Deklan

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.