Part 13 (2/2)
”Well, then.” Deirdre sipped coffee, took another bite of her bagel. Finally, she came out with it. ”I'd say, try to talk to him one more time. But use a different approach.”
”Different?”
”Yeah. Come at it a new way. Maybe don't try to talk to him right at first, when he shows up at the side of your bed. Get the edge off first, so to speak.”
”The edge off?”
”Emma. You know what I mean. Make love, once or twice. And when you're both relaxed and satisfied...”
”Try to talk to him then.”
”Exactly.”
”And if that doesn't work?”
Deirdre swore. ”What is the point with this guy? I gotta ask you, why don't you just enjoy the mindless s.e.x thing while it lasts and then-”
”That is not what this is about.”
”Oh. Right. Sorry, I forgot.”
”Just stop being sarcastic and tell me the rest.”
”The rest?”
”The rest of your advice, what to do if I still can't get him to talk to me.”
Deirdre paused long enough for a few of her yoga breaths. Then she slumped in her chair. ”All right. If you can't get him to talk to you, then I'd go for action.”
”Action?”
”Yeah, and don't ask me what action. You'll have to figure that out for yourself.”
* * * That night, Emma waited. She bided her time. When her husband came to her, she didn't even try to get him to talk to her right at first. She let him lead the Yorkies and Festus away. Then she opened her arms to him and pulled him down onto the bed with her. She made love to him pa.s.sionately, tenderly. She gave it her all. Twice.
And then a third time.
Finally, well past one in the morning, he did what he always did, brus.h.i.+ng her hair away from her temple, whispering so softly, ”Go to sleep.”
Surprisingly, she found she felt clearheaded, for once. As if her resolve to reach out to him had finally become strong enough to override her overwhelming l.u.s.t for the man.
Emma took the hand that smoothed her hair and kissed it. Then she sat up. She reached over and turned on the bedside lamp.
The light helped, it really did. She felt more sure of herself than she did in the dark.
Jonas had sat up, too. He was frowning at her.
She gave him a big smile. ”Jonas, have you noticed that we never seem to talk?”
He looked at her for a long time. And then he smiled. It was a very slow smile and a totally s.e.xual one. ”I don't think we need to talk.”
Oh, now, how did he do that? How could just his voice and his smile turn her into a quivering ma.s.s of burning desire?
Hold on, she was thinking. Don't go under. Don't give in.
She sat up straighter, and pulled the sheet tight around her bare b.r.e.a.s.t.s. ”There,” she said. ”Look what you're doin'. Aren't you ashamed of yourself?”
”No.” With a finger, he traced the tops of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, right above the sheet, causing hot little goose b.u.mps to erupt where he touched.
”Well, you certainly should be.” She took his hand and gently pushed it away. ”This is crazy, this thing between us.”
He sat back a little which was good. The farther back he sat, the clearer her mind got. He said, ”As far as I'm concerned, this thing between us is working out just fine.”
She straightened the sheet a little, huffed in a breath. ”Jonas. It is not working out just fine. We're married. We don't act like married folks. Not one bit.”
”Why should we? This is hardly your average marriage.”
”Well, you are dead right there, mister. If you ask me, it is a very strange kind of marriage. You come to my bed in the night. We make love. You leave. If you have something to say to me, you call me at work. We both know why you do that. So that you can hang up as soon as you're done talkin', So I won't have a chance to say anything you don't want to hear.
”Maybe you're happy with the way things are goin'. I'm not. Even if it is for only a year, I would like it to be the best year it can be. I would like more than beautiful lovemakin'. The way I see it, if there's gonna be lovemakin', there should be sleepin' afterward you and me, I mean, sleepin'. Together. And there should be talking. I want you to really talk to me.”
He studied her face for a long, painful moment. Then he said, ”Good night, Emma.” He pushed back the covers and swung his legs off the bed.
She folded her arms over the sheet. ”Just tell me, Jonas. Does this mean I'm not gettin' through to you?”
He sent her the kind of look he was famous for cold and dangerous as the blade of a knife.
She kept her chin high. ”Aunt Ca.s.s used to say, 'Treat a man as he is, and he will remain as he is. Treat a man as he can and should be, and he will become what he can and should be.'”
He grunted. ”Goethe,” he said.
She frowned. ”Huh? Gurta?”
”Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, German poet and dramatist. That quote came from him.”
”Well, fine. Whoever said it, I am doin' it. I am treatin' you as you can and should be, Jonas Bravo. By the time our year is over, you won't be what you were.”
He said something under his breath, something nasty, she just knew it. Then he started getting dressed. He did it swiftly and efficiently. No wasted movement whatsoever.
In two minutes from the time he'd left the bed, he was striding to the door, fully clothed. He went out, closing it quietly behind him.
Emma stared at the door he had shut on her. Okay Jonas, she thought. I have tried to get through to you with talk. Talk has not worked. Now action is called for.
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