chapter 43
Gus, Three Days Later, the Makaria
I ascended the stairs to Ma and Dad’s room. The room that still housed his hospital bed, his half-drunk water, folding chairs pulled up from the rooms below, now stacked against the wall.
Holy God. Holy Mighty. Holy Immortal. Have mercy on us.
Holy God. Holy Mighty. Holy Immortal. Have mercy on us.
Holy God. Holy Mighty. Holy Immortal. Have mercy on us.
I stood in the doorway and made the sign of the cross three times for every intoned line of the thrice-holy prayer: the prayer that was repeated in nearly every ceremony in the Greek Orthodox faith, the prayer that venerated God according to His simplest, yet most profound qualities.
Holy. Mighty. Immortal.
Yet He still imparted mercy on us sinners.
The house had been filled with family and friends for the viewing, with more coming and going during the last two days, dropping off casseroles and sandwich platters—like Ma would ever forget to feed us. It had been chaos, and I’d barely seen Decca.
We’d all made this home our headquarters, eating and sleeping wherever we could find room. We took comfort in each other. None of us wanted to be alone, or even separated from this big, fat, Greek mortuary.
The Smythes were all together, except for the one who’d given us our name.
Growing up, Dad was rarely in the same room with all of us. There was always a body to prepare, a service to hold, cars to wash, paperwork to complete.
It felt like that now.
With the house full, he was just off somewhere in a different room.
I turned from the doorway to the empty room and climbed higher, to the attic. The door was open and a thin beam of the weak afternoon sunlight targeted the threshold.
The room was so different now, so quiet, missing the riot of color from my old bookshelves and anything on the walls, the bareness of the room gave a man space to breathe.
Or a woman.
I closed the door silently behind me and walked to the bed where my wife appeared to be asleep on the scratchy polyester patchwork quilt. I sat on the opposite side of the bed from where she lay with her back to me, her body curled into an apostrophe. I removed my shoes and lay behind her. Mirroring her position, but not touching her.
Then I thought, fuck that. Who knew how much longer she was mine to touch? Pulling her close to me, I moved her hair and fitted my legs against hers. From the sound she made, I could tell there was a smile on her face. God, I needed to hold this woman. Hold her and hold her for the rest of our lives. It didn’t matter what I did to earn income. I’d figure something out, as long as I could feel her warmth at my side for as long as we lived.
“I came up here because it’s where we started. I just wanted to live in that moment a while longer.”
“That’s what drew me, too.” I said.
“Silly, isn’t it? How we pine for each other. Instead of expressing what we want from each other, we hide it. When we both wanted the same thing. We dance and pretend and hold each other at arm’s length. We love each other so... politely, waiting for the other person’s needs to show so we can slip in and fill them unobtrusively. What if we had asked for what we wanted from the start? Would we have ended up some place different?” she asked.
She was still facing away from me, curled up onto her side, her black hair spilling over the pillow.
“I—”
“No, don’t answer. It’s a rhetorical question. I know there’s no way of knowing objectively. The butterfly wing effect and all.”
I stroked her hair. It was so soft. It felt like the only safe place to touch.
“Don’t go, Decca. Don’t take the job.” I blurted it out without thinking. My breath left my lungs in a whoosh, but when the air refilled again, clean and easy, the words had felt right. Even if whatever she had to say in response wasn’t what I wanted to hear.
I turned her onto her back so she could face me. There were tears in her eyes. She used her long sleeves to blot them away. Oh, please God, no.
I continued, “It would be a shame to let an almost complete skeleton go to waste.”
She curled away from me again.
“In order to build a metaphor based on love, you have to love me, Gus. I know you do in the Christian sense. The way you’re called to love, but I don’t know if you do in the other sense.”
“And what sense is that? The sense of how I’m basically jumping at the door every evening, waiting for you to come home so we can cook dinner together? Because nothing feels right until I can see your face. Or that I’d rather sit in front of a fire with you, not talking, than do pretty much anything else? Or the sense that, no matter how many orgasms I’ve given you, I’m still not satisfied finding ways to make you limp with pleasure? Or that you’re my favorite person to listen to music with, or discuss theology with? What about whatever sense it was when I was being ripped in half watching you leave the other morning, but even still, I was swollen with pride at your achievement? Doesn’t all that add up to me loving you?”
“You never said the words.”
I grimaced. “By the time I did the math that made me realize I’d been in love with you since the night we met, I didn’t think I could find the words to make you believe me. It didn’t occur to just tell you how I felt without trying to make it poetic. Then I kept thinking about the job, and I thought the best thing to do to push you was to back away. But I was shit at that, too.”
She sat up and faced me, crossing her legs.
