The girl saw the son was looking. She let the son’s hair fall free and took the son’s chin. She seemed to be saying something. The heat was foaming. The son could not shake it off. He could not not. The house’s color bloomed. He felt something move inside him, metastasizing, filling his form with its form: smoke through smoke, room through room. The son reached back and touched the girl’s arm. Her skin was smiling.
So what do you want to do now? the girl said.