Free Blessed Are Those Who Mourn by Kristi Belcamino Page A

coffee table, I grab my chess book, read a page, then throw it down. I can’t focus. I joke that my idea of peace is having the condo to myself for a few hours, cranking the music I love without anyone asking me for anything, but it’s not true. Far from it. Tonight, for some reason, I’m uneasy, on edge. I turn off the stereo but regret it after every little noise seems louder than normal. I dial Donovan’s cell. When he picks up, I hear voices in the background.
    â€œEverything okay?” he asks.
    â€œWanted to let you know I’m home. Your cop buddy is out front, and once I got in, I cleared the condo. I’ll sleep with a gun on the nightstand.”
    He is quiet for a second. “I’ll try to stop by later and grab a few hours of sleep.”
    I don’t answer.
    â€œAnything else going on?” He’s wondering why I called. I’m not the needy type of girlfriend who calls all the time for reassurance. I reach for the TV remote.
    â€œI’m lonely and sort of creeped out and sad,” I say, flipping through TV channels with the volume muted.
    â€œI thought you said you checked the apartment?” He sounds distracted.
    â€œI did. But I miss you. And Grace,” I say and turn the TV off. At the last minute, I add in more. “And I covered a fire where a little girl died.”
    Someone is talking to him, and he sounds distracted. I don’t think he heard what I said about the fire. “Gotta go,” he says. “Be home by midnight.”
    A few minutes later, I turn the TV back on again and flip to the news to see what the TV reporters dug up on the murder and the fire, drawing my legs up on the couch and pulling a soft blanket over me. They don’t have anything I didn’t already have. I flip the station to Austin City Limits. I don’t recognize the musical act.
    The next thing I know Donovan is nuzzling his unshaven jaw into my neck.
    â€œMmmm,” I say sleepily, reaching up to wrap my arms around him.
    â€œYour hair smells like smoke,” he says, his low voice right next to my ear, sending a shiver through me.
    â€œHouse fire.”
    â€œSome good that would’ve done you,” he says, gesturing to the gun on the coffee table. “You didn’t hear me come in. I even called your name.”
    â€œOops,” I say and tilt his head, guiding his mouth to mine.
    We never make it to bed.
    â€œM Y NECK IS jacked up,” Donovan says in the morning, sitting up from where our bodies are tangled on the couch. He rubs the back of his neck and grimaces.
    â€œI know,” I say. “I’ve got a crink, too. I think we’re too old for that.”
    â€œWhich part?” he says, his eyes full of laughter. I sit up and start kissing his neck where he’s rubbing it.
    â€œOr else we need a bigger couch,” I say.
    Donovan stands and stretches.
    I lean back and watch his naked body in admiration as he heads to the bathroom for his shower. I strip off my clothes and join him in the shower, and it’s a long time before we come out. My fingers are like prunes by the time we are sipping espresso and munching on sourdough toast. We are still in our bathrobes, and every once in a while my wet hair drips droplets of water on the tile floor.
    â€œThis is nice—­a morning to ourselves. But is it okay if I miss Grace, too?” I say, washing down my second slice of sourdough toast with a sip of my milky cappuccino. “That fire story was heartbreaking.”
    â€œYeah. A damn shame.” He stands up behind me, leaning down, lifting my hair off my neck so he can kiss it. “Hey, I have an idea to take your mind off of it.”
    Instead of answering, I stand and untie my robe, letting it drop to the floor.

 
    Chapter 11
    Tuesday
    I T’S CLOSE TO 10:00 a.m. by the time we are both dressed and ready to go. I’ll stay late at work to make up for my tardy start. With my bag slung