I had said it out loud then. I wondered why I asked him in the first place? There were times I was curious about the things he saw, the things he did in the Coast Guard, but he rarely talked about it. I knew Olive was part of the reason, now, but it would’ve been nice to hear stories.
A slow blossom of pride swelled in my heart at the thought of how brave he was, and I told him so before I fell asleep again, taking comfort in his strong presence.
This strong presence now seemed to be holding a hand over my mouth. My eyes flew open, and all I could do was stare at him. He used his other hand to make a quiet motion with his pointer finger to his closed mouth. Then he slowly released the hand.
He signed:You were talking in your sleep.
I signed back:So?
Someone’s here.
Where?
He shrugged.Close. Maybe in the kitchen.
He slid his knife out from underneath his pillow. It glinted in reflection to the solar lamps along the wall. He signed for me to call his name, like we were having sex.
“Wha—” I caught myself just in time. Then I signedwhat?
Do it. Now.
I closed my eyes, took a deep, trembling breath, and took direction from Meg Ryan inWhen Harry Met Sally.My voice was breathy but loud—loud enough that it drowned out any noise that he could’ve made—but he was silent, so quick and lithe that I hardly heard him grab his bag and the gun in it. Before he cocked the handle back, I went up an octave.
He handed me the gun, knowing I knew how to use it. He signed for me to get under the bed.
I’m not leaving you!
I moaned really loud, calling out his name.
You will. Now.
He said my name, and it sounded angry, not enraptured by passion. He gave me a look that meant he wasn’t to be trifled with. “Don’t hesitate to use it,”he whispered in my ear before he helped me slide under.“If something happens—”
—I’ll be right behind you.Igave him a look that meantIwasn’t to be trifled with.
All I could see from this point of view was the gauze bedding fluttering every so often when the breeze swept the ground. For as strong and as tall as Brando was, he could move without a sound. Lethal cat ran through his blood, among other things.
I kept the gun close my heart, barrel facing toward my feet, just in case a hand crept under and tried to snatch it from me. I didn’t know which way to look—left or right? Straight above was nothing but long planks running the length of the bed.
I felt it before my mind registered what it was. Legs tickled the skin on my neck, moving up closer to my face.
Cockroach.
Oh, hell no!
If it came to staying under with the roach, which seemed inclined to make it up to my mouth or enter my nostrils, I’d fly out from underneath the bed as quick as it would. I had experience with the nasty insect from living in Louisiana most of my life. They loved to take shelter in oak trees and fly out when you least expected it. It was like they knew how scary they were and found it satisfying to taunt you.
I looked down, only able to see the rise and fall of my breasts. My entire body itched, knowing the vermin was somewhere on my skin. But the tickling had disappeared—God, it’s probably somewhere in my clothes!
No, there it is.
In my effing hair!
Something stronger than a tremor shook my body, tormented by the thought that a roach was currently making a nest in my hair. The urge to scream, to slap at my head and skin, grew by the second.
Not knowing where in the hell my husband was, or what could be happening to him, had started to invade like an intrusion of roaches too.
To hell with this, I thought crossly. If he was out there, I wanted to be out there. I was no coward. But what if I distracted him and then something did happen?
