He awakens her with soft kisses to her forehead and the tip of her nose. “Rise and shine, love of my life. I want to have a look at this crate we’re renting.”
“What’s it like out?”
“Grey. Dewy. Clearing up.”
He climbs out of bed and she watches him pad to the bathroom. She lies back with her eyes shut, listening to the splash of the shower and watching a display of bright fireworks explode across the insides of her eyelids; she is thinking this ought to be a moment of guilt because she oughtn’t to feel so bloody good: it seems somehow a betrayal. This has got to be Ellen’s day …
But why shouldn’t it be my day too?
She sits up, beaming. “It’s going to work. I know it is. Nothing can go wrong today.”
Filled with adrenaline she goes charging into the bathroom, singing at the top of her voice, and opens the frosted glass door and climbs into the shower with him. Charlie laughs at her and she tickles his ribs and in retaliation he’s all over her, soaping her down, sliding his hands over her body.
She reaches up to clasp her hands behind his neck; she stands back at arms’ length and lets him look down at her and she feels good when he likes what he sees.
He has been full of quiet passion: considerate and attentive and easy with a confidence that is not yet quite proprietary.
“You like my boobs, Charlie?”
“I do love them.”
“You don’t think they’re too big or too small or too high or too low or something?”
“Passion flower, your boobs are the most perfect little boobs I’ve ever seen in my life. Just absolutely positively perfect.”
“What do you mean little, you son of a bitch?”
Laughter explodes from him. They struggle for the soap.
When he’s finished shaving and she’s putting on makeup she says, “There are some things I’ve got to buy in town. Child things. You know. Diapers and such. I don’t imagine we want wet upholstery in the airplane. I’ll take a taxi. Meet you at the airfield no later than ten-thirty.”
“All right. That’ll give me time to do the paperwork, make sure the crate’s topped up and ready to go.”
He’s dressed now. Flying boots and khaki chinos, a lumberjack sort of shirt. He finishes shoving things in his suitcase and comes to her; he rests his hands on her bare shoulders and watches her in the mirror. She leans her head back against his abdomen.
“Are you going now?”
“Get dressed and close up your suitcase and I’ll take it with me.”
“I feel strange, Charlie. Like there’s something wrong with me. I ought to be scared to death right now and worried about my kid. I just want to leap back in bed with you.”
“Natural enough, honey sweet. Biology of the beast. Primitive instinct. Happens when we’re just about to go in harm’s way. We get scared and that sets all the juices to flowing. Battle anticipation-combat nerves. Why do you think the birth rate booms in wartime?”
She gets to her feet and turns into his arms, wanting to be held.