Page 8 of Four Calling Birds

She leaned back in the seat, that one perfectly arched brow rose. Once upon a time, I had thought that this expression was kinda cute. Now it was just annoying, and condescending. Proven, when her voice dripped with sarcasm. “No, strangely enough, when I went undercover to infiltrate the Scorpio Network, I didnotactually bring a copy of our divorce petition with my real fucking name on it with me.”

She shook her head, shrugged, with a dramatic, palm-up gesture at her shoulder as if she was talking to a particularly stupid child. And oh, she didn’t need to give me that look to make me feel that way. I already felt like a complete and total moron.

“So…” I laughed, completely baffled by this entire situation. Here I was, sitting next to mywifein the Victorian house in the middle of nowhere, that I was renovating as a means to forget her absence. And now, it was tainted as well. I’d have to burn the house, and build a shack out back. Maybe I’d have to perform an exorcism to get her presence out of here now. “How do we fix it?”

She crossed her arms under her small breasts, which pushed them up against the sports bra she had worn from the night before. She was cold, her nipples pebbling under the soft fabric.

“Well, you could sign the papers the next time I send them to you.”

I chuckled, putting my arm across the backrest out of habit. My hand lay right behind the nape of her neck. I fought the strange muscle memory that begged me to massage the base of her skull just like I used to when she was stressed.

“I like your hair,” I told her, twirling an auburn strand in my finger. She had put highlights in it. I hadn’t noticed them last night when it was dark, but the light outside was going from a foggy gray, to a brilliant orange sunset. It made the auburn highlights look even brighter. It suited her. “I liked it when it was all natural, but this is cute. Seasonal.”

“Cute?” She tried to suppress a smile. “Since when do you use a word like that?” Then her eyes darkened, and she pulled her head out of my grasp. With bitter irritation, she asked, “Something you picked up fromMellie?”

She made her voice high and almost ditzy when she said Melody “Mellie” Gray’s name.

“Jealous,wife?” I reached out a finger, tracing a line from her cheekbone to her jaw. She was so thin, that even her cheeks had hollowed. I didn’t like it. It wasn’t… healthy.

She pulled her head away again, and with a resigned sigh, I lifted my hands palm out and put them on my lap. I leaned back into the large cushions, and regarded her, and Bo, and the flames crackling in the fireplace. It wasn’t decorative. The heat in this old, decrepit building was unreliable at best. Fires were still the most economic way to heat the damn place.

But she looked good on my couch. In front of the fire. With my dog. She always had.

Lotte had a way of making everyone feel like they were home. She had a way for turning this old, slightly creepy, looking house and making it seem like a comfortable space to read, and tell stories, and have a drink over a fire.

I knew she would have loved this overstuffed monstrosity of a couch. That wasn’t why I bought it, of course. It was a pull-out, in case I ever had guests. Not that I ever wanted to have guests, but I was a team guy for so long that I knew random 6thGroup, from my Special Forces days, were liable to crash, uninvited, at any moment.

This house had four bedrooms, three baths, and an enormous farmhouse kitchen with an adjoining foyer and living room. It also had well water, spotty electrical, inadequate heating, disgusting wall-to-wall shag carpeting that I was in the process of replacing and wood siding that had holes from an overzealous woodpecker. The beautiful Catskill mountains, of which I now owned 400 acres of, had hiking trails, gorgeous rivers, and an overpopulation of deer, including the asshole, Bruce.

I had done all this to get her out of my mind. And now she was here, proverbially deposited on my lap. “Send them, and I’ll sign them.”

“I’m sure your girlfriend will appreciate that.” She tried to smile.

Did the thought of me with another woman bother her? Of me moving on? I hadn’t, of course. Mellie, strictly speaking, had been one date. She lived across the street, on a family farm she was trying to run with her teenage brother. The girl was on the struggle bus, after her parents died. And she was nice.Young. But nice. We went to a bar, had a couple drinks, and I dropped her off home. That was it.

I’m convinced that Mellie’s interest in me wasn’t attraction. It was a hope that I could be an influence on her brother, who had all the hallmarks of a slacker in the making. The kid wasn’t dealing with the tragedy well, from what I gathered, and was a real shit about it.

Lotte’s eyes moved forward to the coffee table. A coffee table we had picked out maybe twelve years ago from an antique store in Aberdeen, near Fort Bragg. The smile melted from her face when she saw it. What was she thinking? Was she awash with the memories of a life we had lived together? Did she remember any of it? Did she care?

“Do you have my pain meds?” she asked, a sudden crease burrowing between her eyebrows. She looked pained. But I don’t think it had to do with anything physical. And just like seven years ago, the hurt in her eyes pierced a part of my heart, and made me want to spring into action.

“It said 'as needed',” I swallowed, idly running a finger down her jaw. She had always hated how square it was, but I always thought the sharpness of it added to her beauty. “Are you in pain?”

“It’ll help me go back to sleep.” Her evasion didn’t slip my notice. But I didn’t challenge her on it.

“We should get you into a bath first.” Hoping to make her smile, I leaned towards her, sniffed loudly, then crinkled my nose like she smelled bad… and she kind of did. The overwhelming stench of surgical liquids came off her skin. She tried to slap my shoulder, but she winced.

Maybe her pain was coming back. But I knew she hated going to bed dirty. At least, notthiskind of dirty.

5. The Naked Rights

Lotte

Hepickedmeup,one arm behind my back, the other under my knees. More than ten years on, and he was still able to lift me like he had on our wedding day.

“Brett didn’t give you any extra clothes,” he said, as he shouldered us into a room down a narrow hallway. Too narrow by modern standards, but I assumed this was an ancient house. “So, I’ll have to dig into some boxes and see if you have anything in your old things.”

“You kept my things?” I lifted my head. “I thought you would have dumped them in a landfill by now. Or sold them in a garage sale.”

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