Likely to Rain

Marcus smoked his cigarette; leaned on the side of his pickup truck.  Smoke spiraled from his nostrils and he blew it from his mouth.  He had promised her he would quit smoking.  He ran his hand down the side of his truck and brushed the dirt off on his jeans.  It was into morning already.  Rubbed his eyes and took another drag.  His head reeled from the smoke and he missed the days when it didn't.  He inhaled hard and blew it out with a grunt, smacking the dust from his thigh.  He had needed to wash his truck for a long time, but he figured it was likely to rain.
Flicked the cherry off of the end of the cigarette and tossed it; he looked at the horizon and stared.  His eyes were hard and he took a deep breath to steady his head.  Glanced at the screen door of the house; walked up the steps of the porch.  They had always said how nice it would be to get away from this place.  He was quiet and he looked in before he stepped in.  Her purse sat beside the door, leaning against the wall.
Marcus washed his hands off in the kitchen sink and glanced around the corner.  The bathroom light spewed into the hallway.  She had turned all the lights in the house off and had opened all the blinds.  He was going to have to shut them all again.
The sound of water splashed in the bathroom; he leaned against the wall, listening.  Her breath breathed in and out before she held it to dunk her head.  He heard water hit the wall.
Turned and stood in the bathroom doorway.
In the bathtub she rubbed the water out of her eyes.  Her back to him, the window shined on her, pushed her hair out of her eyes and gathered it away from her face.  On her knees she rubbed soap down her breasts and belly.  Water dripped down the sides of her, running to get off of her skin, the sun caught the droplets in its light and framed her.  She shivered and he watched the goosebumps follow down the v of her back.
She noticed him, freezing.
“I promise I won't be long,” she said.
He had promised her a lot of things.
He went to their bedroom and sat down on their bed.  The closet was half empty.  The pictures on the walls were hers.  She had bought them at a rummage sale and had cleaned them up and framed them.  They were of a boring spring day where nothing of interest was happening beside a river.  He had told her how much he had loved what she had done with them.  He remembered the nights she had spent slaving over them, cleaning them.  He had felt neglected those nights.  He never told her.
He looked down at the wrinkled comforter.  Stood to make the bed.  Straightened her pillow.  She had said the night before how tired she was.  Their pillows touched edges when he straightened his own.  He covered them with the bedspread and tucked and patted it smooth.  Picked up her empty water glass and took it to the kitchen sink.
The bathroom door was closed, the hallway was dark.  Marcus didn't turn the light on.  He went back into his bedroom and sat back down on the edge of his bed.  She was always true to her word.  She wasn't long in the bathroom, before she left.