It Isn't Cheating if He's Dead (19 page)

I’m doomed, Jem. Destined to live with a disease that robs me
of my mind, makes me paranoid. To hear voices speaking from the walls, from the
calendar, from your ring. To live with a stranger in my head and another in my
bed. I fear that you will morph more and more into someone you are not. Into
someone I think I’m already seeing.

My other choice? Take medication that strips me of all energy,
sucks out any shred of motivation, of giving a damn about anything. Leaves me a
drooling, jittering, quaking mass of flesh, wanting to rip my skin off and tear
it to shreds. My skin turns on me, did you know that? But worst of all, I lose
more and more interest in you, in sex, in love, every day. You are so
beautiful, so alive. So very sexy. I never even told you that when I was in my
right mind. I’m an ass, Jem. You can do better. You will do better.

Either way I look at it, I am destined to not live my life.
Not the life I want. Not the life you deserve. And so I choose no medication.
And I choose to save you from it all. You deserve better. Please go find it.

I love you, Jem. Sorry I waited a year before I told you. For
wasting one full year as friends when I really wanted to be your lover. Be the
one that you loved. But most of all I’m sorry that I loved you at all. I knew
where I would end up. I shouldn’t have brought you along for the ride. Not even
a small part of it.

I don’t know what I’m going to do now. But I wanted you to
know all of this, to get it out before I lose everything. If I die, Dean will
find my will. He’ll know what to do. It’s not what I want, death. Honestly it’s
not. But I fear it’s where I am heading either way and I have no way of
stopping it. Like a runaway train.

Love always,

Gerald.

Jem swallowed to force the bile back down
her throat. Her chin trembled and her heartbeat thrummed in her ears. She folded
the letter, tucked it back into the envelope, and placed it on the coffee
table.

Dean put a hand on her knee. “You all
right?”

She curled the ends of her closed mouth up
through grit teeth and tears came. She shook her head and leaned back on the
sofa, her balled fists over her eyes.

“I always knew he left for me. But I
thought it was my fault. Not that he wanted to save me.” She sat back up and
picked up the envelope. “It does answer some questions. I’m not sure what I
would have done with it right after he left. I didn’t know enough about his
disease then. Hadn’t come to terms with anything.” Was still coming to terms
with everything.

She stood, and he stood with her. She
hugged him hard, his acrid hair product stinging her nostrils. Then two quick
pats on the back and she let him go.

She watched him walk to his car, his head
down, shoulders slumped. When his car turned the corner and disappeared from
her sight, she shouldered the door closed, turned out the lights, and trudged
up the stairs to her room on resistant feet.

In Gerald’s bottom drawer, still half-full
of clothes she wasn’t ready to part with, his favourite sweater rested on top.
She unfolded it, climbed into bed and read the letter again.

She should send a copy to Althea. No, she
wouldn’t send it. But she would call her. Shut that bitch up once and for all.

Jem chewed on one thumbnail while Althea’s
phone rang four, five, six times. Just as she was about to end the call, a
clatter came through the receiver.

“What do you want, Jemima?”

“There was a will.” No sense bothering with
niceties. All Jem wanted to do was scream, ‘I was right you stupid bitch,’ into
Althea’s ear.

“What? You had it all along?”

“No, Dean found it. Gerald wanted to be
cremated. No church. He was an atheist.”

Silence except for rasping breath.

“He wrote me a letter too. Before he left.
You want to know what he said?”

“Letters are private. You should keep it to
yourself.”

Like hell she would. “His father hung
himself in the basement. No heart attack. Why, Althea? Why can’t you just admit
it? Be honest about your husband’s illness? About Gerald’s disease?” Tears
streamed down Jem’s face. The anger was gone. The hate dissipated. She no
longer felt anything for this woman except pity.

Althea didn’t answer. Just slammed the
phone down.

That was that. The next time Jem would hear
from Althea, hell would have to be filled to the rafters with winged pigs.

Jem read the letter again and again. When
the sun was too low on the horizon to provide enough light, she tossed the
letter on the nightstand and pulled the covers over her head. She hugged the
sweater to her chest and buried her face in it. Grief that had been captive behind
a barrier of so much anger, so many unanswered questions, let loose. The dam
broke open and wracked her body with waves of convulsing sobs.

close that
door

At the scratch of a key in the front door
lock, Jem’s heart leapt into her throat. She jolted up in bed, the sweater
falling from her hands and onto the comforter. Footsteps padded up the
staircase. She held her breath, half expecting Gerald to walk through the door.

The much taller and broader shadow of Finn
crossed the entry and he stepped inside her room. “You’re awake? I was trying
to be quiet.”

How long would it take to get used to that
sound again? It’d been over a week since she had given him a key and it still
made her jump.

 “You succeeded. I had a rough night,
that’s all.”

“You’ve been crying.” He sat on the edge of
the bed and ran his fingers across her cheeks.

“I must look like hell. Are my eyes
swollen?” She touched her eyelids and rubbed under her eyes.

“Yes. And red.” He hugged her to him and
kissed her temple.

She sank into his arms. “What time is it?”

“Almost seven. Did you already go to the
park?”

“No. I have no idea what time I fell asleep
but it wasn’t early. Do you think they’ll hate me if I miss a day?”

He smiled. “I’m sure they won’t. What
happened? Is everything all right?”

She reached behind him and picked up the
letter. “I got some answers.”

He read it through in silence, pointing to
a few words he couldn’t make out. She translated Gerald’s handwriting,
something she’d done a hundred times in the past, transcribing his research
notes into a digital file. Finn folded it when he was done and returned it to
the night stand.

