Honeymoon

Chapter 73

“WHAT’S WRONG?” NORA ASKED.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Out of nowhere I’m starting to feel…”

Like I’m going to vomit all over the kitchen.

I sprung out of my chair and raced for the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet in time. I dropped to my knees and heaved violently. Up came the omelet. Most of lunch as well.

“Craig, are you all right?” she asked from behind the bathroom door.

No, I wasn’t. I’d been hit by a tidal wave of nausea and I was reeling. My vision was blurred. All I could do was hold on tight and hope for it to pass.

If that cop from the cemetery could see me now.

“Craig? You’re scaring me.”

I was too busy retching to respond to anything she was saying. I was too dizzy and weak.

“Can I get you something?” she asked.

With my arms wrapped around the porcelain, I was faced with a horrible fear: what if this never passes? That’s how bad I felt, how awful and terrified.

“Craig, please say something.”

The next moment, however, it did pass. Oddly. Luckily. As fast as it came, it seemed to disappear. Just like that.

“I’m okay,” I said, as much surprised as relieved. “I’m okay now. I’ll be out in a minute.”

I lumbered over to the sink, rinsed my mouth, and splashed some cold water on my face. Again I was staring at myself in the mirror. It had to be food poisoning, right?

But there was no escaping another possibility—I was suffering from pure, unadulterated anxiety on the heels of having fucked up very badly. Simply put, the omelet didn’t mix very well with the huge and unforgiving pit in my stomach.

Jesus, O’Hara. Get a grip!

I returned to the kitchen and a very confused Nora. “You scared the hell out of me,” she said.

“Sorry. That was bizarre.” I struggled to offer up a believable explanation. “Maybe it was a bad egg.”

“Could be. Oh, I feel just terrible. Oh, Craig. You’re feeling better now, though?”

I nodded.

“You sure? Don’t try to be a hero.”

“Yes.”

“Now I’m the one really feeling awful,” she said. “You’ll never eat anything I cook for you again.”

“Don’t be silly, it wasn’t your fault.”

Her lower lip curled down. She seemed hurt and frightened. I went over and put my arms around her. “I’d kiss you but—”

She broke into a smile. “I think I can dig you up a toothbrush,” she said. “On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You agree to spend the night here. Once again—with feeling—pretty please?”

Maybe if she hadn’t been wearing only her bra and panties. Maybe if I hadn’t been holding her at that moment. Maybe then I could’ve said no. Maybe, but I doubt it.

“On one condition of my own,” I said.

“I know what you’re going to say and I wouldn’t think of it.”

Which meant we slept far away from the master bedroom that evening. Not that we actually did much sleeping. I promised myself it would be only this one night. The next day I’d put an end to it. I’d figure out some other way to be close to her without being intimate.

Yet deep down I sensed what was happening. I could feel it everywhere.

I was hooked on Nora.