Don't Touch
Page 10
I gently wiped the blood from his face. “That depends.”
He took the cloth and wiped his hands. “On what?”
I sat down on the bed and said in the most serious voice I’d ever used with him, “On why you left. And why you came back.”
He sat next to me and took both of my gloved hands. “I left because I saw what you were willing to go through to save Stefan. And then I heard you tell him you loved him. There were so many times I wanted to call you and argue like we used to but I kept remembering you telling Stefan you loved him.”
I started to protest but he put a finger over my mouth and continued. “Oh, and there might have been some cellphone smashing. I couldn’t stand the thought of riding on the Metro, so when a friend in France needed my help for several weeks I went without a phone or laptop. I only came back because Stefan sent a message through Poppy. He said that you were just friends. And that I was a shit for making you cry.”
“I don’t cry.”
He wiped the tears from my cheeks. “I know. And I am a shit. But that’s not the amazing part.”
He kissed me, and in about a nanosecond I completely forgot what we were talking about. I might have also forgotten my name. I’m pretty sure I moaned a complaint when he pulled back to continue talking. It wasn’t fair. How come he could still talk?
“The amazing part, Lette, happened as we stood on your porch and looked down at that enormous crowd the Krampus brought. I realized then it didn’t matter who could live the longest because we might both die in the next minutes. And I realized that I love you.” Another kiss probably set off seismograph readings in neighboring states, but the damn ex-angel pulled back again. I moaned.
At least he was breathing hard now too, but the bastard was talking again. “Lette? Is there something you want to say to me too?”
I looked up, took a breath, and told him, “Love you too. The hell with boundary issues: get back here now.”
•●•
Christmas Eve
LiveJournal, December 25, 2012 by LetteS
It was almost midnight, and we finally came out of that bedroom because Rag needed food. Birthday cake, apparently. For some reason, he seemed nervous. Finally, he put down his fork and took a deep breath. “Lette, I have something to ask you. But first I want to know what your touch is today.”
I glanced at the clock. One minute past midnight. Okay. I collected the stone dish and touched some gravel. Huh. Bubbles. Rag touched one with a gentle finger. When it didn’t pop, he picked it up. “Crystal,” he marveled. Each one had the iridescent sheen of a soap bubble.
It gave me an idea. Pulling off a length of string from the roll in the kitchen, I tied a piece around a small rock. Then I took off my gloves and touched the rock. It became a 6-inch diameter bubble with the string hanging from one side. I took it over to the Christmas tree and looped the string over a branch. With Rag’s help, I made about three dozen bubbles, and we decorated the tree. After I put my gloves back on, we spread quilts on the floor under the tree, added some pillows, and lay looking up at the lights and the ornaments.
I was almost asleep when I remembered. “What were you going to ask me?”
He still looked nervous, but he pulled a small, silk-wrapped bundle from his jeans pocket and handed it to me. I unwrapped it and stared at the ring in my hand. He took it from me and whispered, “I’m ready to be human, if I can do it with you. I want you—a wife, a friend, and maybe someday, a mother for our children.”
I held it up to the lights, marveling at the colors. “Alexandrite?” I guessed. “Nice. I’ve never had that as a touch.”
“Lette,” he groaned.
“Yes, Rag but a ring? For my finger?”
“It should be large enough to go over the gloves. And I think your fingers are beautiful, even with gloves.” He gently pushed it onto my left hand, and then bent down and kissed it. “You’re crying?” His voice was desperate. “You don’t like it? We can get something else. Or you don’t have to…”
When he reached for it, I covered it with my other hand, but I was crying too hard to speak. So I just threw both hands around his neck and nodded.
“Is this one of those human things?” He still sounded worried.
•●•
Merry Christmas? Working on It…
LiveJournal, December 26, 2012 by LetteS
Yesterday I woke up next to Rag and saw the morning light picking out the crystal bubbles on the Christmas tree. He was propped up on one elbow, staring down at me with a slightly goofy smile. “Merry Christmas,” I whispered.
He answered with a long kiss, followed by another one. And a scream. George had jumped onto Rag’s bare back, claws out, bitching about his breakfast. Breakfast! I remembered the time and pulled back. “Mom and Dad are going to be here soon! We have to get moving.”
He wasn’t sure where I wanted him to move, but I didn’t have time to explain. I dashed to my bedroom for my bow and swung my ladder over the side of the porch. By the time I got back with the dead turkey, Rag had fed George and showered. I started cleaning the turkey and turned back to ask him if he knew how to peel potatoes when I saw him sway.
“Um, Lette?”
Dropping my knife, I dashed over to him. “Rag, what’s wrong?”
“I didn’t tell you the other reason I wasn’t too good at being human.” His face was a damp, greenish color, and his eyes fixed in horror on the dead turkey for another few seconds before he pitched forward. I barely caught him, and I certainly couldn’t hold him, but I was able to ease him down to the floor. “So,” I told his prone form as I set a pillow under his head. “Looks like I’ll be doing the hunting.”
Mom and Dad would be here soon, so I didn’t have time to worry about Rag, even though his body and those long legs took up most of the available floor space. Somehow I managed to step over him to get the turkey dressed and in the oven. I was starting on the potatoes when he got shakily to his feet and looked around warily. “Are you going to do that every day?”
“That depends.” I pushed him into a chair and wiped his face with a cool cloth. “Are you going to do that every day?”
He was saved from answering by the arrival of my parents. By the time they climbed onto the porch, and Mom stopped exclaiming about the new ornaments and the presents Dad was hauling up with the winch, Rag was able to get to his feet. She caught sight of him and—a Christmas miracle—was speechless. Just then, Dad came in with the presents. After I introduced Rag to both of them, Dad turned to Mom. “Is that the one?” She nodded. He looked grim as he handed me the pile of presents and, ignoring Rag’s extended hand, plowed his fist into Rag’s jaw. This time, I was too stunned to even try to catch him, as Rag slid to the floor.
Mom and I stared at Dad, who was waving his fist and moaning. I jumped for the freezer and took out the peas. Dividing them into two plastic bags, I handed one to Mom. She held it against Dad’s knuckles while I pulled Rag’s head into my lap and put the other bag against his jaw. “There just has to be an easier way to get a boyfriend,” I muttered.
George’s meow was as close to a snicker as a cat can get.
About the Author
In halcyon days BC (before children), Barb Taub wrote a humor column for several Midwest newspapers. After Child #4, she veered toward the dark side and an HR career. Following a daring daytime escape to England, she's lived in a medieval castle and a hobbit house with her prince-of-a-guy and the World’s Most Spoiled AussieDog. Now all her days are Saturdays. She spends them consulting with her occasional co-author/daughter on Marvel heroes, Null City, and translating from British to American.
If you enjoyed this book, this author has other works available here:
Author's Web Site
Other Books by this Author:
Null City Series:
One Way Fare
Don't Touch
Tales From Null City
Round Trip Fare
Standalone:
Do Not Wash Hands in Plates
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