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<strong>Jack</strong> <strong>kilborn</strong> <strong>SErial</strong> <strong>blakE</strong> <strong>crouch</strong><br />
She opened her eyes, listened for the dual accompa-<br />
niment of wind and rain. Strangely, she heard neither.<br />
Maggie squinted at the red blur next to the bed,<br />
groped for her glasses, pushed them on her face. The blur<br />
focused and became the time: 10:46<br />
was downstairs.<br />
“Sal?” she called. She repeated it, louder, in case he<br />
no answer. Sal usually fished until midnight, so his<br />
absence didn’t alarm her. She considered flipping on the<br />
light, but investigating the noise that woke her held much<br />
less appeal than the soft down pillow and the warm flannel<br />
sheets tucked under her chin. Maggie removed her glasses,<br />
returned them to the night stand, and went back to sleep.<br />
sometime later.<br />
The sound of the front door opening roused her<br />
“Sal?”<br />
She listened to the footfalls below her, the wooden<br />
floors creaking. First in the hallway, and then into the<br />
kitchen.<br />
“Sal!” louder this time. after thirty-five years of<br />
marriage, her husband’s ears were just one of many body parts<br />
that seemed to be petering out on him. Maggie had talked to<br />
him about getting a hearing aid, but whenever she brought<br />
up the topic he smiled broadly and pretended not to hear her,<br />
and they both wound up giggling. Funny, when they were in<br />
the same room. not funny when they were on different floors<br />
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