Bone Harvest by Mary Logue Read Free Book Online

around her shoulders and they walked to the other side of the wild rosebushes. Thank goodness the neighbors weren’t close enough to see anything, even if they had been looking, even if there had been some light to see by.
    He spread out the blanket and settled her down on it, pushing her back so she was stretched out on the blanket.
    Claire closed her eyes and smelled the wild roses’ sweet nutmeg aroma. The blooms lasted for only a week or so, and all the rest of the year the bushes were scroungy-looking, but she loved them for what they gave her this one week: delicate pink blossoms and gorgeous perfume.
    Rich knelt down beside her and unbuttoned her blouse. He spread it open, leaving it loose on her shoulders. He ran a hand down between her breasts from her neck to her waist. Then he dipped his head down to her right breast and kissed it.
    She thought of bees; she thought of nectar. She felt herself opening, blooming inside. She wanted him in her. She loved what he was doing. She wanted to rush it. She wanted it to last forever. All of it. She wanted all of it.
    She ran a hand up his thigh and then unzipped his jeans. But there was no hurrying him. Rich knew how to take his time. She let him set the pace. The waiting made it sweeter. When he finally came into her, she exploded immediately. He laughed and moved slowly through her.
    The stars were in her eyes. Then they fell into her.
    Later, after they had rolled back into their clothes and laughed their way into the house, Rich went back outside. When she was curled up in bed, he brought her a rosebud that he had picked and put in a little vase. He set it on her bedside table, right under the lamp. She could smell the whiff of nutmeg it gave off.
    Then he crawled in next to her, kissed her gently, curled into her, and fell asleep. Sometimes she thought he barely got his eyes closed before he was gone.
    Claire loved to watch him fall asleep while reading. His breath would slow and she would glance over and notice that his mouth was slightly open, the book listing, and suddenly his eyes would be shut. She often watched until the book fell and jolted him awake.
    She rested her arm over his waist. Rich was a nice man to sleep with. He didn’t hog the covers; he gave her enough room.
    It wasn’t that she didn’t want to marry him, she thought as she held him in her arms. She wasn’t crazy to get married again. Didn’t think the institution offered much to women. She had never cared for the term wife , implying as it did the biblical helpmeet. The last thing she wanted to be was a helpmeet—ever since she had read the term in the Bible as a child, she had wanted to avoid that designation. Even so, she would marry if that was what Rich wanted. She loved him.
    But she didn’t want to do it soon. There was something so sweet about the slightly illicit nature of their romance—the coming over after poker games, the stopping by for a coffee and a quick moment of love. She didn’t want all that to end just yet. Once they married, they would never retrieve that carefree element.
    She hoped the love they would grow into would be deeper, more committed; but what she wanted now was the wild roses that only bloomed for a moment.
     
    He stood in the dark next to the truck.
    Dark as the inside of a closet.
    The wind moved around him. He could hear the sounds of the night, sounds he had grown up with: crickets, frogs, the occasional howl of a wild animal.
    He didn’t like everything he had to do. There were moments when he wanted to stop. But it was clear to him that this was the path he had to follow. It had been laid out for him.
    The lights were off in the farmhouse. He knew the family had no dog. He knew their habits. He had been watching them. This was the old Schuler place.
    He had learned to move quietly over the land. It was his way. He never made much noise. Often when he was a child, he had crept down the stairs at night and startled his mother while she was reading a