SmokeLong Quarterly

She stayed in bed and listened to him shuffle around in the dark looking for something: a lighter, a cigarette. She watched from half-closed eyes as he stalked the bedroom on bare footpads, as quiet as someone so clumsy can be. When the room shook, he paused mid-step, hands out for balance, a stupefied look on his face. Her favorite blue vase rocked on the bookshelf, fell, shattered. He swore; she closed her eyes and pretended not to notice. The earthquake was brief and easy, like a heavy door slamming shut elsewhere in the house.