The Last Faithful

Grim

Six years ago, Alexandra Carmichael lost her mother to an unfortunate drinking accident. In the will, her other siblings received a nice little nest egg and small properties close to the highway. Alex, received one thing, her mother's decades-old Devil's Ivy. It was a cheap plant they picked up at a hardware store together in her youth. She was surprised it was still alive.

Alex put it in her bedroom, never paying much attention to it. No one in her immediate family thought to clean around it or care for it since she made it clear its death would please her.

It took awhile but the leaves finally started to brown. Her husband stopped watering it months ago.

Alex pulled the plant forward. Sunlight reflected off her treasure trove. Bottles she won off Frank Sansford playing Gin were near full; they were her trophies after all. Everything else almost met its end.

She snatched up her favorite everyday liquor, twisted the cap off, and enjoyed the aroma. Alex took a long swig before opening her bedroom window.

The breeze hinted at a sun-kissed rain. On exhaling, she swayed up against the wall. She glanced over at the clock then outside. The street seemed vacant save for a few delivery trucks and children playing around in their dress clothes. She sucked her teeth. It sounded like an entire army was raiding the neighborhood.

"Al, I'm home."

Alex returned the Wild Turkey and kicked the wicker planter back in place. Her husband met her at the bedroom door. He draped his arms over her in a warm embrace. Paul looked picturesque even after working all day. His muskiness failed to dampen his allure. She nestled her head into his solid chest.

"I hope they'll hire some more workers soon or buy some more bots. It feels like my arms are going to fall off."

Paul tightly imprisoned her in his arms. His nose brushed against her cheeks. He locked onto Alex's bony arms then pulled her back. His eyebrows bent in tight.

"Did you go out?"

"It's only mouthwash--"

"Al--"

"You caught me in the middle of getting ready for church. We can talk about it after I get home, okay?"

Paul scratched the back of his head, " Sure, I suppose. I-I'm going out back to feed the chickens. Don't forget to make us breakfast before heading out."

"Of course, I love you."

He left, silently closing the door behind him.

"Shit."