Dead Man's Bones by Susan Wittig Albert Read Free Book Online

think of.
    “I’m sorry.” It didn’t sound good enough. “I’m really sorry, Blackie,” I amended. “It must hurt like hell.”
    “It does. Sheila’s a great gal. Whoever gets her will be a damn lucky man.” Blackie’s mouth went crooked. “I’ve just got to face up to the fact that it ain’t gonna be me, that’s all.”
    I put my hand on his sleeve, feeling the muscular strength through the sleeve of his shirt. “You okay?”
    He turned. His gray eyes met mine, and I could see the hurt and anger shadowing his glance. “Not yet,” he said, his voice husky. “But I will be. Thanks for asking.” Unexpectedly, he put his arms around me and gave me a quick hug. “It’s nice to see McQuaid so happy, China. You’re good for him. I guess I’ve been hoping that Sheila and I would have something like what you guys have. But it’s over now, and I’ve got to get on with my life.”
    He held me for a moment longer, not speaking, as if he had run out of words, or the words still left in him were too painful to speak.
    Then he dropped his arms, stepped back, and was gone.
     
“WELL, it’s a damn shame, if you ask me,” McQuaid said, tossing his shorts into the laundry hamper. It took nearly two years for him to learn that little trick, and I see it as a sign that we’re getting used to living together. He’d probably say the same thing about my remembering to check Big Red Mama’s tire pressure when I fill her up at the gas pump. I’m learning that if you give a little, you get a little.
    “Yeah.” I cinched my white terry robe tighter and began to brush my teeth. “Definitely a shame.”
    McQuaid stepped into the shower and closed the glass door. We were talking about Sheila and Blackie. The sheriff hadn’t told McQuaid, of course—as I said, he doesn’t talk easily about emotional matters. I had been the one to break the news.
    “I don’t want to take sides,” I said, raising my voice, “but I can understand Sheila’s situation.”
    “Sure you can,” McQuaid said, turning up the volume on the shower. The steam began to rise toward the ceiling, and I could see his shadow through the opaque glass. “You can understand Sheila because you had the same problem. On again, off again.” His voice grew muffled and burbly as he stuck his head under the running water. “I don’t blame Blackie for calling it quits.” He shut off the shower, conserving water, and began to shampoo his hair. “What is it with you women? Why can’t you make up your minds?”
    We had arrived at the edge of a difficult terrain, full of booby traps and land mines, and I wasn’t eager to go there. McQuaid had asked me to marry him a couple of years before I actually agreed—and when I did, I couldn’t quite bring myself to believe that I was doing the right thing. It took a lot of anguished soul-searching before I felt even halfway ready.
    Ruby, of course, had made the whole thing into a joke. “Most of my friends have been married and divorced twice in the time it’s taken you to make up your mind, China,” she’d say with a laugh.
    But it wasn’t very funny, after all. When McQuaid was shot, I realized that I cared more for him than for my independence, my self-determination, or even my privacy and personal space. I still sometimes long for the old days, when I was my own boss, when I could close up the shop and go home and have only myself and my own needs to cope with—like those female private eyes in detective novels. Kinsey Millhone, for instance. Kinsey doesn’t have a husband and son to cook for, and when her place gets cluttered, she can pick up her stuff and it stays picked up. Her stuff, not his. She doesn’t rub up against anyone else in her personal space, and all her time is her time.
    But those old longings are usually displaced by the rich, real pleasures of my life with McQuaid and Brian. I suspected that Smart Cookie would discover the same satisfactions, if she gave herself half a chance.