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

“Grab the wine and two forks, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

For the next two hours, I do just that. We empty a bottle of wine; I’d like another, but I don’t dare say that, lest he think his love is also becoming an alcoholic. We devour the Chinese Emmitt ordered, and we talk. He mostly listens, asking questions every once in a while. When I’ve told him everything, more than I thought I would, more than I know I should, I look at him, breathing deeply. I’m winded, my voice raspy from talking so long. I’m shaking from sharing all of this with him, with anyone. I want him to say something, anything. I want him to make it better, even though I know somewhere deep down inside of me that that isn’t possible.

“Why didn’t you tell me all of this before?”

“I didn’t want to put you in that kind of position.”

“I love you. We’re in this together.”

“I’m not sure we should be,” I say. “If she gets off, I don’t know what she’ll do, and I’m not okay with that. I think we should go our separate ways if that happens. Maybe one day we’ll end up back together.”

Those words are both the truth and a lie at the same time. I don’t want anyone else to die at Margaret’s hands, least of all the love of my life. If she managed to pin it on me like she did with Ryan, my God, I don’t know what I’d do. I’d kill myself, I guess, something I know Ryan wishes he had done before he ended up behind bars, awaiting trial, and what he feels certain is a guilty verdict even though he’s innocent.

Instead of Emmitt packing up his things and walking out the door, I want him to say no, and mean it. I want him to kiss me passionately and throw me on the kitchen counter and make love to me. I want him to be the man I know he is and tell me I’m crazy and that we’ll get through this together. To tell me over and over again until I believe it. It scares me perhaps even more than Margaret Moore that he won’t do those things.

“I’m not afraid of this woman. I’m afraid of losing you,” he says. “You’re making too much of this, but we’ll hire a guard, get a better alarm, whatever convinces you we are okay.”

I tip my wineglass back, trying to get any little bit left. My mission is unsuccessful, but when I turn back, Emmitt is down on one knee, holding a diamond ring in his hand. He wavers back and forth slightly because he’s just as tipsy as I am. The glass falls out of my hand and onto the floor. It shatters, but doesn’t throw him off one bit.

“Kate, I love you more than I thought it was possible to love another human being. We will get through whatever life throws at us, together, and be stronger for it. So, Kate, will you marry me?”

My mouth gapes open during his little speech. I try to speak, but nothing comes out. Emmitt gets up and puts his hands on my shoulders.

“You okay, honey?” he asks.

“I . . . umm . . . yes.”

“Yes? Yes! I knew you’d say yes, but you scared me a bit there.”

“Yes to ‘Am I okay,’ ” I say, even though I know I shouldn’t. “Are you sure this is the right time to get engaged? We just talked about all this drama with my case, and I’m a mess, and we’re both drunk. I didn’t picture my engagement going like this.”

“We’re not that drunk. I bought the ring. It was in my pocket. I wanted to give it to you. And I just told you to stop worrying about that case. And, honey”—he pauses, brushes the hair away from my face with his soft hand, caresses my cheek—“you look beautiful. You always look beautiful. Let’s do this,” he says. “You just have to say yes.”

“Yes,” I say. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I fall into his arms. A weight has been lifted off my shoulders, and I feel safer than I have since the day Margaret Moore came into my life.

I call in sick. I’m sick, but not sick, all at the same time. Would a doctor deem me medically unable to go into the office? Probably not. However, I’m sick of having to deal with all this drama. I’m sick of constantly working twelve hours a day and coming home and working more. I’m sick of not being able to turn my brain off, to prevent it from thinking about all the cases I’m working on. I’m sick of watching my personal, vacation, and sick days accumulate, staring at me, taunting me, waiting to be used.

So since I have something to celebrate, I’m taking a day just for me. Well, for us, since Emmitt called in sick as well. We’re lying in bed, awake. We’ve been awake most of the night, but it was the best sleepless night I can imagine.

It wasn’t full of tossing and turning, staring at the clock, waiting to fall asleep. Watching the seconds, minutes, and hours pass without being able to fall asleep, no matter how hard I tried. It was full of nuzzling my head into Emmitt’s chest. Feeling his muscular arms wrapped around me, enveloped by his masculine cologne that smells like the forest. I hated it when we first met, but right now I’m as in love with it as I am with him.

We made love more than once. We discovered each other’s bodies in a new and complete way. I feel like I know Emmitt as well as I know myself. I am sick in love, and I never want to get better.

My phone rings. Not a single cell in my