Variety

Natasha needed new things to grow, such as the manure she had spread in her garden.

She and Curtis had an old place in the hip and fashion, hip and fashion; Curtis needed a big house for his studio and to accommodate his team.

Natasha thought of herself as hip and fashionable because she was married to Curtis and everyone in Seattle knew Curtis. Natasha had no special talent. She was a beautiful decoration of Curtis and loved the garden. That was about that.

Natasha wanted a new car. The Channel cart was reliable but old. Part of the dashboard lights did not work; radio knots had fallen. The car smelled of dogs and spilled soup.

They did not need a new car. Curtis was proud that he had been paid.

But Natasha really wanted a car that worked on everything, with its passenger back doors that could not be chewed.

One hot summer day Curtis was on his way home from Portland. Natasha's saloon shift ended at 6 p.m. Natasha took her soda and laptop to her garden. Under the Rainier cherry tree, he looked at websites and ads that searched the internet and tried to cool down.

Curtis did not arrive at seven, or ten. It was not uncommon for Curtis to bend over backward as he wrote a note in his notebook. Natasha fell asleep. Curtis was accompanied by collie Louise, and Natasha helped old Pitbull Brutus to sleep with her in bed.

Her cellphone rang at 4 am.

"Honey?" Curtis' voice, and the edge of concern. "First, we're alive. Louise and I are."

Natasha stayed. "What's going on?"

It overturned the car. The car was complete and he was riding home to his friend in Portland.

Natasha's heart sank and she returned to her chest, but she remained alert like a watchful cat. Louise was right. Curtis was right.

The car was not WELL. They would have to buy a new one. Natasha fell asleep dreaming of the smell of a new car.

They live in a mixed American area large enough - almost - dogs and Curtis' bell. Used, but with GPS and iPod interface and automatic seats.

Natasha loved it. He made excuses to take her to the only store that sold the cosmetics she needed. He sighed as Curtis drove him to eat a gig.

Summer is cooled, cooled, and melted in a damp spring. Natasha was castrated, grew up, and covered with a donkey. Rainier cherry covered itself with snowy flowers. One hot morning Natasha looked around the house, criticizing her paint and 20-year-old shingles. Natasha wanted a new roof.

Curtis was against it. He did not tell them that they were going to stay in the house. He said they might move to Los Angeles. Or New York. He was getting a lot of notice in the recording studios.

Summer was not pleasant. Curtis broke his ankle and jumped on stage. They had to lay down old Brutus. The loss broke Natasha's heart.

To escape from Curtis' predicament, Natasha spent time in the garden, gazing at the roof.

One night in August they had a party: fried wieners, burgers, veggies. The band played acoustic on Natasha's lawn. Everyone loved the colorful lights throughout the garden.

When Natasha fell asleep she dreamed of a gold roof. In a dream, Curtis called him by name.

"Natasha, get up. There's a fire!"

The fire darkened the wall, burned the roof, and melted the back porch. The wind picked up a spark on the grill and set it near the house.

Natasha, Curtis, Louise, and the equipment rented a flat some distance away. The contractor said they would get a new kitchen and a new roof.

Six months later the house was ready. The roof, made of silver, glowed in the sunlight. Natasha opted for a deep maroon-like clapboard, a thyme-shade cut.

The following winter Natasha walked around barefoot in her silk bottom, wearing long woolen jerseys. Curtis was even busier. His CD came out and he walked around, going up and down the beach. Natasha made excuses not to go. He thought he was getting in his way like a machine set in the wrong place.

When Spring came Curtis wrote songs and rehearsed them endlessly. Leaf trees. The trees smelled of the garden.

Natasha thought she might be pregnant. He craved nothing, kept his desires low, his desires controlled. A pink line is formed in the test line. He began to dream about words.

He never told Curtis. Now he had a purpose. Eventually, there was a field-like talent.

On a cool, foggy day in Seattle; cherry blooms add sugar to the grass. Natasha hurried home from work, especially tired.

In practice, the band poured chips and beer after them like busy raccoons. Passing over an empty pizza box, Natasha entered her kitchen, thinking of hot tea and cakes.

Words in the restaurant, are invisible. Curtis and one of the girls. Natasha was not a jealous person. The girls hung Curtis like glass balls on a Christmas tree. Leaning against the cupboard, he heard Curtis, honest, determined.

"Being here is dragging. I need flexibility. I need to go down to LA and stay for a year. I don't think I want to be with him. I just don't know how to tell him."

The girl complains of sympathy for her grief. As she walked, Natasha put on a kettle and stared at the hanger hanging from the cherry tree.

Natasha decided she wanted a new husband.