l i a b i l i t yA DYING CREEK. That was what the ribbons reminded me of. There were ribbons, tiny blue ribbons, thin as blades of grass, on Audrey's dress. They wove in and out of her collar, pulling the light brown fabric into little bunches against her skin. It was like a creek as it died in the summer – or whatever was left of one. Reflections of the sky captured in puddles in the dirt.
My gaze traveled up her throat, to her eyes – where she was already looking at me. Expectant, I realized. It took me a moment to remember how to speak. "Oh. Um. Did you . . . ask me something?"
She sighed. "Yes. I asked if you slept well."
"Oh. Yeah, I did." More or less.
We stood at the door to one of the guest rooms, where