Until the Devil Weeps

by W E DeVore

  Turning off the water, she shivered against the chill in the air as she dried herself. Imagining Ben standing before her, she murmured, “You sure did fuck me over, Bordelon.”

  She closed her eyes and felt Ben’s lips on her cheek; his voice in her ear, Someday I’ll make it up to you.

  “Good luck with that,” she whispered.

  A soft knock came at the door and Sanger’s voice followed it into the room. “Clementine, are you decent?”

  She tightened the towel around her and opened the door in response, sitting on the toilet to rub lotion into her hands and legs. Sanger came into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

  “Why is Elaine Jeffries sitting at my dinner table?” he asked in an angry whisper.

  “Bringing you beignets. Why didn’t you tell me she’s been trying to patch things up with you? You wanted to marry her. Go talk to her, will you? I’ll get dressed and go to the café up the street.”

  He felt her forehead and pulled out a digital thermometer from the medicine cabinet. Shoving it into her mouth, he said, “No. I told you, it’s over.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me she was calling you?” she asked around the piece of plastic under her tongue.

  “I didn’t want you to worry about it.”

  The thermometer beeped and he pulled it out of her mouth. “Clementine, you have a 103˚ fever. Go get in the bed. Stop being so stubborn, or I’m throwing you in the truck and taking you to the ER; whether you like it or not.”

  She had to admit that bed sounded much better than the Emergency Room on a Saturday night, and definitely better than sitting in a restaurant, pretending she didn’t feel like death was imminent. Sanger helped her to stand and walked her into the bedroom. She climbed into bed and let out a sigh.

  “Please tell me I can have some cold medicine. I promise I won’t try to O.D.” She closed one eye and peered at him. “This is like some kind of fucked up biblical test, isn’t it? See how bad I actually want to live…. Or maybe it’s a punishment. Like, you know, ‘hey, there crazy lady, you wanted to die. Here’s what death feels like.’ What do you think, rabbi?”

  Sanger laughed under his breath and picked up the bag on the nightstand. He pulled out a box and handed it to her. Q shivered and he pushed the blankets more tightly around her, taking the box from her hands. “I think you have a fever and you need to get some sleep.”

  While he prepared her medicine, she studied his face. “Is she still here?”

  Sanger handed her the cup. “Drink it. All of it.”

  She did as she was told and settled back into the bed. “Go tell her you love her, Aaron. There’s no sense in both of us being alone and miserable.”

  He kissed her forehead and said, “Who says I’m miserable?”

  “Your bar for misery is too damned high, cowboy,” Q replied and closed her eyes.

  Sanger cupped the side of her face with his hand and felt her forehead one more time before standing up. “Get some rest. I’ll check on you in a bit.”

  He left the room and Q tightened the blankets around her body. As she drifted back towards sleep, she listened to the conversation through the open door.

  “She says she tried to kill herself, Aaron. She needs a doctor,” Jeffries said.

  “Don’t tell me what she needs, Elaine. What are you doing here?” Sanger replied, his voice tense.

  “Please. Can’t we start over? I still love you. Why won’t you let me fix this?”

  Sanger didn’t say anything for a long while and finally said, “I think you already know why.”

  Jeffries was quiet and finally said, “She doesn’t know, does she?”

  Unconsciousness pulled at Q’s awareness and she couldn’t make out how he’d responded. When she awoke, it was dark.

  She yawned and stretched, feeling markedly better. Her fever had broken and her nose was finally allowing her to inhale and exhale through her sinus passages.

  Getting out of bed, she walked to Sanger’s closet and pulled down a sweatshirt and a pair of athletic pants. She went to the living room to find Sanger studying a case file at the table, sipping a glass of whiskey. He looked up when she came in and quickly shoved the files back into the folder, tucking it away into the small file cabinet nestled under the edge of the counter beside the table.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “Something you don’t want to ever see,” he said. “Promise me.”

  “It’s my case file, isn’t it?”

  He nodded slightly and she sat next to him, reaching over for his glass and taking a sip before he could reproach her.

  “You want one?” he asked. She nodded and he went to the kitchen, returning with a glass of amber liquid and setting it on the table in front of her. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better. How long have I been asleep?”

  He looked at the clock in the kitchen. “Ten, maybe twelve hours. I made dinner. You hungry?”

  “Not really. How did it go with Elaine?”

  “She still loves me,” he said, picking up his glass and taking a sip.

  “Of course, she does. You’re very lovable.” Q smiled at him. “You should get back with her. You were good together. It made sense. It made you happy.”

  Sanger sat back in his chair and turned to regard the reflection of the two of them in the window. She reached out her hand and touched his arm, stroking it with her thumb and looking at their reflections with him. “You shouldn’t let her get away from you, Aaron. I missed out on two years with Ben because I was afraid. Don’t make the same mistake.”