“I turned it down.” She fiddled with her fingers. “The job. Like I always planned to. Actually, they turned me down. They didn’t want me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.” She shrugged. “It was what I wanted when I was in grad school. I thought being the director of the Body Farm would give me the clout I desired back then. I love the idea of my name on all those articles being published and having a woman on top. But women already are on top and have been for years. Forensics is a female-dominated field now; I don’t need to prove myself. I don’t have to climb a ladder to reach a rare first edition of a book that’s not even in the genre I want to read.”
“But—”
“Stop. You need to trust me. I love my job. Jobs. I love my DMORT work, even when I hate it. I love the travel and the lab work. I love living near my family. I love that your Yia-Yiá taught me how to make baklava. The woman is over ninety. How many years left do you think she has to be my surrogate granny? You really think I’d give up those years for a job? I love learning Greek from you in a classroom filled with kids. Gus, we have a life here, and it’s a good one.”
She took a breath and her face grew more determined. “So, I was never going to take it, even if they begged me. Even if you begged me. And this is for the best, because now you’ll finally believe me.“ She smiled. A real smile, not a fake, patronizing one. “But… oh, this is the best part. They want Chris. And I think he wants it, too. I think he felt so guilty over wanting my thing, he threw me on the sword. Or pushed me to the front lines. Or, I don’t know… some battle analogy.“ She laughed and blotted the tears from her eyes with her sleeve.
“Fucking Chris,” I shook my head.
“Fucking YOU!” She pushed me hard on the shoulder. “You and him. You’re both the same. You both accuse me of being a people pleaser, of not asking for what I want, but I’m the only one who did! I proposed to you.”
“Because you were doing me a favor.”
“I was doing myself a favor. I wanted you. All this time, I wanted you. You assumed I was being altruistic, but I never was. Marrying you was the most selfish act I’ve ever done. I just wished we’d been honest from the start. We would have earned our stapes by now.”
“Our what?”
“The tiniest bone in the body. In the inner ear. It doesn’t matter, though.” She lay down and tucked her body under my arm. “I love you, Gus. I don’t know if I’ve loved you from that first night we met, but if not, it was really soon after. Sometime after we started watching Netflix over the computer, and I realized I was texting you more often than Soula and Bethany. That’s why I proposed. I know what I did was cringy and manipulative. At the time, I convinced myself there was nothing self-serving about it. We were great friends, so we’d be great roommates. But it was selfish. I married you in the hopes that, one day, you’d stumble, and I’d catch you when you fell—in a really romantic and not at all creepy way. And then you’d start to see me in a sexy new light. That part’s pretty awful. I’m sorry.”
“Decca, you sweet girl.” I pressed my forehead to hers. I kissed her and cupped her cheek with my palm. “Your proposal was the answer to a prayer I was too afraid to speak. I wanted you desperately, only I didn’t think you’d ever consider being mine.”
Now she was tearing up again, and it tore at my heart. These tears were mine. She was crying because she was hearing the words I should have said all along.
“Gus, can we stop being afraid of each other? Of what the other might think or say when we tell the truth? You’re my home. And I think I’m that for you.”
I shifted my weight onto my back and stared up at the cracked plaster on the gabled ceiling. “Do you remember the cards you pulled? The last night we… the night I tried to push you away?”
“Not specifically, no. I remember the interpretation was clearly meant for me to run, which I’m blatantly flaunting now, but cards are just cards. There are no ramifications if I don’t follow the stupid advice they might give me. Not when everything goes against my own intuition.”
“I remember them. I’ve thought a lot about them, actually. Before you left and while you were gone. You left your tarot book at Dad’s bedside.”
She laid on her side and propped her head on her hand. “Oh yeah?”
“I think there was an interpretation you missed. Did you get any reversals?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Okay, good, because I didn’t look up reversals.”
“I didn’t know you even knew what a reversal was.”
“Crow. I study everything you say like there’s going to be a test on it later. That reading was about us. Not the job. That’s why it was about one phase ending and another beginning. It was about us taking an impolite approach. It was about expanding our love, letting it radiate outward. Not blazing new trails somewhere you don’t want to go.”
“The Kight of Pentacles,” she said. “It wasn’t about taking action and charging ahead, it was about going deeper. Doing the hard work to step out of your comfort zone.”
I nodded. “The Two of Swords. Your book says you were right about a crossroads, but it didn’t mean you had to veer ninety degrees left. It’s all about trusting your intuition. You tried to trust yours. I’m the one who pushed you against it. You were right all along.”
Her smile was wide and bright as she tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear.
“I love you, Decca. My sweet wife. I’m so in love with you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that every day of our marriage. I’m sorry you had to be the one with the guts to propose, but that makes me love you even more.”
She sat up, leaning over and kissed me hard on the lips with a sob. “I love you. But I think you’ve known that.”
