Chapter 29

I sat in my chair, and moved to the loveseat, and back to the chair, and to the loveseat ... I don't know how many times. I tried to play solitaire on the computer and couldn't keep my mind on it. I tried reading e-mail and found that I was reading the same sentence four times without any idea of what it said. I paced the floor, and then started over again.

I didn't hear a sound from the other side of the door. I didn't notice the time. I had no idea what anyone else was doing – for all I knew, the whole world had vanished and I was in the limbo of Jerome Bixby's story "It's a Good Life."

Somewhere in all there I got tired – emotionally worn out, if not physically exhausted. I laid down on the loveseat with my coat for a pillow, intending just to rest for a moment. When I opened my eyes it was nearly dark; the light was off, though I knew I hadn't turned it off, and the only illumination was the bit of light that filtered through the curtains over the window and the books in front of it. I looked at my watch and found it was just past eight – it had to be in the morning, because 8 PM was dark that time of year. It was the 21^st of December – the shortest day of the year, the day I hate the most out of them all.

I sat up, creaking in my joints. I don't suffer from arthritis, but I'm not used to sleeping outside of a bed, and a loveseat is not conducive to a limber awakening. I stood, and realized I was in my stocking feet, and that a blanket had puddled on the floor around them. I picked the blanket up and put it on the loveseat, and walked to the door and flipped the switch. The light came on and I saw that there was a note on the door. I pulled it off, the tape resisting slightly, and saw that it was in Cecelia's distinctive spiky handwriting.

I carried the note over to my desk and laid it on the keyboard while I sat down. I noticed that Cecelia had turned off my computer as well during the night. I really didn't want to talk to her – not because I dislike talking to her, but because of my shame. I couldn't bear to face her. And yet she was right – we did need to talk. I blew out a breath. I'd muttered to myself in Kim's office, wondering how many people I'd have to apologize to. I might as well have asked myself how many times I'd have to apologize to the same person.

I turned on the computer and checked my e-mail. My concentration still wasn't real great, but I was at least able to read and reply without completely missing what I was seeing. It took a while in the effort to actually pay attention, and when I was done I saw that it was nearly 10. I sat quietly, and heard Susan come in, and take Darlia, and go back out.

I took a deep shaky breath, and let it out – still shaky. And I got to my feet and opened the door and went out into the living room.

Cecelia was on the sofa, with a book in her hand that she hadn't opened yet. She looked up at me, her black eyes bright but her face sober. "Before either of us says anything else, Darvin, I must say this – I love you, more dearly than I love my life."

I sat down next to her. "I love you, Cecelia."

"I know you do, Darvin. And during this discussion, we need to keep those facts before us – that you love me, and I love you. I do not see anything else which can hold us together, given what we must discuss."

"I'm not sure I'm ready for this, C."

She regarded me solemnly for a moment. "I am not sure that you can afford to postpone it."

"Maybe ... maybe. But I'm all tangled up in my head right now..."

"I know you are. And until we can resolve what's bothering you, that ravel in your head is going to remain – and, I fear, grow worse. You cannot treat this ailment with procrastination, my husband."

I rubbed my hands over my face. "I don't even know what the ailment is, Cecelia. I'm just barely sure that I've got an ailment!" The last sentence was almost a wail as it came out.

"Darvin, when you lambaste Darlia for trying to aid you, a problem very definitely exists; the evidence is at that point incontrovertible."

I nodded. "Yeah, I know. But I gotta deal with some things first, before I ... before I do anything else. I don't have the words right now, C." I took one of those big shaky breaths. "I have to tell you that I'm horribly ashamed of myself."

"There is no need, Darvin—"

"Please, Cecelia, let me finish. I'm ashamed of myself, on two grounds. First, I tore into Darlia when she was just worried about me and trying to help. You were right, C – I had no right to do that."

I rubbed my face again, feeling the stubble where I hadn't shaved. "And I'm ashamed of last night. When you were chewing me out I got so mad I wanted to hit you." My voice broke. "I am so ashamed of that, Cecelia."

"But you did not strike me. You have never struck me – no matter how angry you've been."

"No, but last night, for just a couple of seconds, I was ready to."

"Darvin look at me. Please, Darvin. Please look at me." I did, but her face was blurred and I could only make out the general outline. "My beloved husband, neither of us is perfect. We are both sinners – I as much as you. You wished to strike me – but I was attacking you, albeit in a good cause, as though you were Satan himself. I have nothing to be proud of regarding my behavior last night."