Page 19 of No Bones About It

My fingers curl around his rib, and I hold on tight with conviction in my voice as I say, “So no matter how much I want you, and how happy I am that you're finally here with me, I'm afraid she won't stop trying to take that magic away.”

His eyes flash, anger clear at my words. He points to me and then to the ground emphatically, as if to say he will stay here with me.

“So I did the only thing I could think of to protect you. I said that you were part of my business,” I admit.

His eyes go flat, and now it’s his turn to look away.

I jump to my feet and rise up on my toes, stretching my arms to turn his face to look at me again.

“Mr. Bonejangles, you are not just part of my business.”

When he doesn’t respond, I continue, “BJ. You are not just a prop, not just some thing to me. I’ve always wanted you, and now, I think I know why. I didn’t just want you. I needed you.”

He turns to face me and bends, bringing his face closer to mine.

I slide my hands up to cup the smooth sides of his skull and bring his forehead down to rest against mine. “I needed this.”

He gives a subtle nod, smooth heat and life pulsing where I should feel cold, rigid plastic against my skin.

I let my eyes close as a small tear slips free. With a laugh I say, “How is it that you are kinder and more compassionate and expressive than any human man I’ve ever met?”

He shrugs and places the point of one bony finger over my heart as his eyes turn to hearts again.

“Same,” I whisper and reach out to lay my hand against his sternum where his heart should be. And although the ribcage is empty behind my hand, I swear I feel energy pulsing as steady as a heartbeat.

Chapter

Nine

We spend the day in the tent, finding any excuse to touch each other as we decorate it. I’ve brought more and more things out each time I’ve run in to grab something to eat or use the bathroom, and now we’ve got quite the setup in here.

Pillows and blankets, a six pack of pumpkin porter, and even my laptop. He’s helped me hang up string lights, floating candles, and all my usual indoor Halloween decor. At this point, I don’t think I’ll ever sleep in my house again. Not when I can be out here so comfortably with him.

I’ve chattered along all day and although he can’t speak, the conversation has not been completely one sided. Despite not speaking, he points and gestures and changes his LED eyes to let me know exactly what he means.

I let my laptop stream Halloween movies while we make paper ghosts, and when he sees people carving pumpkins, he becomes animated, pointing to the ones we used in the photography backdrop.

“Great idea, BJ! Let’s do it.” I smile at him.

I grab a folding table from the garage and then cover it in newspaper for easy cleanup. I lay out my pumpkin carving tools and then BJ helps me put two of the big fat pumpkins on top.

He sits on his knees so he can reach the table and looks at me for instructions.

“Okay, first we cut off the top and then put it on its side and scoop out its guts,” I say, pulling out a handful of pumpkin innards and plopping them down on the table.

His eyes go comically wide as he peers inside the pumpkin, down at his own empty torso, and then back into the pumpkin.

I rush to reassure him. “No one scooped out your guts. You just don’t have any. Don’t worry, you're perfect just the way you are.”

His eyes turn to smiling faces and I can tell he’s laughing again from the shaking of his ribs.

“Wait, BJ? Did you just make a joke?” I ask, mouth open in surprise.

He nods, and I start laughing right along with him.

“I like when you’re humerus,” I say and poke him in the arm bone. I’m laughing so hard at my own joke, I can hardly get out, “Get it? Humerus?”

He rolls his eyes at me, but his shoulders keep shaking in silent laughter.