Page 44 of Four Calling Birds

“You feel so good,” she moaned, scooting further into my grasp.

“Behave yourself, woman,” I chastised, taking a bite of her ear lobe.

“God, I wish I could do something about this,” she laughed, but it turned into a huge yawn. “Is it possible to be horny, but also too tired to fuck at the same time?”

Apparently, the answer was yes. Because she fell asleep. I stayed awake, staring out at the gap in the curtains that would mark the start of a new day, and the end of my usefulness to the woman in my arms.

When the dark night gave way to a frigid morning, I kissed her ear.

“I love you, wife,” I said, possibly for the last time.

I squeezed her close to me, and she moaned in her sleep.

I counted myself lucky. I had stolen a few more days, another Thanksgiving, as a husband. It was probably the most important job I had ever done. It was the greatest title I would ever hold. By some great mercy, I was given another moment after the post-mortem of our marriage, and I was happy about that. I had to be. Because the alternative was to eat my pistol, to make the bleakness of a future without her as short as humanly possible.

She slept long into the morning. So long that my stomach went from hungry, to settling into its empty state after we missed breakfast. Then lunch. Still, I didn’t move, and neither did Bo. It was like we were both enjoying her presence for as long as possible, refusing to disturb anything, in case it would shatter the fragile glass that kept us in this state.

But the disturbance came from the outside in the loud crackle of gravel as a loud truck roared into my driveway.

She stirred, wiping drool from the side of her mouth in a move that I found adorable, as always.

“Who is it? Are Griff and Taz back?” She moaned, coming up to a sitting position as we both looked out the window.

“Nope,” I said, with a sigh.

My heart sank to my stomach. Of course, I couldn’t get a peaceful day with her.

I braced for the immediate disaster that was stomping up my drive as my father’s voice boomed, “Are you here, boy?”

I sat up, putting my bare feet on the rug as I ran a hand through my hair. “I’ll be out in a sec.”

“Are you still in bed?” My father wasn’t a man who tolerated any kind of tardiness, and he especially didn’t believe in sleeping in. “Retirement’s gotten you lazy…”

The bedroom door slammed open, and Bo barked. Lotte gasped, pulling the duvet up to her naked chest.

My father exclaimed,“What the hell?”

“Get the fuck out, Dad!” I shot to my feet, wearing nothing but my pajama bottoms.

I pushed the old man out of the room, closing the door behind us to give Lotte a moment.

I dragged him into the living room by his arm. He pulled his sleeve out of my grasp, turned on me and with a knife hand bellowed, “What the fuck is she doing here?”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“She left! What are you thinking, boy?”

“I’m not a boy, Dad!” I matched him, bellow for bellow, knife hand for another knife hand. It was a rare occurrence since I had been raised to respect my parents, but I was too tired to restrain myself as this man shattered the illusion of happiness that I had been gifted. “And you have no right to barge in here and…”

“No right?” He laughed. “Do you remember why that ended?” He pointed at the bedroom door. “Do you remember that she left? That she walked out on you after she failed to… failed to…”

“Failed to carry to term?” I filled in the gap for him. I wanted him to know how stupid his point sounded when we put words to it.

It silenced my old man for a moment, but it did not lessen the indignity I felt at having my last moments with the love of my life stolen from me.

“I’m not a teenager, Dad. I’m not going to be lectured by you about who ends up in my bed, especially when that woman is my wife.”

“Yourex-wife.”

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