Recognition (Truth) by Carol Malo (terrific story!)
Okay:
The kitchen floor, of linoleum, was cold and she wished she'd put on her socks. She found the water glass she had used only hours earlier and eased water into it from the tap. She was glad his plumbing wasn't the booming kind like that in her place - no, don't think about your apartment! In a few hours we'll go check it out and everything will be just fine and if it isn't Clark will say
something appropriately compassionate and I'll box his ears...
She refilled the glass, deciding to take it with her back to bed, turned, allowed herself a glance at Clark - and nearly dropped the glass and had to grip it.
Clark was not on the couch. He was over it. Hovering. Floating. Maybe two feet higher than the couch surface, just a bit higher than the couch back. The robe had slipped off him and was
lying crumpled on the floor. His back was to her but she could tell he was clutching his pillow. He floated there as though he might actually have been lying on a bed, his legs drawn up a bit, though his back appeared straight, reminding her of one of those orthopedic mattress commercials.
Not wanting to take her eyes off him, she eased forward until she could sense the table and set the glass down there so silently a tomb would have envied her.
I can't just *stand* here, I have to *do* something about this.... My camera, yes!
Her purse containing a cheap but useful instant camera was far away in the bedroom. She looked that direction, plotted a fast, silent run and grab - and then pulled herself up before the plan could get any further, like her using up the roll, escaping before he knew what had happened, processing the film herself, making big prints, and showing them to Perry, who would be speechless...
I can't do that to *Clark,* just because he's...
