Page 43 of Tear Me Apart

The way the prices have risen in this area, they could sell it for ten times what they paid, or more, but that is little comfort. Even with the rising costs of Mindy’s treatments, Lauren has no desire to sell her life. She’s poured body and soul into making the house a home. Every room has been ministered to; she’s marked them all like a cat leaving its scent behind. She loves it with abandon, like she does Mindy. It is as much a part of her as her arms and legs. She will never willingly give it up.

She pulls into the garage, noting Jasper’s Audi isn’t inside. Good. She needs some time to figure out exactly how she is going to handle things. What to say. How to manage the situation.

The situation.Hello, darling. How was your day? Make you a martini? By the way, our whole life is a lie.

The living room is dusty and cold. She lights a fire in the oversized potbellied stove and cranks open the vent. The air begins to warm immediately. She throws in more wood until the stove roars with happiness, then climbs the stairs to the master, desperate for a long, hot shower and change of clothes.

The bedroom is a mess. Jasper is a naturally tidy man, Lauren is a neat freak, and Mindy is a minimalist, which means the house is designer showcase ready at all times, but she finds their bed unmade, the sheets stale and crumpled, magazines and books spilling from the side table onto the floor.

An unreasonable anger seizes her. Damn Jasper for leaving her this mess. Damn Juliet. Damn Mindy for crashing into that gate. Damn the cancer eating her alive. Damn the doctors and the DNA and the needles and tests. Damn it all.

She sweeps the books and magazines to the floor with a crash. Rips the sheets off the bed, throws them on the floor, too. The fury grips her and she takes it out on every available thing that is light enough to move, then collapses onto the bed in a puddle of frustrated tears.

She hears the gentle chime of the alarm system indicating a door has opened. Jasper is home. Damn that, too.

“Honey?” he calls. She hears him on the stairs but doesn’t move. She can’t do this. Not anymore.

“Dear God, Lauren, what’s going on? What are you doing?”

“Grieving,” she manages, throwing herself facedown so she won’t have to see his pity.

Jasper begins to laugh. It is the nervous laughter of someone trapped too long in solitary confinement. Lauren rolls onto her back and looks at him incredulously, which makes him laugh harder.

“Look at this mess. You trashed the bedroom.”

“You come home to find your wife in tears, and you laugh? What kind of sicko are you?”

He laughs harder. “The kind that gets his kicks from coming home to a bedroom that looks like a drunken rock star threw a three-day bender in it, apparently. Come here.”

He gathers her in his arms. The tears have stopped; Lauren has never been much of a crier. Even now, even faced with Mindy’s possible death, with her world falling apart, the possibility that she will lose everything looming large, crying feels like a useless waste of time.

Jasper has stopped murmuring nonsense meant to soothe and is softly kissing her neck. She lets him. She needs a shower, needs to straighten up, but she needs this more. It will make what she has to tell him easier.

She turns to face him, straddling his legs, pulling off his glasses and tossing them to the nightstand, then proceeds to get his pants open enough to take advantage of the position. He helps, dragging off her leggings as she smothers him with kisses, his mouth, his neck, his chest, sliding farther and farther down until she has him in her mouth and he is moaning her name.

They’ve always been good at this.

Always been good at everything.

He pulls her back up, and her legs naturally wind around his waist. He holds her tight in his arms, moving into her, and she grinds against him, losing herself in the rhythm, in the exquisite feeling of being alive, of feeling him inside her, his arms around her, his head thrown back. They go faster, then he stands and turns around, lays her on the bed, but not gently, she doesn’t want it gentle, she wants to know she’s alive. He senses this and moves hard into her. She bites him on the shoulder and bucks against him, and he loses all control, his movement inevitable and unstoppable now. She goes right over the edge with him, trembling and shaking and calling his name.

When she comes back to herself, she opens her eyes to see his sheepish face hovering above hers.

“I am so—”

She puts her finger on his lips. “No. Don’t apologize. I needed it, too.”

“But you were crying.”

“And now I’m not. Mission accomplished, wouldn’t you say?”

He kisses her deeply then, slowly, and she relaxes into the bed, savoring him, allowing the connection between them to cement itself.

Together, it whispers.You’re in this together.

23

They shower, taking advantage of the double heads, and dress, speaking of nothing important, marriage talk, assiduously avoiding all mention of Mindy and the hospital and why Lauren is home instead of there.