  He finally turned back to her and shook his head. “Don’t worry. I don’t intend to.”

  December: Bargaining

  It had been over a month since she’d started staying at Sanger’s house instead of her own, and she hadn’t stopped feeling like an inconvenience. It was difficult knowing that Sanger didn’t trust her to live alone; knowing that he still felt it necessary to put his gun in a safe that he’d never had before. But being away from memories of Ben was a relief. If she was being honest, being close to Sanger was elevating her outlook on life in general, and she wasn’t sure what to make of it.

  “You know, I’ve never actually celebrated Christmas,” Sanger said, struggling with his tie.

  Q walked over to help him with it. “Seriously? Like ever?”

  “My dad’s a rabbi, my mom was Israeli, it was a non-day in our house. We didn’t even get to go eat Chinese food because it wasn’t Kosher and Abe didn’t like that it was a tradition on Christmas.”

  “Your dad is such a tool,” she muttered.

  “And you wonder why he doesn’t like you,” Sanger said, grinning down at her.

  “Whatever, you’re a grown man. What’s your excuse now?”

  He shrugged. “I always take the holiday shifts. It just seems like the right thing to do. I took a ration of hell for it, asking for the night off this year.”

  “Well, I appreciate you coming with me,” she said as she formed the knot in the purple silk. “Christmas at the Bordelons is a little much to handle on my own, but there’s no getting out it.”

  He craned his head, trying to see what her hands were doing to the knot beneath his chin. “How do you know how to do this?”

  “My dad’s ties were always crooked. He has this nervous habit where he tugs at them, makes the knot go all screwy. I went through a little mother phase when I was eight or so, and taught myself how to tie a proper double Windsor.” She stood back and smoothed out his shirt. “There. All better. Not as good as Ben would do, but better.”

  “You don’t look sad when you say his name anymore.”

  “It doesn’t overwhelm me like it used to.” She chewed on her lower lip and grimaced. “You want your Christmas present now? Or later?”

  “Somewhere my dad just had an aneurysm. Two Jews exchanging Christmas presents…”

  She put her hands on her hips and scowled. “Fine. Belated Hanukkah present. You want it or
not?”

  He smiled by way of acknowledgement and she took his hand, leading him into the living room. Pulling off the quilt that covered the new piece of furniture with a flourish, she said, “Ta-dah!”

  His jaw dropped. “You bought me a couch?”

  “It’s a pull-out. So, we both have a bed now.” She folded her arms around herself, bracing for his reaction to her request. “The thing is, I don’t want to go home after New Year’s. I know it’s what we talked about, but I thought maybe I could stay a little longer. Just for a few more weeks. I have to clean up that mess at home and I don’t want to live there while I do it.”

  He reached for her hand and said, “Of course, you can stay. But you didn’t have to do this.”

  “You don’t like it,” she said. “I’m overreaching.”

  “It’s not that, Clementine. It’s just too much. You need to stop spending your money on me. Every time I come home, there’s something new.”

  “Towels and sheets, I’ve bought you towels and sheets.”

  “And a television.”

  “I told you, I'm taking that with me. Mine’s broken, remember?” she said. When he gave her an annoyed scowl, she asked, “Who else am I going to spend it on, Sanger? Another life insurance check came yesterday. It’s fucking depressing. I don’t want it. I’d rather spend it. Just looking at my bank account makes me nauseous. It’s blood money. All his beautiful, precious blood…”

  She sat down in defeat on the couch and chewed on her knuckle, pleading with her grief to take the night off. Sanger sat next to her, resting back. “Holy shit, this is comfortable. How much was this?”

  “Don’t ask.” She sagged down. “You don’t have to keep it. It’s stupid.”

  “It’s not stupid. And for the record, it’s the best Christmas present I’ve ever gotten.” He put his arm around her and jostled her until she stopping pouting. “Thank you.”

  “Seeing as how it’s probably the only one you’ve received; I’ll still take the compliment.” She glanced at the watch on his wrist. “Shit. We’re late. And I’m teary. Did I fuck up my makeup?”

  He rubbed his thumbs under her eyes. “All better.” Sanger clasped her face between his hands. “No more tears. Not tonight. Tonight, we’re going to be happy.”

  Her mouth caught fire and she blinked against her urge to kiss Aaron Sanger. She pulled away and went to the bedroom to dig through her suitcase where it was propped up in the corner. Retrieving a pair of heels to go with the red dress Yvie had loaned her for the day, she sat on the bed and Sanger leaned against the door frame.

  “I wish you’d let me clear out some space in the closet for you. Living out of a suitcase has to be annoying,” he said.

