“What are we going to do when he leaves for real?” She looked up at Felix. Make it better. Make it go away.
Felix dipped toward her. “I think we’ll figure it out, don’t you?” His expression turned uncertain, boyish, like he was asking her on a date. And then, with a quirk of a smile, he leaned closer still and kissed her. A soft, gentle kiss that slowed her breath, her thoughts, and her heart. She was okay; everything was okay. She was no longer the passenger in a driverless runaway car. Felix was in the driver’s seat; he had been all along. Cupping his face, she rested her forehead against his.
“Eeew, guys. Get a room!”
“I’ll leave the two of you to figure out the details.” She pushed up and attempted to stand; Felix was by her side instantly. “But if you’ll excuse me, I think I do need to go to bed after all.”
THIRTY-THREE
Embers glowed on a pile of ash, but there would be no hope of sleep. Primeval instinct kept Felix alert. Left arm braced against the fireplace surround, he leaned in with the poker to kill what remained of the fire. He’d never been a pyromaniac; he’d never enjoyed igniting Guy Fawkes effigies on Bonfire Night. A fire was a poorly chained beast with the power to break free and roar out of control, and when you were teetering on the edge of hell, one spark could ignite and consume your world.
With Eudora in the spare room, he’d planned to sleep on the sofa, but the living room had become an icebox. He glanced toward the glacial nether region of the house where his warm wife was asleep in their warm bed under their warm duvet. His heart began to race; desire snaked through his body. He wanted his wife.
Disgusted, Felix jammed the poker into the ash and embers. He would stay out here and freeze. What kind of a lowlife thought about sex when his wife barely had the energy to drag her body to the loo?
Felix replaced the poker on the fire tools stand. The house echoed with sleep; dawn seemed an eternity away. He puffed up the two pillows he’d retrieved earlier from the hall closet and shook out the antique quilt that had been a wedding present from Ella’s aunt. It smelled of the passage of time. Numb with exhaustion and cold, Felix settled down on the sofa and listened to his thoughts.
Would he ever make love to his wife again? Death had tried to claim Ella on that plane and had failed. But he needed to remind himself that death was irrelevant, because she had lived. And as Eudora kept reminding him, they needed to celebrate life.
He flipped onto his side, then gave up when his lower leg tingled. He turned onto his back.
Katherine had said, “We all struggle, but suffering is a choice. Your wife taught me that.” He would choose to not suffer; he would choose to be positive and enjoy each day with his wife. Yes, they would make love again.
A cramp grabbed his calf muscle, and Felix launched himself off the sofa.
Don’t scream, don’t scream.
He wanted to scream.
Goddammit. He massaged the hard clump of muscle and gritted his teeth.
Forcing his weight onto his leg, he attempted to stand. As the contractions weakened, he grabbed the torch and began walking. Instinctively, he turned down the hall, flicking random light switches on and off, which was utterly pointless. If power were back, he would have heard the heat kick on.
Pointing the beam of the torch at the floor, Felix cracked open Harry’s door. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Felix spotted a big mound of duvet and teenager. He eased the door shut and turned. His bedroom door was firmly closed. His bedroom.
Hand trembling, he reached for the knob. Was he about to do something incredibly stupid? If only his mind were as quiet as the rest of the world. Without the constant thrum of appliances, the house had become a sound vacuum. A silent, freezing tomb in which nothing moved but him.