She nods, but he's already moving past her, all efficiency and deliberation, like they need to be regulation today. As if she could blame him for wanting to get moving, for wanting the few moments of solitude allotted by a shower.
The floor is cool under her bare feet, and she sets the tote back down by the couch, looks around the room, hands settling on her hips. It's quiet, and neat and clean, but there's an odd feeling of disconnect that sends her turning on her heel to find another spot.
She ends up walking outside, heading through the kitchen and dining room, fingers trailing over the island and table, before reaching to slide open the door to the lanai and step into the sun. It's warm and peaceful out here, out of the direct sun, and the grass is soft under her feet as she wanders down towards the chairs set up there, looking out over the water, moves past them to the unkempt line where lawn gives way to beach, no more tickling blades brushing under the soles of her feet, just soft, slippery sand, and the back-and-forth hush of the waves. It's a beautiful spot, Steve's house; she thought so the first time she visited it, close to two years ago, and she still thinks so now. The sea breeze is sheltered here; it's not raw across an empty deck, or whipping water into a white frenzy. It smells like salt and hibiscus and the faintly metallic edge of thick humidity, and she breathes in deep, lowers to sit on the sand. Stretches out, legs long and bare, one arm folding beneath her head, closing her eyes to the sunshine and watching it flicker patterns of pink on the backs of her eyelids.
It's still a good way to spend her weekend. Exercise, truck food, and some time at the beach -- isn't that what people expect out of vacation on Hawaii?
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branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2013-02-04 05:54 pm (UTC)The floor is cool under her bare feet, and she sets the tote back down by the couch, looks around the room, hands settling on her hips. It's quiet, and neat and clean, but there's an odd feeling of disconnect that sends her turning on her heel to find another spot.
She ends up walking outside, heading through the kitchen and dining room, fingers trailing over the island and table, before reaching to slide open the door to the lanai and step into the sun. It's warm and peaceful out here, out of the direct sun, and the grass is soft under her feet as she wanders down towards the chairs set up there, looking out over the water, moves past them to the unkempt line where lawn gives way to beach, no more tickling blades brushing under the soles of her feet, just soft, slippery sand, and the back-and-forth hush of the waves. It's a beautiful spot, Steve's house; she thought so the first time she visited it, close to two years ago, and she still thinks so now. The sea breeze is sheltered here; it's not raw across an empty deck, or whipping water into a white frenzy. It smells like salt and hibiscus and the faintly metallic edge of thick humidity, and she breathes in deep, lowers to sit on the sand. Stretches out, legs long and bare, one arm folding beneath her head, closing her eyes to the sunshine and watching it flicker patterns of pink on the backs of her eyelids.
It's still a good way to spend her weekend. Exercise, truck food, and some time at the beach -- isn't that what people expect out of vacation on Hawaii?