They sat on the mid-campus bench watching classmates scuttle like ants to their lectures. Trees sheltered them, their leaves dappling the sunlight into puzzle pieces.
Ginny tapped her finger on the notebook she cradled. “Did you know Edith Wharton’s husband found her success as a novelist embarrassing? He’d point to her at social gatherings and comment that nobody’d believe someone with so small a waist could find pleasure in such pursuits.” Her voice strengthened as she resolved to convey her meaning, despite its potential cost. “Today, and during her time, Edith Wharton’s novels contained passion and social commentary beyond anything her husband apparently could appreciate.” She ran her hand along her plump folds and hugged her poetry closer to her breast.
Henry eyed the movement. “I did not know that.” He rested his head on her shoulder, and his shampoo wafted Old Masculinity. Ginny loved and feared the scent.
He shifted to cup her chin in his calloused palm. “Mr. Wharton, whatever his first name was. Well, he was a bit of an idiot then, wasn’t he?”
Ginny flushed to the roots of her hair, pleased with his answer.
Kerry E.B. Black fights floods while maintaining a comfortable home for herself and her rather sizable family. Her published work can be found in many literary journals online and in print, and some of her stories find themselves nestled into anthologies. Kerry believe "Justice for All" is possible, but everyone must remain vigilant for it to happen. Feel free to follow her social media accounts: www.facebook.com/authorKerryE.B.Black , https://twitter.com/BlackKerryblick , and https://kerrylizblack.wordpress.com/