Read Online Crave by Karen E. Taylor - Free Book Online Page B

.”
    We both laughed as we spoke simultaneously, breaking for a moment the uneasy tension between us.
    â€œSo,” Chris said, “tell Dad I’d like to have lunch with him tomorrow, if that’s okay.”
    Now the silence was on my end. I couldn’t tell him that Mitch could never meet him anywhere for lunch, ever. And I sure as hell didn’t want to be the one to break the news to Chris about what his father had become.
    â€œDeirdre, you still there?”
    â€œYes, Chris, I’m sorry. Someone was outside the door, here, I thought it might be your father.” I laughed nervously. “False alarm, I suppose. He should be back anytime now; do you want him to call you?”
    â€œYeah, that’d be good.”
    â€œFine, and you take care. I hope we’ll be able to see a lot of you while we’re here in town.”
    â€œYeah, that’d be nice.” Chris’s voice sounded reluctant, and I knew he didn’t want to spend time with me. The realization of what I was, of what sort of creature his father had married must still be fresh and horrible in his mind. “Talk to you later, then.”
    He hung up before I had a chance to say goodbye. I put the receiver down gently and lay back on the bed, my fingers crossed under my head, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the convoluted ties that entangled us all. Chris, Larry, Mitch, even Victor to some extent, and myself—all bound to each other, inexplicably and eternally. I found myself wishing for the first time in many years that I had actually died in the accident that had transformed me. That I had been allowed to bleed out my life with my husband on that rain-soaked road. That I had been buried with him and the seven-month-old fetus who would have been our child.
    I sighed and ran my fingers over my stomach, searching for a trace of that child, remembering its kicks and movement, and the feeling of total unity with it, the bond between mother and child that death could not erase.
    When Mitch finally came back into the room, I was still lying on the bed, clutching at my barren stomach, blood-tinged tears streaking down my face and moistening the red brocade spread beneath me.
    He did not notice me at first. “Hey,” he began, “look what the Cadre delivered while I was out. My very own coffin . . .” His voice trailed away as he looked at me and he quickly shut the door behind him. “Deirdre, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
    I choked out the words between sobs. “Chris called.”
    â€œHe made you cry?” Mitch came over to me, sat down on the bed and stroked my hair. “What the hell did that little bastard say to make you cry?”
    â€œNothing,” I sat up and wiped at my eyes, giving him a little smile. “He started me thinking, that’s all.”
    â€œThinking about what?”
    â€œThe baby I lost.” Getting up from the bed, I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, really, it was a long time ago.”
    He gave me a curious look. “Obviously it must matter some, for you to still cry over it.”
    â€œNo, really it doesn’t,” I assured him. “It’s just that this trip back here has been rather depressing for me. Having to deal with Larry and everything.”
    â€œSpeaking of that, it’s a fascinating setup the Cadre has here. Have you seen the cells, or as Victor called them, the retention rooms?”
    â€œNo, I wasn’t permitted there, remember?” I went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. Picking up a towel, I walked back into the room, drying myself, glad that he had been sidetracked from the previous issue. “What was so interesting?”
    Mitch may have taken personal retirement from police work, but I could tell that he had lost none of his enthusiasm; of course he would find the Cadre judicial system fascinating, especially now that it no longer threatened me.