Page 87 of Shatter

I shout something in a language nobody else in this building speaks, and I don't care who hears it.

She collapses onto my chest.

Her heart's going like a rabbit's against mine.

Neither of us says anything for a long time.

I get up first.

I ease her off slowly and take care of the condom.

In the bathroom, I run the tap until it goes hot.

When I come back with the washcloth, she's lying on her side with the blanket pulled up to her ribs, watching me.

"Can I?" I hold up the cloth.

She nods.

I wash her slowly, the warm cloth between her thighs and along her belly, and she watches my face the entire time.

Her eyes are soft and heavy-lidded.

Nobody's ever done this for her.

I can tell by the way she's watching me, like she's waiting for the catch.

There isn't one.

When I'm done, I drop the cloth on the floor and climb back under the blanket.

Under it, this time.

She rolls into me and tucks her head under my chin, and I wrap my arms around her, low on her back, nowhere near her neck.

The rain's still coming down.

"Tell me something." Her breath is warm against my throat. "Something real, about where you came from."

I stare up at the ceiling fan.

For twenty years, I haven't told anybody anything.

Walt never asked.

"There was a lake." My voice is barely louder than the rain. "Behind our building in Oslo. Every January it froze solid, so thick the grown men drove trucks out on it to fish."

She doesn't move.

She's listening with everything she's got, the way she listens to everything.

"My mother used to take me out on it after school." I swallow. "Before it got dark. We'd walk out to the middle, and she'd make me lie down on the ice and look up at the sky. She'd say, listen, Espen, you can hear it breathing."

"Could you?" Her voice is soft.

"Yeah." My throat's tight. "It groans. Deep, way down. Like something big turning over in its sleep."

I close my eyes.