madison
. . .
“Ican’t believe you still laugh when I hit that right spot,” Washington said.
I chuckled. “When I’m happy, I’m happy.” But the laughter I gave him while straddling him and trembling in his arms turned into a cackle.
Once I had recovered, I repositioned myself in the passenger seat of his Bentley. We did not make it to the shower. However, the bright side? That after rage-room fantasy that had him trying to break me away from a vehicle when he first brought me home got to be played out. All the live oaks and his expert parking helped us since we were badass in a drop-top convertible.
“I can’t believe you threatened to sue them.” I was prolonging the inevitable as I stared at the black shutters of our home.
Washington rubbed a hand over his head. “I may include a couple more individuals in the lawsuit.”
I shifted in the buttery leather seat. “My parents?”
He winked as I slugged him softly. “Did I say that,bébé?”
“It’s okay. I would demand the return of mine and Lynn’s childhood if I had the courage to speak my mind.” I opened the door, and murmured, “Would you … add me?”
“What? Hell, nah, Madison.” He reached across the console, took my arm, stopping me from getting out.
I straightened in my seat again. After another quick glance at the house we turned into a home, my attention shifted to my man. The sunlight brightened across his eyes, which were dark and searching me. I rubbed a hand over my forearm. “I gave up, Wash. Yes, outside factors helped. But we hadn’t slept together while he was in a coma. Two years. I think that makes me the problem.”
“You needed time.”
The wind smelled like river mud as our front door stared at me like,You coming in or what?
It was theor whatfor me.
I gestured to my open passenger door. Washington nodded, stepped out of the driver’s side like the Secret Service. He helped me out, even though I had been fighting him all morning over the blanket I’d stolen from the hotel.
My stilettos hit the paving stones, and the air felt heavier. After drawing a breath, I took his hand, and we started up the path shaded by old oaks. Spanish moss hung low, brushing against my shoulders like a welcome home.
“At the funeral,” I sighed, “Bridget’s words helped validate my depression.”
He didn’t squeeze my hand. Didn’t scoop me up caveman-style and haul me inside. Washington stepped onto the wide veranda and allowed me to lead him around the back of the house.
The soft creak of the rattan bench accompanied us as we swung back and forth. A full-size, in-ground pool covered by a pergola, matching our historic aesthetic, provided a picture-framed view of the curvy Mississippi River.
“I stopped making grown folk’s decisions when I was depressed,” I murmured, feet dangling as our swing caught thebreeze. “I hated you.” I swallowed. “Not because of the plane crash.”
My husband’s chest deflated as if someone had let the air out.
“I hated you for all the times you said, ‘Stop kissing thatbébé. He’s gonna be soft.’ ” I gave Washington’s hand a squeeze. “And I hated you for all the memories where Elijah nearly pushed me to the ground when you got home.”
“Pushed you to the ground?”
“Boy, you had me jealous!” I threw up my hands. “All he wanted was his daddy. And he was already four feet tall, Wash. That dang Babineaux height. Or should I say, Ezekiel Landry’s height. Your momma sure knew how to pick them. You and Montana’s daddy, and the twins’ father created boys built for the NBA draft.”
Washington cough-laughed.
“So, I hated you for that too. Because he was so tall. I wanted my baby to be ababy.He could-could’ve stayed little, longer.” I shrugged. “Anyway, after we lost Elijah and then Bridget at the funeral … I started blaming me. Blamed my ambition. My extravagance. The store and the vacations. If I hadn’t wanted?—”
“No,bébé, that accident wasn’t anymore your fault than it was mine.”
“I know. I know that now. But then. Maybe I should have told you what I overheard. I should have definitely told Shonda. Anyway, I decided I didn’t deserve my happily ever after. I gave up on … you.”
He leaned in and brushed my lips with his own. The touch of his mouth, softer than a whisper and infinitely patient, soothed and warmed me.