Novel in Progress/An Excerpt (5)

She runs the tip of her tongue over the ridge of her mouth. She blinks, and a tear falls down her one cheek, through the pebble land of her freckles. From far away I hear the high gauze of a church song—bells. Sunday, I think, and somewhere there are everyday people in everyday cars going somewhere. There are the mothers, and there are the babies, and they are together.