Spiral of Bliss 01 Arouse (3 page)

“Sure, but why a tree?” I peel the paper away from the cupcake. “Why weren’t you Dorothy or the witch?”

“Oh, I wanted to save those for the kids, so I picked a costume that was less obvious. I figured we’d have a dozen Dorothys and witches running around.”

“Did you advertise over at the library?” I ask. “I volunteer there once a week. They’ve always got kids’ programs going on.”

“Yeah, but I think that’s the problem. Everyone goes there instead of coming here. I even spent three afternoons last week down by the lake wearing that stupid costume and handing out flyers.”

“Maybe no one realized you were supposed to be from
The Wizard of Oz
,” I suggest. “They might’ve thought you were advertising some freakish tree party.”

“Maybe.” Allie munches on a cookie. “So, anyway, sorry for bitching about it. What can I help you with? Are you looking for a book?”

Although I have concluded my chances of employment here are slim to none, I figure I have nothing to lose. “Actually, I’m looking for a job. I was wondering if you need any help.”

“Oh. Business is pretty slow, unfortunately.”

“I have a lot of retail experience. I could hold down the fort while you… advertise.”

“Not a bad idea.” Allie pops the last of the cookie into her mouth and gives me a considering look. “I have been thinking about staying open later on weekends. Try to catch some of the theater and restaurant foot traffic. If you’re looking to work random hours, plus weekends, for very little pay, then you’ve hit the jackpot.”

Hardly ideal, but I like Allie Lyons. I like her shabby shop and her scary apple-tree costume and the pink calligraphic sign that’s better suited for a questionable massage parlor than a bookstore.

“Great.” I push to my feet. “When can I start?”

“Heart, courage, home, or brains?”

“What?”

I hold out the plate of cookies that Allie insisted I take home. They’re rectangular sugar cookies frosted with the words
Heart
,
Brains
,
Home
, and
Courage
.

I dangle a
Brains
cookie in front of Dean. “I suppose I didn’t need to ask.”

He takes the cookie and bites into it. “Doesn’t this mean I don’t have brains?”

“Like I said, I didn’t need to ask.”

He gives me a swat on the rear, which then turns into a very nice caress. I nibble on a
Courage
cookie and settle in beside him on the sofa. He’s supposed to be watching a baseball game, but apparently the butt-pat got him thinking in another direction because he curves his hand around me to fondle my breast.

“Shouldn’t you be working?” I ask, shifting around so he can get a better hold on me. “Summer classes end next week.”

“Work’s all done. Give me a kiss, beauty.”

I turn my head and surrender to his warm, sugary mouth. Heat shoots across my skin. He tucks a hand underneath my shirt and flicks the clasp on my bra, then cups the weight of my breast in his palm.

“Oh, wait.” I’ve had the dates of the summer session in my head because I was hoping some jobs might open up if students leave town before the fall semester starts at the end of August. Now something occurs to me, and I ease away from Dean. “Hold on. I need to check…”

I head into the bedroom, pressing a hand to my stomach. As much as I’d like to start stripping naked right away, I don’t want to be unpleasantly surprised. I pull down my pants and underwear to check things out. Nothing. Good.

I head back to the living room, then stop. I turn into the kitchen and look at the calendar, do a quick calculation in my head.

My stomach flutters hard.

“Liv?”

“Coming.” Tension tightens my spine as I return to the living room. Dean’s sprawled on the sofa, looking entirely edible with his stubbly jaw and thick, wavy hair. His T-shirt has ridden up a couple of inches to expose the hard ridges of his stomach. His hand hovers over the button-fly of his jeans.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Um.”

He lowers his hand and pushes to sitting. “Um what?”

“I didn’t get my period.” I rub my palms on my thighs. “Or I… I haven’t gotten it, at any rate. Yet.”

Something flickers in his eyes, but I can’t read what it is.

“How late are you?” he asks.

“A week and a half.”

“That’s not much.”

“I’m pretty regular. I didn’t think of it with getting fired and starting the job search again, but when I realized the date…”

We look at each other. The silence is weighty.

“The condoms haven’t broken or anything,” I finally say.

“They don’t have to. And I’m not always wearing one when I come.”

“You’re not inside me then either.”

“I don’t necessarily have to be, if it’s close enough.” He stands, fastening the top button of his jeans. “I’ll run to the drugstore and get a pregnancy test.”

“Wouldn’t it be too soon to register?”

“Won’t hurt to take one.” He pulls on his shoes, grabs his keys, and heads out.

I press a hand to my stomach again. We’ve been careful about condom use. Even during my brief, nausea-inducing attempts to take the pill, Dean wore a condom when we had sex. I told him before we got married that I didn’t want to have children. He understood why and has never tried to convince me otherwise.

I pace to the window and stare down at the street. A group of teenagers passes by, laughing as they head down the path toward the lake. A couple with two kids goes into an ice-cream shop. An older man shuffles past, led by a leashed dog.

After about fifteen minutes, the door clicks open. Dean hands me a paper bag. I peer inside at the boxed pregnancy test.

“Says it can detect results six days after a missed period,” he says.

“Guess I should go take it, then.” I glance at him. Why is his expression so unreadable? “What if it’s positive?”

“Then we’ll talk.” He squeezes my shoulder, then tilts his head toward the bedroom. “Go ahead.”

