FREE: Cadmium, a collection of flash fiction stories by Sandra Erickson

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The Last Dance

They sit together in the shade. He smokes a cigarette. She rests her head on his shoulder, closes her eyes against the glare, and a third trimester headache.

"Do you think we should call the sitter," he asks, rubbing the back of her neck. "and see how Emily is doing?"

"I'm sure they're fine. God, it's hot."

"Go inside. I'll be in in a minute. I'll bet the bride is missing you, anyway."

Clouds of cold air escape the reception hall to the romantic strains of some love song. He watches as the bride and groom make their way to the center of that big room to dance.

"Her father's probably already offered him a partnership."

"He has," she assures him, yawning.

"***** lawyers-- he's taken it?"

She nods.

"That should make her happy, enough." For now. That's right, he thinks, dance in the clouds with that idiot to our song. Nice touch....

Real nice. He takes another drag, and rubs his wife's shoulder.

"They're playing our song. " She laughs, squeezes his leg as she pushes herself upright, and stretches. "Want to dance with the fattest matron of honor on record?"

He laughs, in spite of himself, flicks the cigarette into the flower, calculating just how long before it sets the mulch on fire, and burns the place down. Time enough for a dance and another drink, he chides himself.

"Sure," he smiles and offers her a hand up.

"You know I am especially fond of fat women in shiny red dresses."