Slade crosses to the hallway before stopping with his hand on the frame and his back to me.
“Ankle feels better?” he says.
“Yes,” I say. I’m working so hard to keep my voice neutral, as unaffected as him, that it come out downright toneless. “Thank you.”
A beat.
“Goodnight, Lila,” he says.
“Goodnight, Slade.”
That night, as I lay alone in my guest bed, I toss and turn, feeling hollow inside. It’s lonely business, longing for someone. Especially when that someone is your husband.
But when I get up in the morning, once more wearing Slade’s stolen flannel because it still smells like him, there’s a perfectly grilled breakfast burrito wrapped in foil resting on the counter. In the fridge, there’s a maple latte waiting for me to add ice to it. By the door, a mason jar filled with wildflowers Slade must have gathered by hand, and a note next to it:
Wild flowers for my outlaw bride.
Yours,
S
In the place of that hollowness inside me, butterflies take flight.
Chapter 27
Halloween Baby
SLADE
Sometimes, life takes you places you’d never expect.
For me, right now, it’s standing in front of my bedroom mirror, wearing an ankle-length white fake fur coat, a silver medallion necklace, and a black bandana around my forehead.
I frown at my reflection. “Are you sure I don’t look like a pimp?”
“As long as you’re standing next to me,” Lila says, “people will get it.”
My wife is wearing hot pink bell bottoms with a matching vest, along with a white cowboy hat and boots. She’s the prettiest Barbie I’ve ever seen.
I look like Ken if he got really into underground fighting rings and whiskey.
But I sure as hell don’t mind the excuse to stick close to her all night long if she thinks we need to be seen together for people to understand the costume.
“Are you sure I need to be shirtless under this coat?” I ask.
She bats her eyelashes. “If you want it to be authentic to the movie, then yes.”
I look grimly at my reflection again. “I’m not used to letting it all hang out.”
“Slade, you don’t have an ounce of body fat. There’s nothing to let hang out.”
Her gaze lingers on my abs for a minute and I resist the urge to flex. I’ll wear the goofiest costume in the world if it makes my wife look at me like that.
Lucky wags her tail. She’s got a pink bandana of her own, along with heart-shaped glasses and a rhinestone cowboy hat. Lila bends down to tie a tutu around her, then frowns. “Huh. This fit her when we tried it last week. She’s gaining weight. Are we feeding her too much, do you think?”
I look at the dog. Her belly does look rounder than it did a few weeks ago. She’s also been sleeping more, tucked into corners, seeking out quiet spots. Still recovering, I figure.
“She’s filling out,” I say. “Probably just the rest and the regular meals.”
