chapter 27
Gus
Her mouth tasted like apples and communion wine, sweet, surprisingly complex, and intoxicating.
My composure was gone. Self-control vanished. It’d already been hanging by a wire. All I needed was for her to lay it out there. Tell me what to do.
I tasted more, threading my hands into her long black hair, pushing her against me. I needed more. I needed all of her. Every inch. Every breath. Every sigh that was escaping her sweet mouth would be mine.
“Tell me what you really want, Crow. Because I want you so bad, I can’t see straight. I want to devour you tonight, with your spiced wine breath and wild eyes. I want to lick every inch of your skin until you shiver. I want to watch your pussy quiver the first time you come on my tongue and watch it suck my cock inside you.” I gripped harder as her eyes closed.
I grew hard at the thought of touching her there, of the power I knew she’d give me willingly. Of watching her beg. Just to have me everywhere. Every way. Because that’s how we would be.
I sat in one of the Adirondack chairs, pulling her onto me. The night was too warm for a fire, but I knew it did things to her. Fire empowered her. Calmed her. Aroused her.
Her back was against my chest, but I moved her to the side to bare her white throat for me. She moved so willingly, like she’d been drugged, her body limp for my pleasure. And what pleasure we’d give each other now that we were giving in.
I scraped my teeth along the ridge of her trachea, enough to tease her and taste the salt of her overheated skin.
“How do you like it?
“I think I’d like anything with you.”
I laughed as her words caught on her breath. I cradled her neck, so she was looking into my eyes. I’d never felt like this with anyone before. I’d never wanted to protect someone, wrap them in velvet so nothing bad could ever touch them, all the while wanting to fuck her throat until she cried all that lovely black eye makeup off.
“Anything, Crow. I’ll do anything for you.”
“Kiss me?” she breathed as her eyes floated closed. I did. Sweetly this time, savoring one full lip, then the other, caressing her and fueling a desire, not just for sex, but for being her husband in all ways. Emptying the dishwasher, cooking her dinner, always remembering the tasks on the to-do list.
I was transported when I kissed her. I was floating, but grounded. It felt heavenly, but obscene. Nothing I’d ever experienced sexually or spiritually came close.
This was why marriage was a holy mystery. Why it represented Jesus and his love for the church. It was all-consuming passion, at once mystical and human, but with every sexual act drawing the two beyond the realm of knowing and into a state of becoming. A deification in itself. The microcosm of God’s creation. The twofold being under a shared yoke. And here we were on the precipice of that state.
Fire and earth. Witch and priest.
Decca’s head tilted back, laughing as she clasped my hand and put it around her waist, raising her own hand up to my neck, rasping her nails over the freshly trimmed areas of my beard.
“Your hair is so soft.” She wove her fingers into my hairline, teasing the strands and making my shoulders and back tingle from the simple touch.
I moved my hand up her back, sliding Granny’s afghan off the shoulder of her silky black blouse.
Later tonight, before falling asleep, she’d get into a slouchy black t-shirt and panties, but not before I’d stripped her of every stitch that was on her body now.
I couldn’t wait another night to have her under me.
My fingers itched to feel the silk of her skin, too heated under the blanket and the fire. A dewy sheen reflected light at the hollow of her neck, where a cluster of delicate gold necklaces flickered. I licked just there, tasting the salt of her sweat and the bitterness of her perfume. It made me ravenous for more of her. I needed to taste her everywhere.
And that little moan when my tongue touched her neck; it made my chest tighten. All her sounds drove me crazy. Her head fell back, exposing more of her long throat as she writhed in my lap.
My fingers found the top button of her blouse.
“God, yes, take it off.”
I undid one button, not waiting any longer to brush my lips against her where the tiniest slice of skin had just been bared. I was too ravenous, too thoughtless to remember how to properly undress a woman. I was hot and crazed with need for her. Not even to be inside her, just to start learning her body.
The way I should have been doing for months.
My thumb flicked over her nipple, still covered by too many layers, but that won me another of her tortured moans, her voice cracking at the top, her hand plunging down between my legs and meeting my cock, already so hard it leaked painfully.
I couldn’t help it anymore. My thumb stroked downward, my hand cupping her breast. But it was exactly as much as I needed. Any more and I’d combust. The promise of everything to come was too sweet. I couldn’t take all of her at once. I needed to consume her bits at a time.
“Gus,” she sighed.
“I know, Dec. Straddle me if you need to. Use me—”
I was cut off by her phone buzzing in her pocket. Our eyes locked, like both of us were shocked the outside world had dared to interfere with our microcosm.
But it was late at night. And it only took us seconds to register that this interruption, whatever it was, needed to be addressed.
“I’m sorry, I think—”
“Yeah, go on.”
She fished her phone out from her skirt pocket. “It’s Bethany. Should I?”
I nodded. Bethany had recently left our house. It was either her daughter, or....
“Hey,” she said into the receiver as she carefully extracted herself from the Adirondack chair—not an easy feat to do with any elegance, but she managed. She stood with her hand on her hip, looking down at her boots until Bethany said something on the other line. Decca didn’t move an inch. Only her eyes shot to mine.
That’s when I knew.
