Chapter 30

The head of our bed is against the south wall of the bedroom, and my side is closest to the window, which is on the east side of the room. I was lying on my right side, and I opened my eyes and saw the light, and thought that it would be a good day. I rolled over, and Cecelia was there next to me, her breathing easy and gentle. She was on her back, one thin arm outside the covers. She must have been wearing her sleeveless nightgown, for the arm was bare. I looked at the arm, for a moment, my eyes tracing the swollen veins of her hands, the sinews and muscles of her forearm which showed clearly even in relaxation, and the biceps and triceps and deltoid muscles of her upper arm and shoulder. Thin, yes, but as muscular in her way as Arnold Schwarzenegger. She doesn't have his size, and she isn't a body builder as he was, but when there's nothing on your bones but muscle, it shows its shape.

But above all there was her face. I looked now at her face. Her lips were slightly parted, and as I raised up on my elbow I could see a bit of white between them. Her face was utterly smooth, even the tiny smile lines at the corners of her mouth and beside her eyes seeming to be mere marks on the surface. Her high forehead barely showed any sign of her 41 years. Her hair, loosed from its daytime severity, fanned out around her head, brushing the bare shoulder, making her look gentler and softer than she does with it pulled back.

I felt the emotional welling that she alone can bring about in me. I leaned over and gently kissed her lips, and then the tiny diamond that shone in her nose. Withdrawing, I ran my hand over her shoulder and down her arm, and took her fingers in mine and squeezed gently. Her eyes fluttered and then opened, and she looked at me with a gentle smile. "I can think of many beautiful sights which I might enjoy seeing when I first unclose my eyes," she said, "but none are so beautiful as the sight of your face."

"I'm not beautiful, Cecelia – you are."

"To me, Darvin, you are beautiful – at least, when you look at me that way you are. No woman can ever ask for more than that her husband look at her the way you are looking at me now. You don't need to say the words, my love; your face says them with perfect clarity."

And we kissed again, her arms coming around me and holding me tight, her hands twisting in the fabric of the sweatshirt I was still wearing.

We got up together, and went out into the living room together, Cecelia merely putting on a thin robe over her nightgown, the casualness a testament to the stress of the previous day. "Darlia's still at Sara's?" I asked.

"Yes. When I called Rudy yesterday, Sara came on the line and told me that she would keep Darlia as long as necessary."

"So she was with Rudy, eh? I love that woman," I said. "If Darlia ever needs another mother, I'll know where to turn."

Cecelia looked at me appraisingly, her face turned back over her shoulder – for she'd been on the way into the kitchen. Then she turned her head back forward and walked, and said as she did, "I do not think that is an avowal of purpose in the event of my decease, but I could, if I bestirred myself, think of worse women to seek as a wife if I were dead. But even if you engaged in such a pursuit, it would be nugatory; Rudy will not permit it, nor will her love for him admit of any attachment to you."

I sat on one of the stools and leaned my arms on the counter. "No, I wasn't making plans, and I hope you're around long enough to see your four times great-grandchildren. But Sara loves Darlia, and Darlia loves her, and if that girl ever did need a mother, I can't think of anyone better. Nor, for that matter, can I think of a better father than Rudy."

While I spoke Cecelia filled the kettle and set it on the stove, turning the flame up high. Before she replied she turned to face me, leaning against the counter beside the stove and folding her arms across her chest. Her hair was still loose, and framed her thin face in a sort of modified afro, just touching her shoulders. She looked at me solemnly, though I thought I could detect a little humor too. "I agree – Rudy would be an excellent father for Darlia. But I would prefer, if it comes to a test of the propositions, that Rudy and Sara be married before they undertake to raise Darlia."

I raised my eyebrows at her, and then realized that I agreed. "Yeah, that would be good. You know, I said something to Rudy, earlier in this thing, to the effect that he oughta remarry Sara."

"I concur. There is no legal or moral barrier to their remarriage. And there is one paramount reason – in my opinion, at least – in favor of a remarriage: They love each other as fervently as we do. They are married in their hearts, I think, though not in law, and if they ever believe they can make it work as a practical matter, I think they will remarry."

"Yeah, if. Sara said she couldn't stand being married to someone who she never knew would be alive the next day."

"Being a police officer's wife is a hard task. I do not know it by experience, for I have never been married to a police officer, but I think of what it must be like to have a husband – or, for that matter, a wife – who daily deals with that portion of society which cares least for law and decency, and who can on any given day die in the line of duty, and I am glad I do not have that burden. It is bad enough having to face one day in 11 years when I don't know whether my husband will survive; doing it every day would, I think, kill me."

I looked down at the counter for a moment. When I looked back up Cecelia was regarding me steadily, no sign in her face of the quiver that had come into her voice with the last sentence. "I'm sorry, C – I never meant to put you through that." I swallowed. "It was only once – but in my line of work it can happen. If you want, I'll find something else to do."

She was shaking her head before I finished. "No, Darvin, no. I trembled yesterday, not knowing whether you were alive or dead, or injured. But it was, after all, just one day – and every time you get into the Blazer your life is at the mercy of people who, I aver, received their driver's licenses through the collection of box tops. Every day contains its risks – lightning, intoxicated drivers, bursting aneurysms, falling aircraft. If I panicked each time you were in danger, I could not have remained married to you this long. Probably you were, in actuality, not in much more danger yesterday than you were driving on Central Expressway in Dallas – for I have seen Central Expressway, and it frightened me. No, do not alter your occupation. I am being girlish again – but in a different fashion, and it will pass."

Just then the kettle whistled, and she busied herself with teabags, fixing herself a cup as well as one for me. I've seldom seen her drink tea, but that morning she did. We both did, sitting side by side at the counter, and not saying anything else.

After we finished our tea Cecelia went into the bedroom to change into her sweats, for we'd gotten up late and she wanted to lift some weights. I got up from my stool and went to the bay window, looking out at the weather. It was indeed sunny, though there was still a bit of dampness on the sidewalk from the rain of the past two days. And looking at that damp sidewalk I remembered the wet chill of the day before, the look on Beth's face as she crumpled after I'd taken the gun from her, and I sat down abruptly on the window seat, my eyes overflowing. I was still there, looking blindly out at the day, when Cecelia came back down the hall.