A Storyby Richard Bausch
The middle of spring in Memphis, and it felt like winter. Tonight, setting out the recycling, she shivered and it took a good ten minutes to get rid of the chill. She had him hold her, his breath warm at her neck. They lay in the bed under the ceiling light, because he said it would feel like warmth shining down on them. She thought of the waste of electricity. “Can you turn it off?” she said.
“I’m cold too.”
“You turn it off.”
She was quiet. In a little while he got up and flicked the switch and then crawled in at her back, shivering. “I’d like to turn the heat on.”
“Stay,” she said.