What’s next.

“The Point was the same—their arrival down the long gravel road through the shade of oak and pine so beautiful it tipped Nancy off-balance and she never quite righted herself. The wind banged the screen doors at night, the shades slapped the windows—as if something alive was trying to rouse them all from sleep. The boisterous parents down on the beach, the white sails drying on the lawns, the crumpled beer cans on the terrace wall, the cigarette butts extinguished in the clamshell halves—all of these adult things seemed to her a part of herself that had yet to happen, and she lived in apprehension of their occurrence.”
Spill the Wine,” Karen Brown

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