Her hot breath brushed against my neck, and I groaned. “It’s been so long since I’ve touched you. The past month was unbearable.”
“You locked the door, right?” she asked, before brushing her lips to the tender corner of my mouth.
“Not here.”
“We’ll be quick.”
I groaned. “We’re never quick.”
“Only because you insist on making me come until I can’t move.”
“What makes you think I can stop myself now?” I flipped her onto her back and held my body away from hers. “I should be incapable. Sex should be the last thing on my mind. I should be so deep in mourning, it should be impossible for my cock to get hard. Instead, I’ve been on fire, lusting after you. Hard for days.”
Slowly, I eased myself down and pressed my hips against hers, letting her feel the state of agony I’d been living in. She groaned and opened her legs wider.
“I’m consumed with thoughts of you, Decca.” I could feel her heat on my cock as I rubbed myself against her. The friction through the fabric was so much… “I want to be inside you constantly. But I can’t. I can’t. I shouldn’t—“ Oh, God, this was too much. “I don’t know if I want to fuck you or me into oblivion, but I just want to feel something different. Other than grief and loss. I lost Dad, and that feels bad enough. But couldn’t bear thinking I lost you. I need to feel you again.”
“No one experiences grief the same way. There is no normal. Some people experience a loss of libido, some don’t. Heightened desire is actually a pretty common response. Sex… oh, Gus… is healing.”
I brushed her hair aside and kissed down her neck. Her breath was hot against my face as she spoke in a strained whisper. “Especially the desire for connection and… reassurance. Or maybe… maybe… you’re craving a type of stimulation that brings you back to yourself. Or you know you’d feel better after a hit of dopamine—”
“I just want to fuck the shit out of you.”
“Oh, God, Gus. Please. I need that, too.” She palmed my dick through my pants and stroked hard, gripping what she could.
I flipped onto my back and pulled her on top of me, spreading her legs wide to straddle my hips. “I can’t have you begging now, can I?”
I could do this quickly. I could. All I had to do was reach under her skirt, tug her panties to the side, and, oh, fuck me.
Under her dress she wore thigh highs and a thong, giving me free access to the soft skin at the tops of legs. It wasn’t meant to be provocative. It was just Decca. What she wore.
I lifted her skirt. Now, I needed the show. The view. My wife drove me crazy with her body. With all the things she thought were acceptable articles of clothing. A thong. Thigh highs. Boots. All under a breezy little dress and sweater.
I tugged the sweater over her head.
“Gus,” she giggled. Her boobs bounced inside her dress, drawing my attention to the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra.
“Fuck,” I rasped. “Your fault. You’re the one who decided to be a naughty little Crow and wear tiny panties and thigh highs to a funeral.”
“It’s not a funeral. It’s a luncheon. And I’m always begging for you, Gus. Make me come. Please. I know it’s what you need.” She had the decency to climb up onto her knees and shimmy off her thong at least, before dragging her pussy over my hard cock inside my trousers, leaving a glistening sheen behind.
“You’re getting me all wet, Crow.”
“Likewise. Father.” Her eyes flashed as she bit into her pillowy bottom lip before looking down and slowly unbuttoning the tiny row of buttons on her dress. One by one, all the way down, until it gaped open at her waist, and I could slip her arms out of the delicate straps and close my lips around her hard nipples.
When she rose onto her knees and slid my zipper down, freeing my cock, she groaned. Like the sight of it was mouthwatering. Then fisted me at the base, dragging my head through her slickness. I couldn’t even watch. I was going to come on her before I even sank inside.
Fucking Decca was intoxicating. The slick slide of her pussy sent electricity up my spine. The easy drag back out was a momentary respite from the overwhelming pleasure that almost made my own knees buckle against the bed. Especially when she made that little whimper when I got to that spot inside her vagina. I spent a little extra time there, holding my breath while rocking over and over that spot, until her whimpers turned into gasps, then moans.
“That’s it, baby. Let me make you come. Tell me how good it feels to come on my cock.”
Her breathing was hard. I pulled out of her and flipped her over, pushing her into the bed, fucking her slowly from behind. So much for a quickie.
“So good,” she managed to choke out against a gasp as I pushed her ass higher. Just for the view. I wasn’t even that into ass play, but everything about Decca brought out the primal in me. I had to claim her everywhere. Had to make her mine. Had to… Fuck, it was so hard not to come from watching my cock head work her pussy like this.
“Gus, I’m going to—”
“Come for me. Tell me how good this is.”
“It feels… so much… oh, fuck… you feel so good. I—”
Her voice cracked on a high note as her orgasm ripped through her.
