Page 17 of The Undead

“You’re feeling better today,” she observed. And tilted her head to one side, golden hair glowing in the morning sun. Her skin looked gilded, her eyes depthless. She didn’t even look tired, the wretch. “Why’s your head at that funny angle?”

“Ha ha,” I said sourly. “You think hospital beds are bad, try sleeping in a hospital chair. That’ll make a believer out of you. Sorry about the bristle this morning; I thought I’d clean up when we got home.”

“For?”

“For whatever thrills life has in store today. Listen, are you okay?”

“Perfect, except for a nice sore shoulder and a bullet scar to show everybody downtown. Nick probably has everybody thinking I’m one of the walking dead, you know.” Maggie gave me a sidelong look and a warm smile. “Not like some doctors I know. Thanks for staying by me, Mikey.”

“I’ll always stay by you. I love you,” I said, and for some reason it was hard to say it, harder to realize that if things had worked out differently yesterday, I might be saying it to her as she was being lowered into the ground. I cleared my throat, but the lump there stayed. “Maggie, what do you say to a vacation? Just the two of us. No careers, no buddies, no beepers. Just you and me on a nice, long, extended holiday.”

Maggie didn’t say anything, just tucked her hand into mine. I looked over at her, ignoring the traffic, and saw a glitter in her eyes that didn’t come from the harsh sunshine.

“I’d like that,” she finally said, in a distant voice. “After all this is over, I’d like that very much.”

“After all what’s over?” I asked. She shook her head, blindly; a tear spilled over and rolled down her cheek. “Maggie, are you all right? Really?”

“Things are just getting complicated, Michael. I can’t tell you any more than that right now. You’re going to have to trust me for a while? She turned her face to me, and her fingers tightened on mine. “You can do that, can’t you?”

“You know I can, and I will. Is this about work?”

“No questions,” she said softly. “I may ask you to do some strange things for me, but when I do you’ve got to do them without pushing me for answers. Agreed?”

What choice did I have?

“Agreed.” I turned the Volvo into our street and coasted up into the driveway. After I’d shut the engine off, Maggie just sat there, staring out at the yard. “What’re you thinking?”

“Maybe after our vacation I’ll plant some flowers there. What do you think? Some nice purple ones.” She was trembling all over. I leaned over and hugged her close, feeling the sobs shaking her even though no more tears came down her cheeks. “And I want—I want to put in—”

“Anything,” I promised her softly. “We’ll do it together, no gardeners, no landscapers. Be a shock to our neighbors, seeing somebody working in the yard who isn’t hired help. Now come on in the house and I’ll make you breakfast.”

“You will?” she whispered, and clung to me like a child.

“Anything you want,” I said again. I meant it.

“Pancakes. Lots of syrup. Bacon.”

She was trying to kill me with cholesterol again, and I didn’t mind one bit.

I’m not the greatest at pancake flipping, but I managed. My pancakes came out in a variety of sizes and an even greater variety of shades, but Maggie didn’t seem to care. She watched me work with intensity, and when I set the plate down in front of her she reached out and grabbed my wrist.

“Too much butter?” I asked, surprised. She didn’t smile.

“I know what I want to do for vacation,” she said. I looked interested. “You might want to sit down, Michael.”

I slid into my chair.

“I want to get pregnant. I want to have your baby. Let’s spend our entire vacation in some cool mountain cabin making love.” She searched my face anxiously. “What do you think?”

What did I think? WhatdidI think? After all, I’d had Maggie all to myself for eight years. I’d enjoyed the freedom of not being tied down to kids. Was I willing to give that up yet?

The feeling welled up from somewhere under my heart, hot and sure. Yes. Hell, yes.

“I think,” I said slowly, and stood up to put my arms around her, “that if you didn’t have a bullet hole in you and need all your strength, I’d start on this project today. Oh, God, Maggie. You’re serious? Really?”

“Really,” she affirmed softly. I kissed the top of her head, then laid my cheek on it and closed my eyes.

“I’ll make the reservations,” I promised, and then straightened up. “Eat.”

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