Cause of Death by Laura Dembowski (sci fi books to read .TXT) 📕

dying is catastrophic. He’s her favorite; plus, he’s the breadwinner. Without Dave there would be no more fancy designer clothes, expensive wild fish, or house, for that matter. Really, Lana might be right on this; I mean, if the two of us were left on the street, surely we wouldn’t survive.

“Your arms feel so strong,” I say, rubbing them.

“I’ve been working out more these days.”

I turn and start kissing his chest, working myself up into a frenzy. I need to feel loved. I need to feel cared for. I need to feel wanted.

Lana doesn’t really love me. She loves the idea of me, but she certainly doesn’t actually care about me. Maybe she does want me in her life, but really, her need for me outweighs anything else. I’m like water: necessary for hydration, but nothing more. No one loves drinking water, if they’re honest.

“Margaret, we can’t. You know that.”

“But she hasn’t bothered us at night lately, and we need to. How are we supposed to stay connected and together? She certainly wants us to maintain our relationship.”

“She doesn’t see a correlation between the two things.”

“What’s the harm in one night? Just a few minutes. A little fun,” I say gently biting his ear.

“Okay, quick, then. She’ll hear or sense or whatever she does.”

Quick. Sure. Fine. Whatever. I’ll take anything.

I’m sure he wants sex, too, but he always gives in to the fear of Lana. Can you imagine being afraid of your own child? What does he think she’s going to do? Explode if she sees us making love? How does she think she made it to this Earth anyway? Magic? The stork?

I’ve only been begging for weeks. I’m so close to climaxing I can feel it. Just a little more.

And then the door swings open. The light from the hallway shining in is my first clue. I oiled the doors because the squeaking was annoying me, but now I wish I hadn’t. We could have stopped before she even walked in. Once the light jars me to reality, it’s too late. We freeze, then return to our normal sleeping positions.

Lana says nothing. She certainly doesn’t run away in panic like a normal person would. Which can only mean one thing: She needs something. Something a normal twenty-something would do or get for herself—but Lana isn’t normal. Lana’s desire for this thing, whatever it is, outweighs any embarrassment she is facing.

“Mommy,” she says.

She may love Dave more than me, but in the middle of the night, it’s always me she turns to. Lucky me.

“Yes, Lana.”

“I can’t sleep. My tummy hurts.”

Let me remind you again, she’s not five. Not even ten. She is a grown-ass woman.

“I’m sorry about that. What do you want me to do?”

“Can we go watch TV for a while?”

I want to say “No,” or “Can’t you go watch by yourself?” Instead I say “Sure, honey,” knowing if I say anything other than that, she’ll be back in five or ten, maybe twenty minutes, bothering me again. Apparently there is something about my mere presence that allows her to relax and fall back asleep. Even when she was away at college or living in New York, she’d call me to soothe her. I didn’t even have to talk, just stay on the line and breathe.

Lana heads out of the room, to gather her pillow and probably a stuffed animal to head downstairs. I put on my pajamas and grab my pillow as well. If I’m lucky, she’ll fall asleep quickly, something she does most of the time, and I’ll be able to run back upstairs to sleep with my husband. But then there are those glorious nights when she tosses and turns on the sofa, trying to find a comfortable position, the volume on the TV so low, any program she puts on sounds like a constant whining, none of the words intelligible.

Which night do you think this was?

The next morning, Dave gently kisses me on the cheek, waking me before he heads off for another day of work.

I look over to the other sofa, where last I remember, Lana was trying desperately to go to sleep. She’s gone. That’s unusual. In fact, it’s never happened before.

I look up at Dave and kiss him passionately.

“Rough night?” he asks, walking to the kitchen to retrieve the lunch I’d made for him the night before.

“Actually, I slept. I just would rather have done it in our own bed, or finished what we had started.”

“Me, too. Maybe we can get away next month, even if it’s just for a weekend.”

I laugh. No, actually, I cackle. Lana won’t stay by herself, and no one but us would stay with her, so this trip Dave wants is never going to happen.

“You keep telling yourself that,” I reply.

His hands full, he kisses me one more time, then heads out the door.

I think about returning to bed, but I’m kind of comfortable where I am. The sun is kissing the top of my head, warming it in the most perfect way. I decide to stay.

And fall back asleep before Dave even shuts the garage door.

Chapter 2

Lana

“Ugh,” I sigh as I look at my phone, about to vibrate off the table. I swear it vibrates even harder when she calls. It’s like she can send it a signal to annoy me as much as humanly possible so I’m more likely to pick up.

“Is it your mom?” Zack asks. He’s my friend—maybe my boyfriend. I don’t really know what we are, but he’s nice, and we like hanging out, so our relationship doesn’t really need a label at this moment.

“Yes. I told her I was getting my hair done. You’d think she could just leave me the fuck alone.”

“I don’t know why you just don’t tell her that you have friends and a life, like every other person on earth.”

“Because she almost killed herself”—I pause, rolling my eyes—“or at least threatened to when I was away. I told you that’s why I gave up everything. For