“God, yes, Crow. You feel so good when you come on my cock.” I eased off the intensity, letting her ride out the last slow pulses of her pelvic floor. Her body slumped forward onto the quilt and I kissed her shoulders, her neck, her face. My beautiful wife. She was mine.
I wasn’t sure how long my phone was buzzing on the nightstand. The sound only registered when I heard Decca’s ring over on the other side. Whoever it was could wait. I had a lot of time to make up for being an asshole—while I was trying so hard not to be an asshole.
She turned around in my arms and started giving me little nipping kisses, each time getting deeper and deeper, her soft, full lips coaxing mine open and flicking her tongue against my lower lip. This woman was made for me. Her sensuality was just starting to open up, and already she had me panting for her. My cock throbbed, and she laughed the cutest, naughtiest… Oh, God, then her hand was wrapped around me, squeezing and stroking until I thought I was going to paint stripes across her tits. But no. I needed to come inside her pussy. Needed my cum slowly dripping down her lean thighs like honey, before wiping her clean and coating my own fingers with that fluid to sweeten her own juices as I circled that clit with my fingers, finally licking her. Sucking us down and leaving no trace of our intimacy. Keeping it our secret.
Our phones started going off again. Both of them.
She smiled against my lips. “We should probably check that. It might be important.”
“Probably student loan consolidators,” I groaned as she continued to stoke me.
“Still…”
“You’re the one who tells me what to do,” I said.
“Why do I want you inside me again already?”
“Because I’m your husband and no one’s ever made you feel as good.”
“Cocky.”
“I’m right, though.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t.”
“I can’t take it anymore.” I swept my hands under her ass and lifted her on top of me, gasping as she guided my cock to just the right place before taking me inside her, just an inch or two, before pulling me out and doing it again. Her pussy was warm and dripping. My cock ached with the need for her to sink all the way down.
“Fucking tease.” My voice was strained.
She pulled me out again and dragged my head through her vulva. “Beg for it.”
“Please, Decca. I need to feel you. I need to come.
She moaned as I lifted her off, holding her up by her knees as she impaled herself back onto my cock, sinking all the way down in a blinding, glorious stroke. My breath left my chest. It was like I’d never been inside her before. Never been inside any woman.
She spread her legs wider around my hips. I was so deep, she was probably choking on it, but damn, she looked good like that; back arched, shoving her tits in the air as she rocked on my cock.
“Gus, fuck. I want to come again. Make me come.”
If I touched her, I’d come too soon. This wasn’t the time. Not the place. But I needed this. We needed this.
“Rub your nipples. They’re so perfect, Crow. I love watching you play with them.”
My eyes zeroed in on her hard peaks stabbing out at nothing, straining to be rolled between her soft fingers, or my rough ones.
Fuck it. I reached for her. I feathered my thumbs across the tips, circling and applying enough pressure to make her lean in, craving more.
She was seated so deeply, the rocking motion was driving me insane. Her pussy squeezed and massaged the head of my dick. I reached for her hand, bringing it down as her face looked hesitant. “I’ll play with your tits, Crow. Let me see you circling that clit. Show me how beautiful you are when you let go and come on your fingers and my cock.”
Both of her hands came down, one hand parting her labia, showing me what was inside her neat little package. The middle finger of her other hand circled her clit.
“Look down, sweetheart. Watch us come together.”
She clamped her lips between her teeth as she did as she was told.
“That’s it, Crow. Watch yourself come. It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”
Her breath was shallow and gasping. In her effort to make no noise, she was failing deliciously. Her garbled pants and back of the throat nnhs drove me on. It was so hard not to jerk my hips up into her, fucking her from below. But I wanted her orgasm to bring on mine. She’d done it before, milked me with her magic pussy and it was the most amazing way to come.
Her head jerked back the way that meant she was clawing over the edge. She needed to scream. I clamped my hand over her mouth. Hard. One on her mouth. One at her throat.
My favorite way to hold her as I pumped hard, twice, into her, coming as her pussy clenched my dick with that little twist she had inside her. My perfect wife.
“Oh, God, oh, fuck. Decca, you’re making me come so hard.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” said a voice from the threshold. “I’m…oh, shit. Sorry, Padre.”
Waylon.
“Mmmm!” came a muffled scream as she tried to jerk the covers over her naked body. But there was nothing to cover her. The sheets were pinned under my body.
The door clicked closed. I couldn’t move yet. Her vagina was still pulsing and sucking me in deeper. Her head was thrown back in pleasure, but her eyes closed in mortification. I laughed, my cock still hard inside her, slipping with the jerking movements of our orgasm and our laughter.
“Fuck, Crow. I don’t know how I’m going to survive you.”
“But you’re going to keep loving me. That’s all the matters.” She held me in her arms, giving me strength and hope and all her love. Pouring herself into me with her slow, worshipful kiss.
I’d never let go.