I feel like I’ve been sleeping for days.

My head is still a little sore but much better than it was yesterday.  I roll to my back, but Deklan isn’t on his side of the bed.  The sheets aren’t cold yet, so he hasn’t been up long.  I stretch my arms above my head and yawn and lean my body over enough to see the bathroom door, but Deklan isn’t in there.

The smell of coffee drags me from bed and toward the kitchen.  I can see Deklan as he leans one hand on the kitchen island and holds one of his disposable phones in the other.  He’s speaking so softly, I can’t make out what he’s saying, so I hesitantly move closer.  Suddenly, Deklan raises his voice loud enough for me to hear the words.

“I don’t give a shit, you motherfucking maggot!  You’ve got an hour—one hour—to get it all, or you and I will be having more than just a little chat.  After that, the only conversation we will be having is my fist finding its way into your brain through that big mouth of yours!”

I place my hand over my mouth and take a step backward into the hallway, closer to the bedroom door.

“Don’t even think about running.  I always find runners.  When I do, the only thing left to recover is pieces.”

Deklan flips the phone closed, opens a kitchen drawer, and tosses it inside.  He slams the drawer shut and leans against the counter for a moment, breathing deeply enough that I can see his shoulders rise and fall.  He stands up straight, and I run back to the bed.  I climb in quickly as I hear his footsteps in the hallway, pull the sheet up to my neck, and close my eyes.

I will my heart to stop pounding so hard as Deklan approaches the side of the bed.

“Babe?  You awake?”

“Hmm?”  I feign sleep as best I can as I open my eyes and see him crouch beside the bed.

“How’s the head?”

“It’s all right.”  I reach back and rub the spot.  “Just a little tender.”

“Good.”  He reaches out and runs his hand over my cheek.  “I have to run off for a little while.”

“Where are you going?”

“Business.”

“I thought you had the weekend off.”  I pull the sheet up to my chest as I sit up.

“Shouldn’t be long.”  He leans over and kisses my forehead.  “There’s coffee ready.  Make a grocery list and we’ll go shopping when I get back.”

“Where are you going?”  I shouldn’t press.  I know I shouldn’t, but his harsh words on the phone are rattling around in my head.

Deklan takes my chin in his hand and stares intently into my eyes.

“I don’t want to ever have to lie to you,” he says, his voice dark and his eyes even darker.  “Sometimes, it’s best to not ask questions.”  He places a finger between my eyes and slowly draws it down to the tip of my nose.  “I just want to keep you safe.”

I nod slowly, and Deklan taps the tip of my nose before he smiles and stands back up.

“I won’t be long,” he says again.

I nod once more, and he’s gone a moment later.  I have no idea what else I should do, so I get up, take a quick shower, and put on some of the clothing Deklan brought me.

Candle wax from last night’s festivities covers the bathroom counter.  The wax is white and hard, so it comes up easily.  I clean up the rest of the bathroom and head to the kitchen for coffee and toast.

While I nibble, I dig through the freezer and cupboards until I find enough ingredients to make a simple casserole and get it in the oven for later.

After I’ve eaten, I stand in the middle of the apartment, wondering what the hell I should do with myself between now and when Deklan returns.  I’d really like to check my phone, but I know I’m not supposed to use it.  Though I’ve been out of school for some time, there are a few friends I’ve stayed in contact with, and one of my online book clubs is supposed to be discussing the latest C.D. Reiss book.

I glance at the television, but I’ve never been much of a TV watcher.  I’m antsy, and I feel the need to do something physical.  I glance at the dishes in the sink, rinse them off, and get the dishwasher going.

Should I clean the rest of the place?

Under the kitchen sink, I find some all-purpose cleaner and sponges.

“I shall embrace my role as apartment wife!” I say out loud, and I hold the cleaning supplies up high.  I giggle, covering my mouth with my forearm and then have a sudden moment of dread.  Is this place monitored?  Are there hidden cameras and microphones around the room where Deklan can see what I’m doing?

I check the ceiling corners and under the shade of the table lamp in the living room, but I can’t find any monitoring devices.  Without any other ideas, I start to clean.

Though Deklan’s place has the bachelor-pad feel, it really isn’t very dirty at all.  The baseboards have a lot of dust on them, as do the blinds that cover the window, but nothing else is too bad.  The surfaces of the kitchen and bathroom are still shinier when I’m done, and everything smells like pine.  With only four rooms to clean, I’m done quickly.  Again, I stand and stare at the space around me, wondering what I should do next.

I find myself looking through the books on Deklan’s bookshelf, but nothing catches my interest.  It’s mostly non-fiction and manuals for various high-powered rifles.  Though I have studied many topics, I know nothing about guns, and the manuals are way over my head.

The timer on the stove goes off, and I check the casserole.  It’s done, but I’m not sure when Deklan will return, so I put the oven on low, cover the dish, and leave it inside to stay warm.

A few minutes later, I hear a sound at the door, and Deklan enters.  He stops in the doorway and looks at me for a moment before coming inside and closing the door behind him.

“Hey,” he says.  His jacket is unbuttoned and slightly open, but instead of taking it off and hanging it on a hook, he pulls it around his body a little tighter.

“Hey,” I say back.  He looks ill at ease, and I wonder if, during the brief time he was out, he had completely forgotten that he has a wife now.

I find it comforting that he feels awkward.  At least we have that in common.

“Did you clean?” he asks suddenly, tilting his nose in the air.

“Yes.”

“You don’t have to do that.”  He narrows his eyes at me.  “I have a service that comes in.”

“You trust someone to come and clean?”

“She’s in the family,” he says with a shrug.  “One of Foley’s distant cousins.”

“Tell her she’s been missing the baseboards.”

