The taste of salt

The stir of curtains came to her through the gauze of a dream. She grabbed for the vestiges of sleep. The smell of sea salt and rhythm of waves called to her body. The morning was waiting.

She pulled herself to the edge of the bed, braced against a poster to push her feet down. The thick, moisture-laden air added resistance to her movements. The ponderous weight shifted her balance and she slid to the floor. Naked skin drank in the humidity, sweat pooled beneath her breasts.

She moved to the corner chair, grabbed the flimsy sarong, wrapped it around the tops of her breasts letting it drape her rounded belly.

The baby shifted, tightening the skin. She rubbed her hand down the tautness, feeling the bits of toes, rump, arm?
“Not long, my love.”

She moved to the French doors pushing them open to accommodate the breeze. The beach was mere yards away, the waves lapping, beckoning.

She moved, almost without consent, toward azure.

When the water wet her toes, she stripped the sarong and waded. The mineral-rich water buoyed her weight, easing the strain along her spine. She raised her arms and simply … floated.

The sun burned orange behind her lids. The submerged ear drums vibrated with unidentifiable rumbles of the mothering sea. She didn’t hear him call her name. She was lost to salt and sun.

She felt the push of water as he waded toward her. Her head lifted, forcing her upright.

He smiled and closed the final feet between them. Resting his hand on the baby girl within, he leaned down to kiss the salt from her lips.