A Talk in the Dark

"John?"

"Mmm?"

He struggled out of deep sleep to answer the summons, extricating himself from an unpleasant dream that evaporated as he woke. His brow knitted into a frown. There was something about that soft female whisper in his ear that was immensely disturbing. Even as he tried to clear his head, he felt his body already reacting with a thrill of horror. It was a sensation he'd felt only once before, when he'd awoken at the wheel of a spinning car. A pang of guilt skewered him through the chest like an icicle. Yes, of course. How could he forget, even in sleep? Marcia had died that night in the car, without ever waking up, without saying good-bye.

They'd been at a party. He'd spent the latter part of the evening standing in a kitchen drinking jug Merlot and listening to a young woman named Stacy going on about how living near a power line had severely distorted her aura. He thought she was loony, but he stayed because she was nice to look at. She had a youthful high-breasted look that appealed to him more as he got older. He looked up from her cleavage to meet Marcia's eyes and she shot him a look that had him asking the hostess for their coats a moment later.

He'd been ready to leave the party anyway; it was late and they had a long way to go. Nothing was said as they walked to the car, but he could feel a frost in the air. He wondered if he should apologize, but he didn't feel like getting into it now. It was no big deal, they'd both forget it by morning.

He sighed as he slid in behind the wheel. He wasn't drunk, but he was thoroughly tired and he wished he could just go straight to bed. He'd hoped they could talk to keep him awake, but Marcia had had one glass too many and fell asleep immediately. He looked over at her, with her head on the back of the seat, her long soft hair framing her face, the line of her nose and lips and chin, and he felt his eyes fill. Marcia had nothing to fear from Stacy or anybody else. He thought of waking her, telling her that, but he let her sleep. Plenty of time to tell her tomorrow. He cracked the wing to get cold air on his face and concentrated on the white dashes diving under the fender.

He woke when the hum of the tires suddenly stopped. He sat blinking stupidly as trees and signs paraded across his lights. Something happened that he didn't understand, something hard and very loud. Then it was over. He sat there gripping the wheel, trying to make sense of things. He was still in the car, but it wasn't moving now; it stood under a freeway overpass. Everything was quiet. The windshield had disappeared. He could hear crickets in the grass, a dog barking in the distance. He couldn't understand what had just happened. He did what he always did when he had a problem; he turned to his wife. But Marcia wasn't there anymore. She'd been replaced by something red and horrible.

* * *

"John."

Her voice was so close! He could almost feel her breath on his neck. He realized then that she was lying as she always had, curled on her side just an inch behind him, not touching anywhere. He always swore he could feel her there. When he woke away from her, he knew before he woke up that she wasn't there. He called it The Cold Back. For six years he hadn't felt that warmth, that security of knowing she was only an inch away. Now it was back.

He could hear a woman's soft breathing. With a second pang of self-recrimination, he realized it wasn't Marcia's, but his new wife of less than a month. He opened his eyes and saw her sleeping on her back, one arm behind her head. One breast was exposed, the light through the curtain turning it to a moonlit hill.

* * *

"John!"

He jumped. It was the same exasperated tone he'd heard so often when she caught him looking at other women.

"Marcia?" he whispered, so softly he could hardly hear himself.

"Hello, John."

"Is it really you?"

"It's really me."

And he knew it was. He lay still for a very long time, barely breathing, afraid he would wake himself and lose her again.

* * *

"John?"

"What?"

"I'm not really mad about you looking at other girls, you know. I never felt angry about it."

"You didn't?"

"No. I understood. It's a guy thing. But it made me sad. It was just something I would have liked, you know? To really be the only girl you had eyes for. It's a girl thing. But that made me even more upset, because it shouldn't matter. You don't know what they put girls through, it's so competitive and demeaning. Everyone is judging you all the time."

"But you were a beautiful woman. Everybody thought you were gorgeous."

"So what? I would have been the same person if I'd been flat-chested and pimply, but would I have gotten to marry you?"

"I'd like to think so."

"Me too. But look at her over there. Look at that figure! And no pimples, either. Do I detect a pattern here?"

* * *

He sighed.

"Look," he whispered. "I don't know how we can be talking like this, how we have this time together, but I hate to waste it the same way we wasted our last night together, with an argument."

"It wasn't an argument. I didn't say a word that night."

"No, not a word. You never said another word to me, ever. The last time you looked at me you had little daggers coming out of your eyes."