Deklan grins and shakes his head.

“I cooked, too.  Trying to be the proper wife here.”  Maybe if I use the term, he’ll remember that we’re married.

“I’d better clean up, then,” Deklan says with a smile.  He excuses himself, and I lay the food out on the kitchen island.  I hear the water running in the bathroom sink for a few minutes before Deklan returns to the kitchen, sans jacket and in a fresh shirt.  He comes up behind me, wraps his arms around my waist, and kisses my neck.

“I could get used to this coming home to hot food thing.”  He hugs me tight enough to lift me off the floor and then sets me down gently.  “Makes me feel like Ward Cleaver.”

“Who’s that?”

He rolls his eyes and doesn’t answer.

I sit down on the barstool that tried to kill me, and Deklan drops down beside me.  He digs into the casserole like a starving man, occasionally pausing just long enough to moan in appreciation.

“You really didn’t have to do all this,” Deklan says as he finishes up the last of the food on his plate.  “It’s fantastic though.  I almost never cook for myself.”

“I wasn’t really sure what else I should do,” I tell him.

“Well, let’s finish up so I can take you shopping for whatever else you need.”

I feel weird spending Deklan’s money.  I try to just keep to the basics, but he pushes me to buy something at every store in the mall.  He pays for everything with cash and declines any offers for store credit cards or discount programs.  I end up with a huge pile of clothes, including quite a stack of slinky underwear and bras.

“Thank you,” I say for the hundredth time as we get into the car and head back to the apartment.  “Really, you don’t have to do all this.”

“I want to.”  Deklan shrugs.  “I don’t really spend a lot of money on myself.  It’s kinda nice to have someone to use it on.”

He reaches over and grips my thigh.  He glances at me out of the corner of his eye as he drives down the freeway.  I place my hand over his and then lean over, gently kissing his cheek.  Deklan turns his hand palm up and rubs the inside of my wrist as he continues to drive, and I start to babble.

“My dad would go through stages of buying me anything and everything,” I say.  “It depended on his mood and what was going on at the time.  Mom used to shop a lot, but he would make her return things when money was tight.  It embarrassed her.”

I don’t know why I’m going on like this.  I must be on some kind of shopping high, and it’s reminding me of times my mother would take me on similar sprees.  I smile out the window.  The sun is shining. Deklan seems to be in a good mood, and I’m relaxed, feeling safe in his presence.

“Do you actually like to shop?” I ask him.

“I don’t mind it,” Deklan says.  He grins over at me.  “I don’t think I like it quite as much as you do.”

I’m pretty sure I’m blushing like a schoolgirl.  Despite Deklan’s short and concise manner of speaking, he’s easy to talk to.

“I think I’ve always liked it,” I say, “even as a kid.  I loved going to toy stores and playing with all the stuffed animals.  I had quite a collection of them.  I’d line them up on my bed and sleep with a different one each night so none of them would feel jealous.”

I laugh at the memory, and Deklan shakes his head at me.

“Did you have stuffed animals as a kid?” I ask him.

“I had a teddy bear,” he says quietly.  He takes his hand away from my wrist to he can shift into a lower gear and take the exit off the freeway.

“Did your parents give it to you?”  I remember his reluctance to talk about his family and try to tread softly.  It’s been a good day, and I don’t want to ruin it by asking too much.

“I guess so,” he says.  “I don’t remember exactly.  I just remember having one.”

“Did you still have it later?”  I pause, trying to choose my words carefully.  “I mean, when you lived with foster parents?”

“Yeah.”  He goes quiet.

I want to press him for more information.  I want to know how he got that scar on his shoulder and the burn marks on his leg.  I want to ask him what happened to his biological parents, but he’s focused on the twists and turns of the road and offers no additional clarification.

It takes three trips from the car to the apartment to get all the packages inside.  While I take everything out of the bags, Deklan makes space for my clothes in the closet and clears out a couple of dresser drawers for me.  He also makes room in the medicine cabinet and empties a drawer in the bathroom for me.

After the clothes in the bedroom are organized, I start finding places for my toiletries in the bathroom.  New toiletries mean a lot of packaging to disposes of, and when I’m done, I try to shove it all in the bathroom trash, but the small bin is already full.  There’s something made of blue cloth taking up most of the room, and I pull it out of the trash to see what it is.

It’s the shirt Deklan was wearing when he left the apartment this morning, and I wonder if it fell in there by mistake.  I pull it out the rest of the way, intending to ask Deklan if he meant to discard it, when I see the dark, red-brown stain on the front of it.

Blood.

I swallow hard.

The shirt isn’t soaked in it, but there is enough to know it isn’t from a small cut or a scrape.  Deklan hasn’t been acting like he’s hurt, so I can only assume that the blood is not his.

What did he do?

My hands are shaking as I silently shove the shirt back in the bottom of the trashcan.  I place a few of my empty boxes on top of it, arranging them carefully to make them look like they’d been casually tossed in.  I can’t risk him realizing I’ve seen the shirt, which he has obviously shoved in here so I wouldn’t notice it.

I take a step back and clasp my hand over my mouth as the abject idea of Deklan being a killer and the reality of what he does slam together like two MMA fighters dueling for the championship.  The burn of bile fills my throat, and I can no longer breathe.

My back hits the wall before I realize my feet are moving.  I squeeze my eyes shut, praying that the whole idea will simply fade from my mind as the light fades from my eyes, but it doesn’t work.  Even with my eyes closed, I can see the dark stain.  I can still smell the acrid odor that threatens to bring my dinner back up.

While I was casually cleaning and making dinner, my husband was out killing someone.

I barely have time to turn the water on to cover the noise as I grab the sides of the toilet, my dinner suddenly wasted.