“Well, one important answer anyway. He did
leave to protect you.” He took her hand, brought it up to his mouth and kissed
her fingers. “I’m afraid it’s not going to get any easier today.”

Her stomach rolled and she swallowed saliva
that filled her mouth. “Why? What happened?”

He put his arm around her shoulder. “The
Montreal police caught the guys who killed him.”

“Are you serious?” Her mind raced, her eyes
darted back and forth between his. “Who did it? Why?

“It was what we thought. A random attack.
There’s been a string of them there, homeless guys being beaten and robbed.
They’ve got evidence connecting most of the incidents to these two men. That
solves four attacks and two murders.”

“Two random guys. One random attack.
Nothing to do with Gerald at all.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“He died of coincidence,” she whispered.
Her limbs were numb, her eyes fixed on the spot on the nightstand where their
photo used to sit before she hid it away. Her motives for doing that were never
quite fleshed out in her head. Shame that she was sleeping with Finn in Gerald’s
bed and didn’t want him to see? Worry that Finn would somehow be bothered by Gerald’s
face in her room? Or was it simply time, after forty-eight long months of being
so alone, being so very lonely, that she was allowed to move on?

“So now what?” Her voice was a monotone,
her mind reeled.

“They’ve been arraigned and are being held
without bail. They face numerous charges, including murder, though they may
only get manslaughter. The Crown has to prove intent for murder.” He rubbed his
hand up and down her arm. “Do you want to go to Montreal for the trial?”

She snapped back to reality, her heart in
her throat again. “Would I have to testify?”

“No. The attack wasn’t related to his
disappearance. It would be more for you. Closure. Facing the people
responsible.”

“Of course. I knew that.” She flopped back
onto her pillow and rolled away from him, pulling the comforter up to her chin.

Finn lay down beside her and tucked her
into the warm curve of his hard body.

She pulled his arms around her and held
them close. They lay quiet for several minutes. His patience with her, their ability
to just be, without the need to fill the silent emptiness with words, eased the
pace of her thoughts.

“I don’t want to go. I don’t want to see
them. It won’t do me any good. And it won’t do Gerald any good either.”

“I understand.” He kissed the back of her
head and then leaned his cheek against it.

She awoke to the sound of the shower
running. The clock radio showed eleven-fifteen. How easy it was to fall asleep
in his arms. Damn it all to hell that it couldn’t be every night.

Her cell phone rang. Althea. Bloody hell. At
least Jem could give her the news. Close that door for good. If her rant from
the night before hadn’t already done so.

“Morning, Althea. I’m sorry about last
night.”

“Jem, it’s Marjorie.”

Jem sat up, her brow wrinkled. “Marj? Is
everything all right?”

“Hon, I thought you should know. Althea
passed away in the night.”

“Oh no. Oh, Marjorie, I am so sorry.”

“I know dear. Thank you. It was peaceful.
In her sleep.”

Jem doubted there was anything peaceful
about it. Maybe she’d killed Althea with that phone call. “Damn, and I just
learned that Gerald’s murder is solved. She never got to know that.”

“I’m not sure it would have helped her.”

“Do you want to know the details?”

Marjorie’s sigh blew through the receiver.
“Maybe another day. I’m kind of full with Althea this morning. But at least
that’s one mystery resolved.”

“Yes, one.” She wasn’t sure she wanted to
share the rest of what she’d learned. That letter was for her and her alone and
she would keep it all to herself. Except for Finn. Besides, Gerald’s family already
knew more than she did. It was her turn to keep a secret.

“So, Jem. How is your new man?”

“Marj, it feels kind of weird talking about
that right now.”

“Of course. I’m sorry, but you know me. I’m
the ‘get on with it’ bitch. Will you come to the funeral?”

“I don’t think so. We weren’t the closest,
you know?”

“I know. It’s fine. You keep in touch, you
hear me?”

“I will. Love to the family.”

The day kept getting better and better.

bad, bad boy

Finn came out of the bathroom rubbing a
towel through his hair, down his chest, and over his groin. “Sorry, did the
shower wake you?”

How inappropriate to be turned on at a time
like this.

“Yes. But it’s all right, I should get
moving.” She stuffed both pillows behind her back and leaned into them. “I’ve
been thinking about everything the others told him. You know what I think?”

“Not a clue.”

“I think I’m them. He heard them from
places in our home. Never at the office. And my grandmother’s ring, that’s
where he spoke back. In the end, it was the only conduit between them.”

“That may mean something else entirely.”

“Maybe. But most of what they said was a
variation on what I told him. That his mother was destined to die. That his
research was too late to save her. When he spoke into the ring, was he speaking
to me? Saying things his disease wouldn’t let him say to the real me? I mean
the weird things the others told him about how to cure cancer, that shit didn’t
come from me.” She slid down the pillows and lay flat on the bed, pulling the
comforter up to her chin. “Hell, I don’t know. I need to get back to work, find
some cases. Fill my brain and time with other things so I can quit obsessing
over all this.”

“Now that sounds like a plan.” He strolled
over to the bed and put his hands on either side of her body, then dove on top
of her, landing as he always did, with gentle grace. His lips met hers in three
quick pecks. “Is it wrong that I’m totally turned on right now?”

She pressed her head back into the pillow and
laughed. “Yes. It’s wicked. You’re a bad, bad boy.” Her arms pinned beneath the
covers, she poked her head forward and kissed him, then fell back. “God, I
haven’t even brushed my teeth yet.”

“That can wait.” He tugged the sheets away.

down the
rabbit hole

Jem and Finn sat down to lunch at the
kitchen table. He’d made fajitas while she showered.

Gorgeous, smart, kind. And he could cook.
When would she wake up from this dream?