by L. M. Reed
~ * * ~
“May I come in?” James asked tentatively, head peeking around the door.
Tears filled my eyes as I nodded silently, remorse filling me at the way I’d treated him since the death of our baby. He’d been so patient and kind the whole time I’d been mindless with grief and anger and guilt, screaming at him every time he came near me, driving him out of our bedroom, forcing him to sleep elsewhere, and I knew I didn’t deserved him, had never deserved him.
“Air…?” he queried hesitantly as the soft music emanating from the stereo reached his ears.
Again, I nodded without speaking, unsure if I could trust my voice.
“May I…?” he raised his eyebrows as he indicated the bed.
Although there was plenty of room, I moved over slightly, setting the baby book Elsee had left for me on the side table and patting the space next to me as I attempted a smile. Relieved, he quickly crossed the room and sat down facing me, his eyes boring into mine no doubt searching for signs of the hysteria I had subjected him to over the past few months.
“It’s been a long time since we had an evening of hot chocolate and Bach,” he commented soberly.
I bowed my head as my eyes spilled over and wetness coursed down my cheeks remembering how many times we’d cuddled on the couch in front of the fireplace wrapped in a comforter, hot chocolate on the coffee table in front of us growing cold, as we made love to my favorite classical piece.
James always teased me about listening to the same thing repeatedly, it was out of character for me, but I never tired of listening to Bach’s Air.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered brokenly.
I felt James’ hand cupping my cheek as he lifted my face to his and gently touched his lips to mine.
“No, I’m sorry,” he contradicted gently. “I’m sorry for not being able to help. If I could take your pain away I would,” he continued in anguish. “It kills me to see you…”
I put my fingers over his lips “This is not your fault,” I denied vehemently. “You know I’ve never been very good at controlling my emotions. I’m so…so…”
“So loving and tenderhearted and sweet and…” he interrupted adoringly.
“And wild and unmanageable and out-of-control and…”
“And the love of my life and my other half and the one person I can’t live without,” he finished firmly.
“I can’t imagine why,” I returned, full of self-pity. “I’m a worthless wreck.”
“I’ve missed you,” James took me in his arms and I snuggled into his chest for the first time in months “my life is empty without you.”
“Oh James,” I wailed, “I’m so sorry…”
“Ssh,” he whispered as his lips met mine and I began to feel the same familiar stirrings that I had ever since we’d first met and all but forgotten in my unmitigated misery.
“I’ve missed you, too,” I whispered against his lips. “I just didn’t realize it.”
He set me firmly away from him and looking me straight in the eye said, “Don’t think this is a rejection, but I have no intention of rushing you into anything you aren’t ready for. I want nothing more than to make love to you, but not until you’re sure it’s the right time.”
“I want to…” I faltered “but I don’t want…” I trailed off, uncertain how he would react to my fear of accidentally becoming pregnant again.
“Tell me, Allison,” he pleaded, “I can handle anything as long as we’re talking again.”
“What if I get pregnant?” I whispered fearfully. “I don’t…I can’t…”
James cradled my face in his hands and tenderly kissed my forehead.
“When you’re ready, we’ll just have to be careful,” he replied reasonably.
“And make sure you’re awake,” I half-heartedly teased.
He was silent for a moment and then burst out laughing.
“I’m thinking that would be best.”