Read A Crazy Little Thing Called Death for Free Online Page B

manicure.”
    “Don’t start worrying about your Blackbird curse.” He stopped playing with the foil. “There’s no such thing. It was just an accident. Besides, I like spilling some blood once in a while. It makes me tougher.”
    “But—”
    He kissed me lightly on the mouth. “You can’t scare me off with an imaginary curse. Nice lipstick. It’s a new flavor.”
    “It’s Lucy’s.” I smiled, too. “I don’t want to scare you off.”
    “Good. I was starting to wonder.” He stayed close and captured my left hand. “At least you’re finally wearing the ring.”
    With a flash of guilt, I looked at the enormous stone on my finger and didn’t meet his eye.
    “What’s the matter? Still afraid to tell your friends about us?”
    “Of course not.”
    “So tell me what’s wrong.”
    “Wrong?” I pulled my hand from his and tried to laugh. “For heaven’s sake, I’ve never been happier—”
    “Is that true?”
    “You know it’s true.”
    Behind him, the stream must have continued to murmur, but I no longer heard it. The green, newly leafed-out trees seemed to lean down, enclosing us. Softer, Michael said, “It’s not just the ring thing, Nora. You’ve avoided me for days.”
    “How can you say that? Just last night, we spent at least three hours—”
    “Yeah, I know. And the two weeks of great sex before that was incredible, too. But this morning I figured it out. We’re getting naked every chance we can instead of talking.”
    I turned away. “You must be the first man on earth with that particular complaint.”
    He caught my arm, then immediately gentled his grip. “You’re going through a rough time.”
    “I’m fine.”
    Without waiting for me to face him, he said, “I hear you crying in the shower.”
    When I couldn’t come up with a response, he said, “I know losing the baby was bad. It was for me, too. I just—it breaks my heart to see you like this. And spending half the night tussling in bed hasn’t made things better.”
    Months had gone by before we moved our relationship into the bedroom. Although my sister Emma took her frequent sexual conquests in stride, I was more cautious. Michael and I had become intimate in other ways first, and when the sex eventually happened, it meant more. It had been satisfying and fulfilling and exciting. On our cruise, however, after my miscarriage, something else had been unleashed.
    I still hadn’t come to terms with the loss of the baby in March. Michael was right. Instead of talking, I pulled him into bed every night. And there, perhaps I was taking out my frustrations.
    Michael turned me around. “You need help, Nora. More than I know how to give.”
    I still couldn’t meet his gaze. “I don’t—let’s not talk about it now. I’m working. I’ve got to get back to the party. I have to find the photographer. I need to interview people—”
    “I love you,” he said.
    I felt hot tears in my throat.
    “Is it the baby?” he asked. “Is that what this is about? Or did something else happen when I wasn’t paying attention?”
    Only a year ago he had been on his own terrible path of self-destruction, but now he knew what he wanted with fierce certainty. He was compelled by that new, powerful love to help me, and I was very grateful.
    But I felt as if I were drowning just inches from his outstretched hand. Because asking for help meant telling him things he wasn’t going to like.
    He said, “I’m not asking you to get over it. That’s never going to happen.”
    “No,” I whispered.
    “So what do we have to do, Nora? To make things better?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “We’ll have kids, you and me. It’ll happen.”
    I wasn’t so sure. But I couldn’t bring myself to say the words.
    For a short time after my husband’s death, I had started to see a way for myself—a family of my own to take care of. A life with Michael and children. Now that route seemed blocked, as if by huge trees downed by a storm. I needed a map to