I go into the bathroom and close the door. There are two tests inside the box. I take one out and put the box in the cabinet beneath the sink. My hands shake as I peel a plastic test stick from the foil wrapper and unfold the instructions.

It’s pretty straightforward, and because I’m so nervous I need to pee anyway. After I’m done, I cap the stick and put it on the counter.

Three minutes, the instructions say. I try not to look at the results window, but end up staring at it like it’s a crystal ball. A faint pink line appears. My heart thuds.

Two lines mean positive.

I keep staring. The single line darkens.

One line. Not two.

My heart is still pounding hard.

“Liv?”

I take a breath and crumple up the empty foil and instructions. After tossing them in the trash, I open the door. “Negative.”

Relief flashes across his face. “Good.”

Good?

I check the test again. Definitely one line. I throw it in the trash and dust off my hands. “Well, that was something, huh?”

I push past Dean, feeling his gaze on me as I go into the kitchen. I pull a frozen pizza from the freezer and turn on the oven.

“Hey.” Dean’s hand settles warm and heavy on the back of my neck. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

But I’m not entirely sure that I am, and I don’t understand why.

I take a long walk through town this morning. Dean’s usually the one up at dawn, but the morning after taking the pregnancy test, I wake before him. Can’t remember the last time that happened. I dress in sweatpants and tennis shoes, pulling on a fleece jacket as I head downstairs.

I’ve never gone for a walk when most of the town is still asleep, but I like the stillness, the reddish light of dawn skimming over the lake, the burgeoning chirp of birds. I also feel relatively safe, though I stick to the downtown area where lights shine in a few of the houses, bed-and-breakfasts, and bakeries.

I walk down Avalon, turning onto Emerald and Ruby Streets, and then back around the block to Avalon again. I increase my pace, enjoying the flex of my muscles, the brisk air filling my lungs.

Negative. That’s what I was hoping for, right?

I’ve never wanted kids. I’m not maternal. The shit-storm of my childhood was enough to put me off people in general, so it’s a wonder I’m even married.

I’m almost thirty years old, and in my entire life Dean has been the only man I’ve trusted with bone-deep certainty. He’s the only person I’ve ever really loved. We’ve built a life together—a lovely, normal, secure life.

I’m happy with just the two of us. I don’t want a baby.

I stop and look in the dimly lit window of a baby boutique shop. Cute, overpriced clothes, hats, puzzles, blankets, and a few things I can’t quite identify.

I remember a baby I once knew. I haven’t thought of her in years. Penny. Round face, long eyelashes, fuzzy tufts of blond hair. I was thirteen and took care of her on occasion when her mother had something to do.

Penny was almost a year old then. She must be sixteen now. Probably driving. I wonder if she’s had her first date, what her favorite subject is, if she plays sports or likes to read. I hope she’s happy.

I stare at a pink, knitted hat. The memory of Penny clouds over with images too black to be transparent. A cold, icy ball tightens in my throat.

“Liv!” The sound of Dean’s voice breaks the still dawn air.

I look up with a start. He’s hurrying toward me, his expression dark with concern. A strange fear grabs me suddenly. I run to meet him and fold myself against his strong, warm chest.

“Jesus, Liv.” He closes his arms tight around me. His breathing is hard against my ear. “I woke up and you were gone. Your cell was off.”

“I forgot to bring it.” I pull back to look at him. It takes me a second to process the fact that he was scared. “I went for a walk. What… where did you think I’d gone?”

“I didn’t know.” Dean lets out his breath and scrapes a hand through his damp, messy hair. “You’re never up before seven. I thought you were in the kitchen, but when I got out of the shower…”

“I’m sorry.” I put my hand on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart. Unease roils in my stomach. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Just… next time, tell me, okay?”

I nod, unable to shake the edgy sense of fear surrounding both of us, the stretching reach of old shadows.

Dean wraps his arm around my shoulders as we head home. Once inside, he slides his hand to the back of my head, a slight pressure that turns me toward him. Tension still ripples through him as his lips come down on mine.

I curl my fingers into the front of his shirt and tug him down harder. His mouth is cold and minty. Heat burns through the morning chill clinging to our clothes.

A sudden, hard rush of longing fills my chest. My eyes sting. I put my hand on his stubbled cheek and part my lips under his. He works the zipper on my jacket and pushes it to the floor, then slides his big hands under my bottom to lift me against him. I fold my arms around him as he goes into the bedroom and lowers me to the bed.

I grab his shirt and yank him down to me.

“Hurry,” I gasp.

A burn flares in his eyes. He levers himself over me, planting his hands on either side of my head before descending for another kiss. I arch upward to meet him and wrap my legs around his hips.

He is the one who once rescued me from bitter isolation. I need him to defeat it again now.

I pull his lower lip between my teeth, drive my hands into his thick hair. He matches my swift urgency without hesitation, tugging off my shirt and bra, then pulling my sweatpants and panties off and dropping them to the floor.

He’s hard already. I can feel his cock pressing against me beneath his jeans. A tremble quakes through me, centering in the throb of my heart. Dean’s breath skims over my neck, his tongue dipping into the hollow of my throat as he slides a hand up my inner thigh and into my cleft.

“Open,” he whispers, brushing his mouth across mine.

I part my legs to give him access and fist my hands in his shirt. He strokes a path over my folds, his adept touch wrenching a gasp from my throat. I twist underneath him, tears blurring my vision, heat surging across my skin. When his forefinger slides into my body, I push upward and grasp his wrist to keep him inside me.