I pull back, watching her turn all shy on me. “Aye? Tell me more.”
“I dinnae have long before my hearing’s gone. Completely.”
She sounds matter of fact about it, which is fecking killing me. I know it. I sent her medical records to the best ENT specialists in the UK. They all agreed with the original diagnosis.
“So, I started putting memories of sounds in a treasure box in my head. I take them out every now and then, try to recreate them and make sure they’re right.”
“This is brilliant.” I pull her on to my lap so I can watch her expression as she reminisces. “What are some of the sounds you’re keeping close?”
“My favorite song.”
“Which is?”
“Bohemian Rhapsody.”
“Of course,” I nod.
“The sound of the windchimes on the back porch of my parent’s house. Um, the first time I got my students to laugh when I was a student teacher. They can be a wee bit reserved until they know they can count on ye. A starling who used to sing outside my dorm window at Uni. My friend Meera, she’s a terrible singer, but I used to love hearing her serenade her bairns with “The Sky Boat” lullaby at night. That one’s in the treasure box.”
She’s so beautiful, my wife, her eyes lit gold as she talks and her riot of dark curls moving with the breeze. I lift her hand, kissing it. “What are ye putting in the treasure box tonight? Something from the brunch, then?”
Her pale skin flushes the prettiest shade of pink. “No. I was, um… It’s the sound ye made when ye came in me last night. Your hoarse groan and how ye said, “You’re mine.”
I’m grabbing her by the hips and lifting her to straddle me in seconds. “Would ye like me to recreate it right now? Just to make sure ye have it right?”
Wrapping her arms around me and laughing helplessly, she whispers, “I have a feeling there’s gonna be many opportunities.”
Savoring the smooth feel of her cheek against my lips, her warm wee body, and the sound of her laughter, I squeeze her tight. “As many as ye like, sweet wife.”
Haud yer wheesht! - Scottish slang to say shush!
Chapter Thirty
In which Going on a Cruise takes on a horrible new meaning.
Arabella…
“Ye are doing so well, Laura! I’m proud of your progress.”
Laura beams at me, well, a bit to the left of me. She has some vision challenges, too, not that it stops her. She’s a fierce little thing. Her parents are very happy that I could supplement her last few weeks at school with some online tutoring.
“Thank ye, Miss Blair! I promise to write in my workbook at least twice this weekend.”
“I know ye will. We’ll tackle some of those grammar issues next week. Goodbye for now, then.”
“Goodbye!”
My phone’s been buzzing insistently for the last half hour, and I had to put it face down so I wouldn’t be tempted to glance at it during the teaching session. It’s humbling to realize that I struggle just as much as my students do when it comes to our phone addiction.
There are six texts. One from Kenna inviting me to lunch tomorrow. Another from my husband; he ‘thoughtfully’ included a video of him signing every salacious word that British Sign Language has to offer. Learning BSL has just given him yet another way to express his most filthy thoughts about me.
I should be shocked, but the sight of his long, nimble fingers signing,I want to fuck you in the clock tower. Right now...is making the lower half of me sit up and take notice.
The third, fourth, fifth and six texts are from Carol Winchester. She’s sent a flurry of photos, posing in front of a cruise ship in a sundress and an enormous hat that nearly eclipses her face. It’s a fancy boat- not one of the party cruisers meant for Millennials to get blootered on the high seas at a discount. This sleek beauty could only be meant for millionaires and lucky study participants like my friend. The ship is gleaming white, except for the bow, curving in blue and green lines that look like it’s soaring through the waves.
We’re boarding now!
Do I look like a Lady of Leisure?
