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I said, “You tell me.”
“House of Cats,”she told me.
Done.
CHAPTER 93
I SET JULIE up in her bed with Martha, a glass of milk, and the extended two-hour version of a cartoon musical filling her TV screen. When she was calling out advice to multicolored dancing cats, Joe and I went to our bedroom and got into bed.
We hugged and rolled around, and I got up to check that the door was locked. Then I got back to bed. Joe was quiet for a full minute. I thought he may have gone to sleep. I shook his arm and he said, “Steinmetz offered me a job.”
“Again?
“This time in writing. And it’s a great offer.”
“Oh, my God. What did you say?”
“That I wanted to talk to you.”
“And here I am. Listening …”
“Well. There’d be a very decent raise, other perks. It’s a full-time job. Which doesn’t mean nine-to-five. You remember.”
“Vividly.”
I remembered, too, gunfights, touch-and-go nights in the ER, the “Chinese wall” between us, meaning talking aboutour cases was forbidden, Joe’s absence for days at a time, and the worst, still animated in my mind—the evening when a museum made of glass and steel had exploded with Joe inside.
He said, “I could turn down the job again, and keep doing what I’ve been doing for a few more years. There’s a lot to be said for that.”
“Like what?”
“I’m the boss. No-brainer work. Afternoon naps. Long walks with Martha. High-fat, salty snacks in the kitchen. Drop off and pick up our little girl at the school bus. But that’s not all. Did I mention afternoon naps?”
His delivery was priceless and I laughed out loud.
“No screaming,” he said, then tipped my face to his and kissed me long and hard. I kissed him back and then his hands were under my clothes and I was tugging at his.
“Hey. I love you,” he said.
“I love you, too.”
We made sweet love, panting but not screaming, aware of the little girl in the next room watching a movie that would soon be over.
We dressed reluctantly but stayed in bed and made a circumstances-permitting date for tomorrow night: dinner out, home again, same place, and with some screaming allowed.
I rolled onto my back. It would be good for Joe to go back to work, but we both knew that everything would change.
Joe spoke. “Steinmetz wants a decision next week.”
“That stinks. How about we talk again about this a few more times? I have to get used to the idea of it, but the decision is yours.”
“Ours.”
I squeezed his hand. I rubbed his head and traced the scar from the Sci-Tron explosion that had parted his hair.
It was a rare pleasure to be in sync like this. In the same circadian rhythm with my husband. Even tired, our minds racing from the other’s touch, from anticipation, from knowing, loving, trusting each other. Joe and I just had a great, memorable night together.
The best in a long time.