A Study in Drowning

by Ava Reid

The drive was very pleasant, the day green and blue and eventually, as evening came on, gold. After another hour they stopped at a small shop by the side of the road, and each got a sausage roll wrapped in waxed paper and coffee in a paper cup. Effy poured liberal amounts of cream into hers, and three sugar packets. Preston watched her with judgment over the rim of his own cup. “What’s the point,” he began, as they climbed back into the car, “of drinking coffee if you’re going to dilute it to that degree?” Effy took a long, savoring sip. “What’s the point of drinking coffee that doesn’t taste good?” “Well, I would argue that black coffee does taste good.” “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that someone who drinks scotch straight would think that black coffee tastes good,” Effy said, making a face. “Or else you’re secretly a masochist.” Preston turned the key in the ignition. “Masochism has nothing to do with it. You can learn to like anything if you drink it enough.”