"No, I didn't. The last time I looked at you you had just pulled out of their driveway. I was quite drunk and I was glad you were driving. You looked so serious and intent. I thought you looked very handsome. I knew you were upset and I was going to say something, to let you know it was okay. But I didn't, because I was too sleepy and tipsy. I wanted it to be like when I was a little girl, and I could pretend to be asleep so my daddy would carry me right into bed when we got home."

He could feel the warmth of her body just behind him. He wanted to snuggle his bottom back against her, the way they used to on cold nights, but he didn't dare.

* * *

"Marcia?" he said.

She didn't answer but he knew she was still there. His back was warm.

"One of the worst parts for me was that I could never tell you how terribly, terribly sorry I am."

"It's all right. It was an accident. It could have happened to anybody. Everyone has stories of close calls, of waking up just in time. You simply fell asleep, same as I did. No one blames you, dear. Certainly not me."

He didn't answer for a long time.

"Do you remember when we went backpacking the first time?" he said after a while.

She gave a soft snort of laughter and he realized how much he had missed that sound. "That trip down the Grand Canyon," she chuckled.

"Yeah. We took way too much stuff."

"We were both staggering."

"Remember how it felt when we took the packs off in the evening?" he asked. "We'd bound around like Neil Armstrong, we felt so light."

"I remember," she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

"I feel like that now," he whispered.

* * *

"John?"

"What?"

"Do you remember that afternoon we made love on top of that mountain in Fiji?"

He smiled into the darkness. "Vomo. It was called Vomo."

"Yes. Do you know that was the best time ever for me? I mean, we had a lot of great times over the years. But for me, lying in the grass on that hilltop, holding you in my arms afterwards, that was the ultimate. Looking back, I think that was the happiest moment of my life."

"Do you remember what you said to me afterwards?" he whispered.

"No. I don't remember that we said anything."

"We didn't for awhile. But I was lying there thinking what to say. I didn't want to ruin it. I was terrified that maybe it hadn't been as special for you as it was for me, you know? Like I'd just been imagining it. And you looked at me and said, 'Did you hear the angels sing?'"

She laughed again. "I did hear them, you know."

"These last years," he said, "I couldn't stand knowing that I was the only one in the world who remembered that day."

* * *

"Marcia?"

"Hmm?"

"Where have you been all this time?"

"A different sort of place. I really can't explain it. You'll understand one day.

"Is it good there?"

"It's different. It's not the same."

"But it's not bad?"

"No, certainly not bad."

* * *

His eyes focused and he realized he was still staring unseeing at his new wife's breast.

"What about her?"

"Who?"

"My... her."

"Your wife? What about her?"

"I didn't expect you to be back."

"I'm not, really. Not back back."

"Was I wrong to marry her?"

"Do you love her?"

"Yes. Yes, I do. Not the same way I loved you. Different."

"Does she love you?"

"I believe she does. She's much younger than I am, but she's sure as hell not after my money."

"Doesn't sound like a mistake to me."

"You don't mind?"

"Do I expect you to be celibate the rest of your life? I know you, John, remember? I love you and want you to be happy. I wish you all the best."

* * *

"Why did you come back? After all this time?"

"I'm not really sure how it happened. Maybe someone made a mistake. Maybe you were just thinking about me a lot."

"No! That doesn't bring you back."

* * *

"Who?" he asked.

"Who what?"

"Who made a mistake to let this happen? God?"

"Oh, I don't think so. Isn't He supposed to be infallible?"

"Then how did this happen?"

"I think maybe it's because you got married again. You always take on so much guilt, even about things you can't possibly be blamed for. It was time for you to be free. It's like when we hiked out of the canyon. You needed to lighten your pack; leave some things behind. Even things you really cared about and thought you couldn't get along without."

* * *

"I have to say I'm a little surprised it's Stacy," she said. "Aren't you afraid of bending her aura?"

"That was a long time ago, Marcia. She's no airhead."

"I didn't say she was aerocephalic. But look at those hooters."

"There's no reverse correlation to brain size, as you well know. She's a very nice person. She grew up. We all did, after you..."

"Died."

"Yeah. She was very kind to me when I needed it."

"I'll just bet."

"Not like that!" he hissed aloud. "That was much later. Years."

Stacy twitched and sighed at the sound of his voice. She rolled on her side, hiding her breast and pulling the covers off John. She snorted indignantly at something in her dream. "One percent?" she mumbled. "Ridiculous!"

John smiled affectionately at the back of her head. Behind him, Marcia chuckled.

"You never could tell when I was kidding," she said. Then something changed in the room, like a window being opened in another part of the house. He shivered. His back was cold.

Stacy sighed and snuggled back against him. Her skin was like warm silk on his belly.