given his love for her and Alna. Remnant images from Viv’s dream, however, settled it. She may not be leaving Rick for good, but she needed a trial separation at the very least.

Although a little sweaty from the night, Viv debated showering. She’d hit the high and low spots and call it quits. She snatched a pair of panties and a bra out of a drawer, pulled a T-shirt and jeans out of another, and headed for the bathroom.

Viv showered anyway. She used the time to ruminate the few (impossible) ways she could tell her husband she was leaving him.