In the other house—the empty house—where was the father?—the mother went to Google search.
The mother had on a translucent negligee. The mother’s face was wet.
The mother typed in: man who fixed the mower.
She saw a bunch of lawnmowers and some fires and a knife.
The mother typed in: man in the house with so much sand.
The search results contained texts about a man who’d built his house on sand, a man who made sand music, a movie based upon a book, thoughts on how to enjoy beaches, a man who’d built his house on rock.
None of this was what the mother wanted, clearly.
The mother’s elbows creased with chafe, indention. Her forearms were so thick.
The mother typed in: he with such long fingers.
The mother typed in: he with teeth & gloves.
The mother typed in: him.
The screen went white. She felt her belly bubble, throb. It made a beeping.
The mother looked at what she’d done.