Coda (Songs of Submission #9)(50)

He put the sponge between my thighs and cleaned off the last of the blood. His name was still there, and he rubbed until it was gone while I laid my head on the side of the tub and cried.

What shame. Lying in a tub with my legs spread, weeping while my husband scrubbed our baby from between my legs. But despite what the scene may have looked like, I wasn’t ashamed. I was open, raw, and comforted.

“Thank you,” I said. “You’re good to me.”

He put his hand flat on my abdomen. “You wrote something here too. It’s darker.” He ran his wet hand over my cheeks, wiping away old tears to make room for the new ones.

“There was a shower in between.”

“I’m going to have to work to get it off.”

“I don’t want to look.”

“Don’t.” He picked up a scrubby thing, tossed it, chose something softer, and put soap on it. He was all business. I looked at the ceiling as he scrubbed.

“Do you want to hear the last stupid thing that went through my head?” I said.

“If you’re willing to hear my stupid thing after.”

“I thought, ‘This happened because I wrote it backward.’”

“That is stupid.”

“What was your stupid thing?” I asked.

“That next time we should tattoo Jonathan’s baby, and it’ll stick.”

I laughed through my tears. That was Jonathan, a poet in love and a realist in life, thinking superstitious nonsense, just like me.

“Are you cold?” I asked when he put the scrubber down. “Your clothes are soaked.”

“I feel trapped in a bag.”

“You do look a little vacuum-packed.”

He laughed, and I laughed with him. He stood and peeled off his clothes, getting down to the pure magnificence of him. I didn’t know if I could ever be away from him again. I needed him.

“They’re going to restart the track in a week,” I said, holding out my arms.

“I think you’ll be okay by then.”

“Come with me.”

He stepped into the tub without answering.

“Jonathan,” I said as he leaned his back on me, and I wrapped my legs around his waist.

“I heard you.”

“Please. Don’t leave me alone. Don’t make me choose. I can’t do it anymore.”

He leaned his head back and kissed my cheek. “I own you, and I take care of my property. Every minute of the day.”

“Say that means you’ll travel with me.”

“It means wherever you go, I’ll be by your side. I’m going to take such good care of you, you’re going to get sick of me. You’re going to tell me to stay home, and I won’t.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, laying my cheek on his shoulder. We stayed there until the water got cold.

chapter 37.

EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER

MONICA

“Today?” Laurelin cried as she zipped my dress. “You agreed to do a show today?”

“Tonight, actually.” I held up the strapless top with my forearm.

“You’re supposed to get swept off your feet to a foreign land.” He face was red with irritation, and her fists were tense. She was quite the romantic, our nurse.

“I am. After the show. Two songs in my wedding gown. Darren and I will blow the roof off the place, then I’ll go on my honeymoon.” I kissed her cheek, and when she tried to push me away, I kissed her harder.

“Come on,” she said. “Let me get this on you.”

Laurelin struggled to get the zipper up, cursing. Her pale blue gown hung on her like a sack, as if its lack of efficiency made her body repel it. She, Yvonne, and three of Jonathan’s sisters were my bridesmaids, and they tittered around the waiting room, drinking tea and fussing with their makeup.

My hair was braided, of course, and twisted into a bun. Leanne had fashioned a veil of twisted tulle and beadwork, knotted it into the plait, and let it fall to the floor. I wasn’t into finery, but the dress was gorgeous. Rock star gorgeous. Underneath it, I had a custom-made lace garter set with enough hardware and straps to suspend me from the Eiffel tower. I couldn’t wait for Jonathan to see it.

I hadn’t let him have me in two weeks, which hadn’t been easy for either of us. But I wanted to be wild with desire on our wedding night, and I wanted to torture him as much as he tortured me.

During the weeks after my miscarriage, I couldn’t. I had been bleeding drop by drop, and I felt so raw and hurt, I couldn’t let him near me. I hated my own skin. Then, one day, as we were getting on the Gulfstream to New York, the rawness left, and I wanted nothing more than his body inside me. He was gentle at first, but once he realized I was all right, he went back to the rough bastard I always knew.

He’d barely left my side since. Where I went, he went, and if he had to travel, I followed him. We brought Laurelin if we had to, and she brought the baby and her husband and kid sometimes.

Jonathan with a baby was magic. He opened up. His sense of humor turned to silly faces and funny noises. And yet, I couldn’t give him one. There was nothing. Not even a threat or a tickle. Just us. We started talking about adoption, because he only had so long and I wanted joy for him before his heart gave out.

“Any word from Mr. Gevers?” Laurelin asked, as if reading my mind.