Excerpt from Our Souls at Night by Kent Haruf, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

There was a bathroom down the hall and another one off the dining room downstairs. The bed in the room was king?—?sized with a light cotton spread over it.

What do you think? she said.

It's a bigger house than I thought. More rooms.

It's been a good house for us. I've been here forty?—?four years.

Two years after I moved back here with Diane.

A long time ago.

3

I think I'll just use the bathroom, she said.

While she was out of the room he looked at the pictures on her dresser and the ones hanging on the walls. Family pictures with Carl on their wedding day, on the church steps somewhere. The two of them in the mountains beside a creek. A little black and white dog. He knew Carl a little bit, a decent man, pretty calm, he sold crop insurance and other kinds of insurance to people all over Holt County twenty years ago, had been elected mayor of the town for two terms. Louis never knew him well. He was glad now that he hadn't. There were pictures of their son. Gene didn't look like either of them. A tall thin boy, very serious. And two pictures of their daughter as a young girl.

When she came back he said, I think I'll use the bathroom too. He went in and used the toilet and washed his hands scrupulously and squeezed out a little dollop of her toothpaste and brushed his teeth and then took off his shoes and clothes and got into his pajamas. He folded his clothes over his shoes and left them in the corner behind the door and went back to the bedroom. She had gotten into a nightgown and was in bed now, the bedside lamp alight on her side and the ceiling light switched off and the window open a few inches. There was a cool soft breeze. He stood beside the bed. She folded back the sheet and blanket.

Aren't you getting in?

I'm considering it.

He got into bed, staying on his side, and pulled the blanket up and lay back. He didn't say anything yet.

What are you thinking? she said. You're awfully quiet.

How strange this is. How new it is to be here. How uncertain I feel, and sort of nervous. I don't know what I'm thinking. A mess of things.

It is new, isn't it, she said. It's a good kind of new, I'd say. Would you?

I would.

What do you do before you sleep?

Oh, I watch the ten o'clock news and come to bed and read till I'm asleep. But I don't know if I'll be able to sleep tonight. I'm too keyed up.

I'm going to shut off the light, she said. We can still talk. She turned in the bed and he looked at her bare smooth shoulders and her bright hair under the light.

Then it was dark with just the light from the street showing faintly in the room. They talked about trivial matters, getting acquainted a little, the minor routine events of town, the health of the old lady Ruth who lived in between their houses, the paving of Birch Street. Then they were quiet.

After a while he said, Are you still awake?

Yes.

You asked what I was thinking. One thing I was thinking: I'm glad I didn't know Carl very well.

Why?

I wouldn't feel as good as I do being here, if I did.

But I knew Diane pretty well.

An hour later she was asleep and breathing quietly. He was still awake. He had been watching her. He could see her face in the dim light. They hadn't touched once. At three in the morning he got up and went to the bathroom and came back and shut the window. A wind had come up.

At daybreak he rose and got dressed in the bathroom and looked again at Addie Moore in bed. She was awake now. I'll see you, he said.

Will you?

Yes.

He went out and walked home on the sidewalk past the neighboring houses and went inside and made coffee and ate some toast and eggs and went out and worked in his garden for a couple of hours and returned to the kitchen and ate an early lunch and slept heavily for two hours in the afternoon.

Excerpted from Our Souls at Night by Kent Haruf. Copyright © 2015 by Kent Haruf. Excerpted by permission of Knopf. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.