The witching hour - By Anne Rice Page 0,520

down, past her, and picked it up and put it in the sink. “Rowan, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Michael,” she said thickly, trying to control the trembling, the tears springing to her eyes. “I’m sick, just a little sick. It happened this morning, and this afternoon and yesterday too actually. I don’t know what it is. It was the cigarette just now. I’ll be OK, Michael, honestly. I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t know what it is?” he asked her.

“No, I just … I guess it’s … cigarettes never did that to me before .… ”

“Dr. Mayfair,” he said. “You sure you don’t know?”

She felt his hands on her shoulders. She felt his hair brush her cheek gently as he bent to kiss the tops of her breasts. She started to cry, her hands clasping his head, feeling the silkiness of his hair.

“Dr. Mayfair,” he said. “Even I know what it is.”

“What are you talking about?” she whispered. “I just need to sleep, to go upstairs.”

“You’re pregnant, honey. Go look at yourself in the mirror.” And very gently he touched her breasts again, and she herself felt the plumpness, the slight soreness, and she knew, knew absolutely from all the other little unnoticed signs, that he was right. Absolutely right.

She dissolved into tears. She let him pick her up and tumble her against him, and carry her slowly through the house. Her body ached from the tension of the awful moments in the kitchen, and her sobs were coming dry and painfully from her throat. She didn’t think it was possible for him to carry her up that long stairway, but he did it, and she let him do it, crying against his chest, her fingers tight around his neck.

He set her down on the bed, and kissed her. In a daze she watched him blow out the candles, and come back to her.

“I love you so much, Rowan,” he said. He was crying too. “I love you so much. I’ve never been so happy … it comes in waves, and each time I think it’s the pinnacle, and then it comes again. And this of all nights to know … God, what a wedding gift, Rowan. What did I ever do to deserve this happiness, I wish I knew.”

“I love you, too, my darling. Yes … so happy.” As he climbed under the covers, she turned away, tucking herself against him, and feeling his knees draw up under hers. She cried against the pillow, taking his hand and folding it over her breasts.

“Everything is so perfect,” he whispered.

“Nothing to spoil it,” she whispered, “not a single thing.”

Forty-one

SHE WOKE BEFORE he did. After the first round of nausea, she packed the suitcases quickly, with all the prefolded bundles of clothes. Then she went downstairs into the kitchen.

Everything clean and quiet in the sunlight. No sign of what had taken place last night. And the pool sparkling out there beyond the screened porch. And the sun filtering down softly through the screens onto the white wicker furniture.

She examined the counter. She examined the floor. She could detect nothing. Then, filled with revulsion and anger, she made the coffee as quickly as she could, so as to get out of the room, and she brought it up to Michael.

He was just opening his eyes.

“Let’s take off now,” she said.

“I thought we wouldn’t leave till this afternoon,” he said sleepily. “But sure, we can go now, if you want to.” Ever her agreeable hero. He gave her a soft kiss on the cheek, his unshaven beard deliciously scratchy. “How do you feel?” he whispered.

“I’m fine now,” she said. She reached out and touched the little gold crucifix tangled in the dark hair of his chest. “It was bad for about half an hour. Probably it will come again. I’ll sleep when it does. I’d love to get to Destin in time to walk on the beach in the sunshine.”

“But what about seeing a doctor before we leave?”

“I am a doctor,” she said with a smile. “And remember the special sense? It’s doing just fine in there.”

“Does the special sense tell you if he’s a boy or a girl?” he asked.

“If he is a boy or a girl?” She laughed. “I wish it did. But then maybe I want to be surprised. What about you?”

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if it were twins?”

“Yes, that would be great,” she said.

“Rowan, you’re not … unhappy about the baby, are you?”

“No, God no! Michael, I want the baby. I’m just a little