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The beer was disgusting. She didn’t want to say that. When she had so many thoughts, why was there so little that could be said? He was staring at the nothing hanging between them. The beach umbrella. Something strained within her, a pressure like that of the Holy Spirit when it overtook a person. …

“Sit down.” He began to unmake the towers and arrange the pieces on the board. “What’s your favorite color?” Not waiting for her to answer, he said, “I forgot something.”

“What?” Her favorite color was the blue of his robe. He flicked off the light and left the room without replying. Two minutes…

“That might just be the shadows.” Nick gestured at the branches overhead; she obligingly studied the web of oak and moss she saw every day. He sat at the pool’s edge, disturbing its surface with small kicks, and stared downward. She felt like an intruder. Only since her father left had she realized…

Nick lifted both hands as if he were going to bless her. Instead, he picked up the mango. He bit just to the side of the mouth shape she’d made in the flesh, once, and once more. Once, he’d cradled newborns who squalled at the fresh bright world—at what point did children cease to be small gods? Wh…

“Oh, conversion, being born again. For me it was the first time I felt like I could really, truly see since I stopped writing. I used to be a poet, you know. It helped me think.” Sorrow pricked Natalia at the idea of writing—which she intended to do, though hadn’t yet—becoming something someone “us…