Another quiet interlude fell in behind our words. Eventually it was pushed aside by the sound of movement, but this time it was me who shifted, seeking a somewhat more comfortable position.
Reaching to the side, I picked up one of the towels that had been carelessly tossed to the floor during the search. Leaning forward a bit, I shoved it behind myself then settled back with an involuntary groan.
“You don’t have to stay in here with me,” Felicity said. “You can’t possibly be comfortable.”
“Do you want to be alone?” I asked. “I can go do something else.”
I was sincere in my offer to give her solitude, but inside I hoped she wouldn’t take me up on it.
“No…not really…but…”
“But nothing,” I cut her off gently, feeling a sense of relief. “I’m with you, which is right where I want to be.”
She whispered, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
In keeping with the sporadic, up and down trend of the conversation, a period of quiet settled in between us. After a few moments we heard the metallic rattle of dog tags, followed by the click of canine toenails on hardwood. The sound came closer and finally our English setter poked his head in through the doorway. He looked at us curiously and then huffed out a low “woof”. I knew from experience, he was beckoning us to come to bed. It was readily apparent that, as far as he was concerned, his routine had been upset more than enough, and it was time for things to return to his concept of normal.
“We’ll be there soon,” I told him. “Go on back to bed.”
He looked at me as if he understood, woofed softly once again then turned and padded away, presumably back to his overstuffed pillow.
“Been rough on the kids,” I offered.
“Aye, I’m sure,” my wife replied. “And, you too.”
“Yeah, in more ways than you know. But it was a lot worse for you.”
“I’m not so sure,” she began, seizing on the opening I’d unconsciously given her. “When are you going to tell me what happened to your lip?”
I had all but forgotten about the wound that graced the lower half of my face courtesy of her brother. Her mention of it reminded me that it was still throbbing and soreness was setting in. Still, it was a subject I didn’t want to get into right now.
“I cut myself shaving,” I replied.
“Rowan…”
“It’s nothing.”
“Don’t tell me you and Ben got into it again?”
“No,” I answered, shaking my head out of reflex but stopping quickly when all it did was further enhance my pains. “I think I would have ended up with more than just a split lip if I had.”
“What happened then?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
“Row…”
“Really, I will,” I told her, overt sincerity in my voice. “I promise…Right now, let’s just pretend for a while.”
She paused for a long moment, and then with a thread of disquiet accenting her voice, she whispered, “Pretend what?”
“Pretend that this is all over.”
Another weighty interval of quiet filled the room. I closed my eyes and tried to relax but didn’t meet with much luck.
“It really isn’t, is it?” she asked, her voice a faint whisper.
We were going to have more than enough to deal with where Shamus was concerned, but that wasn’t what worried me right now. I reached up to rub my temple even though I knew it was a lost cause. I had hoped that Felicity’s freedom would make the agonizing throb inside my skull subside, but it hadn’t. In fact, the pounding had only grown worse since we’d arrived home, and I couldn’t keep denying what it truly meant.
“No,” I finally said. “Not yet.”
CHAPTER 22:
“Well, on a positive note this gives us an opportunity to reorganize the shelves,” I said as I began sorting through the piles of books on the floor.
We had gone to bed almost as soon as Felicity was finished with her soak in the tub even though it was still relatively early in the evening for a Saturday. Of course, we were both exhausted, physically and mentally; and, on top of that my quick nap earlier had served only to whet my appetite for more shuteye. With my wife safely home, the autonomic portion of my brain took it upon itself to have a clandestine meeting with the rest of my body. The immediate consensus was that the crisis was over for the time being, and ethereally driven headache or not, it was time for me to rest.
And, so it was decreed. Without warning, the flow of adrenalin that had kept me going for the past two days came to an immediate halt, and I was left with no other choice than to give myself over to the dire need for sleep. Even with that, Felicity had been a half step ahead of me and was already drifting in a quiet slumber by the time I slipped beneath the blanket.
“I suppose that’s one way to look at it,” my wife replied as she surveyed the mess. Her voice, however, was devoid of anything resembling good humor. “I mean, was all this really necessary?”
“Depends on your point of view, I guess,” I told her. “Apparently they felt it was.”
She let out a heavy sigh and knelt to the floor, starting in on the pile nearest her.
While the evening had been an early one for us, so had the morning. Even with my gut feeling that more strife was barreling toward us with no intention of slowing down, I wanted to at least make an attempt at returning our lives to something near normal, so I started in on the cleanup project with minimal delay. Actually, we both did.
I had rolled out of the bed well before the dawn, my body immediately complaining that it wasn’t quite finished with its hiatus from the land of the conscious. But, I pressed on; there was way too much work to do. I barely had the coffee started when Felicity joined me in the kitchen, wordlessly slipping her arms around me from behind and resting her cheek against my back as she squeezed for all she was worth. The carafe had been full, with the java maker sputtering its way through one last steamy gurgle before she finally let go.
“I’m putting fiction here and non-fiction over here, for the moment,” I offered, nodding toward the two separate stacks as I quickly shuffled a pair of books between them. “So…I’m almost afraid to ask, but I guess I should-how much laundry do we have to do?”
“I’m not sure I even want to think about it,” Felicity replied then shook her head and continued anyway. “I’d say four loads at least, probably more. I think the cats made themselves a nest in there. One of my formal gowns is snagged so badly it’s completely ruined. Several of them are covered with hair, and one of your suits as well. I’ll need to run a lint brush over those then take them to the dry cleaners.”
“Sorry about that. I guess I should have moved everything, or at least thrown something over the pile.”
“Like you didn’t have enough to worry about?” she quipped. “I’m not upset with you. I blame them.”
“The cats?”
“No, the police. I should send the bastards a bill. That was a four-hundred-dollar dress.”
“Well, at least tell me it wasn’t the shiny black one with…” I waved my hands about in a failed attempt at gesturing my way through the description.
“Aye, if you mean the black satin off the shoulder, with the full skirt and basque waist. Yes.”
“Yeah…okay…whatever all that means…” I replied. “But what I really want to know is if it’s the one that really shows off your back and legs and has that design on the front with all the sparkly things?”
“Yes.”
“Damn,” I mumbled. “You looked really hot in that one.”
“I know,” she replied not even attempting to feign humility. “That’s exactly why I bought it. And, it’s still in style, too, dammit.”
I chuckled lightly. Even though my head still hurt for reasons beyond the natural, there was something very restorative about this conversation. In fact, it was comforting enough to allow me to forget about the pain for a while.
“It’s not funny, Rowan. The dress is ruined.”
“I wasn’t laughing at that, honey. It’s just…never mind. It’s not important. I’m just happy you’re home.”