“It’s Jim,” she said, clicking off the phone and sliding it into her pocket. “He collapsed while everyone was here. Raynie called the doctor, but he said that’s basically to be expected.”
“Expected?” I shot out of my seat. “Is he in the hospital?”
“They have a plan. Your mom and dad talked to his oncologist. This wasn’t great news, but there’s nothing we can do.” She paused and took a breath. “Gus, this is the process.”
“Process? What process? Collapsing isn’t part of any plan. Humans aren’t supposed to collapse. What does that even mean?”
“No, they’re not, but...” There was something she didn’t want to tell me.
“What is it, Decca? What do you know that I don’t?”
“He’s not seeking curative care, Gus.”
“What does that mean?”
“Your dad’s on hospice.”
The breath left my body with the word. Suddenly, I was back in the chair, unsure of how I’d gotten there. I couldn’t remember sitting down. Couldn’t remember moving.
“Many people live months, even years, on hospice. This doesn’t really mean much—except to your father, who’ll be a lot more comfortable. He’s still very active. He can still go places. Granny was on hospice for over a year. I’ve helped people cross over who’d been receiving palliative care for five years. This is a good thing. For Jim. For all of us.”
“Decca, don’t.” I shook my head. “Don’t try to put a positive spin on giving up. There are still treatment options.”
“That he’s denied.”
“No. He promised he’d try. He promised he’d do everything. I just... I haven’t been there enough. I haven’t...” My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat. Still, the heat rose behind my eyes, scratching at the back of my vocal cords as I swallowed down my ineptitude at being a son, a nurse, a friend. “Haven’t found what’s going to help him yet. We’ll cure this thing. I can do it. I can find some experimental…acupuncture. You’ll come up with ancient herbal tea that’ll be the exact right thing for his body and—“
“Gus, this is his choice.”
“It’s not the right choice. I can’t let him do this.”
Decca moved to the side of the chair as my head sank between my knees. She stroked my hair.
“Gus—”
I shook my head. I didn’t want comfort. I wanted to lick my wounds. Maybe if I cleared all the scabs away, I’d find a way to be useful again.
“Go inside, Decca.” It came out too harsh, but it was better that way. I wasn’t any good for her tonight.
“I don’t want to leave you alone with this.”
“Now you don’t want...? When was this decided? How did they tell you and not me? Did everyone at that table tonight know my father decided to give up on life? When were they going to tell me? Why wasn’t I part of that decision?”
“Because you’re acting like this, Gus.” Her raised voice drew my attention. My head jerked up. Standing there, her hands on her hips, the compassion on her face replaced with fury, she looked even smaller than usual. But stronger. She was beautiful with her anger ablaze. She’d never lit that fire before. Not around me. She’d tiptoed around the house. She’d spoken in whispers, so she didn’t take up too much space. She existed in the smallest ways. All to avoid me.
Thiswas my Decca. My Crow. Unafraid to speak and live and feel at a high volume.
“You act like this when you, of all people, as a priest, as someone who administers last rites—”
“That’s Catholic.”
“Whatever. You go to the bedsides of the dying and do something for them. You counsel parishioners dealing with the hardest things in life. You’ve witnessed countless funerals and inurnments and celebrations of life. Surely you realize by now there’s beauty in the momento mori.”
I picked at a splinter on the arm of the chair. Tomorrow, I’d get the sander out and smooth it down. The other chair could use refinishing too.
Decca’s shoulders dropped. She turned to the fire and picked up a branch to start breaking apart the logs.
They’d burn faster, then burn out. Maybe the fire had been a bad omen.
“I know it’s hard,” she said into the fire. “But he’s not choosing death, he’s choosing to live. You don’t have to accept that, but you do have to respect his wishes. In all my time working with the dying, I’ve never seen a hospice decision made in haste or regretted. He knows how painful this is for you. It’s even harder for him. Please don’t make him beg and plead with you to accept this.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “If you won’t even try to look at it from his perspective, you probably shouldn’t see him.”
She took a few slow steps toward the door, her boots clunking on the stones. I could tell she wanted to say more, but she didn’t need to reiterate what an ass I’d been about this.
I grabbed her wrist as she passed. She turned, and finally, my eyes rose to meet hers.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know why you didn’t tell me before. Why no one told me tonight. Because of the selfish mess I just made.” She reached to stroke my hair away from my face. Her hands smelled like the fire. Pulling her down to sit with me on the unsplintered arm, we both gazed into the dying fire. “I’ve never had anyone die before.”
“I know.”
“It seems unreal. I made it this long without having faced death. All those funerals. I’ve probably seen a dead body every day of my life. You’d think I’d be better prepared. Always on the lookout for when death finally claimed one of my own. But this is so much worse than I’d ever expected. And he’s still not exactly dying. We have a long time left.”
“Yes, you do. Probably.”
“It’s just... no matter how long, it won’t be enough.”
“It never is with the ones we love.”
I nodded.
“Thanks for getting angry with me.”
She huffed a laugh and kissed the top of my head. “You’re welcome.”
“I’m sorry you married a selfish prick.”
She leaned her head against mine as we settled in to watch the fire die.
“I knew what I was getting into.”