The Law of Bound Hearts by Anne Leclaire Page B

was, in fact, the root of “salary.” He said salt had caused wars, had been used to preserve Egyptian mummies, and was an essential element in the human diet. There were more than fourteen thousand known uses for salt, he told them. He then explained how one of those uses was in bread making. Salt provided uniform grain and texture, he said, and strengthened the gluten in the dough, allowing it to expand without breaking.
    Salt, the instructor had told them, was the only rock that was eaten by humans.
    She inhaled Lee’s sea smell again. Still half awake, her mind circled around in languid word association. Pillar of salt. Salt of the earth. To ward off bad luck, throw a pinch over your shoulder. To protect a newborn, bathe him in salt water. Salt water. Salt marsh. Saltworks.
    She recalled how, when Alice was showing her real estate properties, she had told her that two hundred years ago saltworks had been a mainstay of Sippican’s economy. Alice had driven by the sites where windmills had once pumped seawater upland through hollowed logs to vats. She’d explained how it had been moved from vat to vat until the sun evaporated the water and left salt deposits at the bottom. Wooden roofs, swung on cranes, covered the vats at night or when it rained. The salt produced in this way, she said, was pure, strong, and free from lime.
    Sam wondered if the tears of all the women widowed by the sea were pure and strong. Did the salt they wept make their hearts expand but not break? Had it warded off spirits? Had it preserved? Worked cures?
    â€œHey.” Lee, awake now, lifted his arm and wrapped it around her shoulders, drew her to him.
    â€œHey, yourself.”
    â€œYou looked like you were pretty far off.”
    â€œJust thinking.”
    He kissed her temple. “About what?”
    She smiled. “You’ll never guess.”
    â€œTell me.” He kissed her nose, the curve at the corner of her lips.
    â€œSalt.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œUh-huh.”
    â€œWhat about it?”
    She closed her eyes, ran though her thoughts. “Did you know that it is the only rock that humans eat?”
    â€œIs that a fact?” He lifted her arm and brought it to his mouth. His brown eyes were steady on hers. He licked the inner crease of her elbow. “Salt,” he said. She trembled. He ran his tongue up the tender, white underpart of her arm. “Salt,” he said. She felt the deep, hot bolt of desire. He continued, licking around her breasts, up the curve of her neck to the hollow of her throat. “Salt,” he said.
    She knew there were women he had loved before. She had seen them around town and knew their names. Alison. Kerry. Carolyn. They were friendly with him, cordial to her. One, Carolyn, still gave him birthday gifts: bottles of good wine, expensive books.
    â€œIf you leave me—,” she began.
    He traced his tongue back down between her breasts, then lower. Her back arched and she caught her breath. “If you leave me,” she whispered, “we couldn’t stay friends.”
    He burrowed his face in her belly, murmured something.
    â€œWhat?” she said.
    â€œI will never leave you,” he said.
    She allowed herself to believe this. Her body opened to him.
    He ran his tongue lower, dipped into the salt of her hidden places.
    Their bodies, warm and open and not yet inhabiting the day’s defenses, coupled, melded, merged, swam, dove deep, grew salt.
    â€œTell me something,” Lee said. His voice was sleepy, postcoital.
    She curled her body closer to his. Happiness this deep should be outlawed. Taboo. Illegal. Or bottled and sold. At prohibitive prices. Taxed like a luxury item. New brides with costly weddings and elaborate cakes, brides with Cartier rings that cost more than her home, these brides had nothing on her. “Tell you what?”
    â€œSomething about you,” he said.
    â€œAbout me?”
    â€œTell me a story about