Chapter 33

I got home that afternoon to find Cecelia sitting crosslegged on the sofa, reading one of her literary journals. She reads that stuff, and understands it too – and then likes my poetry. I'll never figure her out, but then I don't suppose marriage is necessarily about figuring out everything. It has to do with love at least as much as it has to do with perfect comprehension, if not more so.

I nodded at her when I came in the door, and then turned to hang my jacket and hat on the rack. When I turned back around she'd laid the magazine on the coffee table, and was looking at me with those bright eyes, slanted like a cat's. I don't know why some people have tilted eye sockets, but a few do, Cecelia among them, and I love it whenever I see it – and especially when I look at Cecelia.

I sat down next to her on the sofa, and she turned, her legs still curled underneath her, and gave me a kiss. Smoothing my mustache, she asked in a soft voice, "How are you?"

"Better – every day, a bit better. I saw Beth today."

"How is she?"

"She actually laughed at one point, and she seemed closer to normal when I left than when I got there. She fed me lunch, and carried on a normal conversation."

"She is recovering, then."

"Yeah. It might not be quick, and I'm sure it won't be easy, but I think she'll be okay."

"And so you are improving as well."

"Yeah – seeing Beth feel better makes me feel better."

"Then, I suppose, we could bring Darlia home. I'm sure she's enjoying this visit with Gacela, but I'm equally sure that she'll be glad to see us again. And I know you, my husband – that child has wrapped you around her finger, and seeing her will please you immensely."

I smiled at her, matching the smile she had on her face. "Whenever you're ready, C – I admit I do miss her."

"Very well. But I am not quite ready at this moment."

I felt my eyebrows rising. "Oh? What's stopping you?"

"Merely that you are my husband, and I am your wife, and I am ready for us to..." And she trailed off as she blushed – it would have been what they call blushing furiously, if she were a white woman. As it was she merely became visibly darker. "I fear I am becoming 'girlish' again, Darvin, but nevertheless, I am your wife, and I intend to prove it."

Sara and Rudy together brought Darlia back home in time for supper, and I caught them passing looks between them when they saw me and Cecelia. I suppose it was the fact that I was in sweats, and Cecelia was in a long t-shirt and a pair of ratty old jeans that did it, for neither one of us usually dress that way.

They kept trading looks through supper, and finally I put my fork down – we were eating enchiladas – and said, "You know, if you two don't quit passing looks like that I'm gonna go grab my Bible and do a wedding ceremony right here and now."

"Daddy," said Darlia, "are Rudy and Sara gonna get married again?"

"No!" they both said at the same time, but there was something less than complete sincerity in it.

"They say not," I told Darlia, "but the last time I saw people so close they were either married or about to be."

"Kind of like you an' Mommy?"

Rudy and Sara both burst out laughing. I gave up and returned to my food, and after a bit Rudy spoke. "I'm sorry, Darvin. It's just that this evening you and Cecelia seem so ... so newlywed, I guess. You guys look like you just got married yesterday."

I looked up from my plate. "Rudy, callate," I said, without any hope that he would shut up. But he just traded another look with Sara, and I traded one with Cecelia, and Darlia gathered her imperial dignity to herself. And supper was peaceful after that.