by Hugh Wesley
Sometimes, forgiveness is bought with a helping hand.
|“Are you just going to stand there in the corner?”
Sybil was hot, and it didn’t help that Levi wouldn’t even acknowledge her. She stopped stirring her dinner and peered into the darkness.
“Look, I know you’re there,” she said. “I can hear you shuffling back and forth.”
The kettle in front of her hissed as some of the liquid boiled over and sizzled against the cast iron side. Sybil began stirring again.
“And another thing … I heard you come in this morning. I should have known better than to leave the window open.”
Whisking sounded through the blackness, and she knew he was turning away from her, trying to escape her gaze.”
“Where were you last night?” She watched the corner, trying to catch a glimpse of movement.
Somewhere outside the window, a frog croaked.
Sybil pursed her lips.
“You were with that … that witch, weren’t you?” Her hat lifted off her head in the wind of her bluster.
The whisking sound grew louder, nervous, and then — BANG! The broom handle clanked against the floor, pitching into the light. It bounced a couple of times, then fell silent.
Sybil rolled her eyes and hissed out an exasperated breath.
“Don’t beg, Levi,” she said. “It’s beneath you. And you know it won’t do any good.”
Sybil shivered. She never could resist Levi when he laid himself bare like that.
“Oh, alright!” she said after a few moments of hush. “Get on over here, then.”
The broom shimmied on the floor, then rose into the air and floated across the room, hovering to a stop in front of Sybil.
“It’s a good thing for you I’m out of eye of newt.”
Sybil hopped on the broomstick, and Levi carried out through the window, into the forest gloom.