Lucinda blinks as the edge of a heavy shadow eclipses her. High above, a fast-moving cloud fills the late afternoon sky. She shifts closer to her husband and pulls the blanket at her feet up to her knees as the porch swing sways. “Do you ever think about the sun?”
Faron brings his attention to Lucinda’s hand on his bare chest. “What about it.”
“If it stopped shining. Just disappeared. Do you know what will happen?”
Faron squints. “Off the top of my head? It would be dark.”
Lucinda closes her eyes and bites her bottom lip. Faron waits for confirmation of his assumption. When it becomes clear his wife won’t continue without him showing more interest, he sighs and asks the expected question slow and without emotion. “How much worse?”
Lucinda leans into Faron’s shoulder and turns her eyes up to his. “Outside of the changes in gravity, all human life would end within the first two days. We’d all freeze to death. After two months, the oceans will freeze over. After the atmosphere collapses, the planet will be a radioactive wasteland careening through space forever, or at least until it hits something of similar or greater size and is destroyed.”
Faron forces a hint of a smile. “Fun.”
Lucinda frowns from one side of her mouth. “Yeah.” She studies Faron’s face a moment longer before finding it hard to maintain her focus. “It’s been on my mind lately. It seems the perfect metaphor for loss. When your light goes away, it takes what was holding your feet to the ground. You become cold. Lifeless. You wander without direction until one day it all ends for good.”
Faron rests his hand on the back of Lucinda’s head, smoothing her coal-black curls. “I’m not going anywhere. Not yet.”
Lucinda guides the tips of her fingers down the raised skin on the center of Faron’s chest, healed, but discoloured. “Not yet.”
Faron opens his mouth, but the response disappears before forming enough to be spoken. Instead, he kisses her forehead and turns away.
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Photo by Jordon Conner on Unsplash
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