Page 102 of Corkscrew You
Lame, I know, but all my brainpower has been sapped by orgasms.
Nate’s father nods. It’s too dark to read his expression.
“Good night, then, Miss Armstrong,” he says, and my knees go a little weak with relief.
“Good night, sir.” Nate’s manners are catching.
We pass each other, but when I’m only inches from safety, he speaks again.
“Miss Armstrong?”
Dreading what’s coming, I turn around.
“When did your father die?”
Come back, brainpower. Ineedyou.
“Last year,” I reply.
“Was he ill?”
“Cancer.”
My short answers sound rude to my ears, but Nate’s dad isn’t taking offence, far as I can tell.
There’s a worrying pause, though, but then he says, “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, God,” I blurt, without thinking. “So am I. Every day.”
And now I’ve started talking, I can’t stop. Grief is like that. It takes hold and then you’re spilling your heart out in front of anyone who’ll listen. Even if they’ve made it clear that listening is the last thing they want to do.
“Sometimes, I forget he’s not around,” I say. “I’ll find myself picking up the phone to tell him something, before it hits me that I can’t. And I think Iseehim, too, all the time. Catch sight of the back of a head, or hear a laugh like his, and I expect he’ll appear, like it’s all been a huge mistake. It’s so cruel, that, because the grief when you realize you’re wrong justsocksit to you. Sometimes, I have to go curl up in a ball until it passes. It’s awful, and it never seems to end. You think it’s lessened, but then it comes screaming back at full force and takes all the wind out of you like—”
Nate’s dad makes a movement, maybe impatient, maybe not, but it’s enough to halt me mid-ramble.
“Sorry,” I say.
“Don’t be,” is his surprising reply. He raises his hand, gives the wall a single pat. “Sleep well, Miss Armstrong.”
“You too, sir,” I babble, and then I make a break for the guest bedroom door and shut it quickly behind me.
The horsey pajamas are where I left them on the bed. I change into them, and slip between crisp andironed(who does that?) cotton sheets. High thread count. Nice.
I expect to dwell on that weird encounter with Nate’s dad, but my body has other plans and sends me into a sleep so deep, I lose even the power to dream.
ChapterThirty-Four
NATE
Iwake with a sense that I have something important to remember.
Oh, yeah. I’ve got to visit the doc this morning, on account of my womanly fainting.
Oh,yeah. Shelby and I! We’re back together, and absolutely scorching it in bed. God, I love her. I amsogoddamn lucky.
Oh. Yeah. Max…
Sorry, little bro, but it couldn’t be helped. When you grow up, you’ll understand.