  “No. I’m already pushing you out of your bed every other night. That’s enough.” She stood up. “Do I look ok? I haven’t seen Ben’s parents since that night. I don't want them to worry.”

  “You look beautiful. You’re finally gaining back some weight.”

  “I’d gain it back faster if you wouldn’t force me to go to the gym with you,” she chided.

  Four days after her attempted suicide, Sanger had awakened her with a cup of coffee and a command to get her ass out of bed and go exercise with him. At first, Q thought he was joking, she quickly found out he wasn’t. She’d also discovered that his muscular build was an ongoing work in progress that took daily effort and he expected her to replace Ben as his companion at the gym.

  “Exercise is good for your mental health,” he said, offering her his arm.

  “Oh yeah?” she asked. “Then why aren’t you mentally healthy?”

  He looked down at her in confusion.

  “You chose to hang out with a crazy woman. You wake up every day and think, ‘gee, of all the normal, sane, healthy people I could spend my time with, I’ll spend my time with the nutjob.’”

  He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Maybe I’m a fan of nuts.”

  The skin on her face burned with the physical contact and Q shoved down the strange longing that had been coming on stronger by the day. It had started out in small, subtle ways. Sanger kissing her temple and reaching past her for a cup of coffee. Hearing him singing in the shower. Watching a movie on the couch, sharing a blanket. It had begun to weigh on her, this desire for more than companionship. And guilt pooled in her stomach every time she imagined this living, breathing man touching her. Especially when she realized it pushed Ben further from her thoughts.

  They got into his truck and Sanger started the engine, pulling out onto the quiet street. They drove in silence for several minutes while Q studied the Christmas lights and homey windows as they made the short trip to Ben’s childhood home.

  Q finally asked, “Aaron, when do you think I should start dating?”

  He glanced over at her to see if she was serious. “You got a crush on someone?”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s just… I don’t know, maybe I just miss sex.”

  “You haven’t been with anyone?” he asked. “I thought you and Derek…”

  “No. I told you, I passed out. Don’t you miss having sex?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? I have sex.”

  “With whom?” she asked, shocked.

  He grinned. “You forget I had my own run-in with a rock star not two months ago, thanks to you. But these days, it’s mostly with myself in the shower, since I have a roommate kicking me out of my bed.”

  “I walked right into that.” Q felt her face redden. “Look, I could crash at Yvie’s if you have a date you want to bring home, or if you’d come to your senses and work things out with Elaine. I’m better now. Really. I just don’t want to live in that house yet. I guess I could just get an apartment…”

  “I don’t want you out. You can stay as long as you want. I meant what I said.”

  “Seriously, Sanger. If you need some space, just let me know. I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

  He reached over and took her hand. “I’ll keep that in mind the next time I meet a beautiful woman at a crime scene.”

  She smiled at the memory of the first time they met. She’d been shocked that her godfather’s partner was so young. Having heard Ernst talk about him so many times, she’d assumed that he was at least ten years her senior, not barely two years older than herself. She squeezed his hand, but when her body responded in an unexpected way, she quickly let go.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” she said. “When do you think I should start dating? I mean, what’s appropriate?”

  They pulled up in front of the Bordelons’ home in Old Metairie and Sanger parked in the grass next to several other cars doing the same. He killed the engine and turned to her.

  “Clementine, I think you should do whatever it is that you need to do. If you want to date somebody, then date somebody. If you don’t, then don’t. I can’t answer that question for you. You date when you’re ready. I wouldn’t worry about what other people feel is appropriate or not.”

  She studied her fingers in her lap. “You remember that day after Derek’s party when you came to the house?”

  “Of course. Why?”

  Her eyes flickered over his face. “What were you trying to tell me?”

  He looked out the driver’s side window at the white lights that trimmed the neighboring house. “Nothing. You were right. I was just confused.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Yep.”

  He got out of the truck and walked around to open her door. She reached out and touched his face, holding it in her hand.

  “There’s something you’re not telling me, cowboy.”

  Before he could answer, the screen door slammed and Ben’s mother waved at them from the broad steps of the wraparound porch.

  “There you two are!” she called. “Come on in, we’ve got a hot game of Trivial Pursuit happening and I need Q on my team. I can’t get a pink to save my skin.”

  Sanger helped Q down from the truck and they walked
across the grass.

  “I’m going to get it out of you, Sanger.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That secret of yours.”

  “It’s not a secret, Clementine. I expect you’ll figure it out on your own, one of these days. You don’t need me telling you.”

  They followed Ben’s mother into the house and were greeted by a crashing wave of laughter. The Bordelon clan was sprawled around the cozy living room. The television had vanished from the corner of the room and had been replaced by an eight-foot-tall spruce tree covered from top to bottom with lights and mostly homemade decorations.