containing summer shoes, a beach bag filled with big sunbathing towels and one of my many tubes of suntan lotion, and my folding chaise that I used for tanning. I stuck a huge umbrella back in the corner, and decided that the closet looked realistic enough. My sundresses hung from the bar, along with some very lightweight bathrobes and nightgowns. My flare of energy faded as I realized I’d finished the last service Bill had asked of me, and I had no way to let him know I had followed his wishes.
Half of me (pathetically) wanted to let him know I’d kept the faith; half of me wanted to get in the toolshed and sharpen me some stakes.
Too conflicted to form any course of action, I crawled back to my bed and hoisted myself in. Abandoning a lifetime of making the best of things, and being strong and cheerful and practical, I returned to wallowing in my grief and my overwhelming sense of betrayal.
When I woke, it was dark again, and Bill was in bed with me. Oh, thank God! Relief swept over me. Now all would be well. I felt his cool body behind me, and I rolled over, half asleep, and put my arms around him. He eased up my long nylon gown, and his hand stroked my leg. I put my head against his silent chest and nuzzled him. His arms tightened around me, he pressed firmly against me, and I sighed with joy, inserting a hand between us to unfasten his pants. Everything was back to normal.
Except he smelled different.
My eyes flew open, and I pushed back against rock-hard shoulders. I let out a little squeak of horror.
“It’s me,” said a familiar voice.
“Eric, what are you doing here?”
“Snuggling.”
“You son of a bitch! I thought you were Bill! I thought he was back!”
“Sookie, you need a shower.”
“What?”
“Your hair is dirty, and your breath could knock down a horse.”
“Not that I care what you think,” I said flatly.
“Go get cleaned up.”
“Why?”
“Because we have to talk, and I’m pretty sure you don’t want to have a long conversation in bed. Not that I have any objection to being in bed with you”—he pressed himself against me to prove how little he objected—“but I’d enjoy it more if I were with the hygienic Sookie I’ve come to know.”
Possibly nothing he could have said would have gotten me out of the bed faster than that. The hot shower felt wonderful to my cold body, and my temper took care of warming up my insides. It wasn’t the first time Eric had surprised me in my own home. I was going to have to rescind his invitation to enter. What had stopped me from that drastic step before—what stopped me now—was the idea that if I ever needed help, and he couldn’t enter, I might be dead before I could yell, “Come in!”
I’d entered the bathroom carrying my jeans and underwear and a red-and-green Christmas sweater with reindeer on it, because that’s what had been at the top of my drawer. You only get a month to wear the darn things, so I make the most of it. I used a blow-dryer on my hair, wishing Bill were there to comb it out for me. He really enjoyed doing that, and I enjoyed letting him. At that mental image, I almost broke down again, but I stood with my head resting against the wall for a long moment while I gathered my resolve. I took a deep breath, turned to the mirror, and slapped on some makeup. My tan wasn’t great this far into the cold season; but I still had a nice glow, thanks to the tanning bed at Bon Temps Video Rental.
I’m a summer person. I like the sun, and the short dresses, and the feeling you had many hours of light to do whatever you chose. Even Bill loved the smells of summer; he loved it when he could smell suntan oil and (he told me) the sun itself on my skin.
But the sweet part of winter was that the nights were much longer—at least, I’d thought so when Bill was around to share those nights with me. I threw my hairbrush across the bathroom. It made a satisfying clatter as it ricocheted into the tub. “Youbastard !” I screamed at the top of my lungs. Hearing my voice saying such a thing out loud calmed me down as nothing else could have.
When I emerged from the bathroom, Eric