Wedding Day of Murder by Vanessa Gray Bartal Page B

detailed.”
    She nodded dutifully and sat back,
the bag pressed to her face like a muzzle. Fifteen minutes later when they
arrived at her house, she was asleep. Jason crept to her side of the car and
opened the door with no noise, hoping against hope that she didn’t wake up and
try to shank him. But when she woke, she looked at him with recognition.
    “Yayshon, is it over?”
    “I hope so,” he said. He helped her
from the car and put his arm around her for support. She leaned into him and
blinked sleepily at the house.
    “I’m home. Did I sweep dat whole
time?”
    “No, you were awake for part of
it.”
    “Did I do anyfing I’m going to
wegwet if I see it on video?”
    “There’s no video,” he evaded. She
groaned. He helped her to bed, retrieved a warm cloth, and washed her face. “Lacy,
there’s melted chocolate in your gauze. I’m going to have to change these. Now
is a good time to rinse so you don’t get dry socket.” He pulled out the gauze,
helped her sit up so she could rinse and spit, and gave her a pain pill before
stuffing new gauze in her cheeks.
    “Dis is disgusting. It’s too much.
I’m sowwy,” she said. “I fought it would just be dwiving me.”
    “This is nothing,” he assured her.
“It’s like washing dishes, and you know how much I love that.”
    “It’s too soon fo’ you to see me
wike dis,” she lamented. She lay down and squinched her eyes closed.
    “You changed my bandages after I
was shot,” he reminded her.
    “Dat’s diffewent,” she said.
    “How so?”
    “Because I got to wook at you
naked. You get to see my teef. No one wants dat.”
    “Once again your leaps of logic
amaze me. Lie down and try to get some sleep.” His hand made a pass over her
head and he took a step back. Her eyes popped open.
    “You’re gonna weave me?”
    “I want you to rest.”
    “Pwease don’t go. I’m afwaid. What
if da bad people come back? Someone twied to kill me today.”
    He picked up the bottle of pain
reliever he had given her and checked the dosage to make sure he hadn’t messed
it up. He hadn’t. “When this is over, we need to have a serious talk with your
doctor about medication.” He set the bottle down and looked uncertainly from
her to the door.   “Are we sure
there’s no way your grandfather is going to show up early and catch me in here
with you?”
    “He’s wif Gwamma,” she assured him.
    He shucked off his shoes and slid
in beside her. She rested her head on his chest and gazed up at him, half
adoringly, half deliriously. “I fink you’re spectacuwar.”
    “I think if you don’t start using
smaller words, you’re going to do permanent damage to that jaw.” He pressed his
index finger to her lip. She tried to smile and to kiss it. He grabbed the
washcloth from the nightstand and soaked up the drool.
    “Did you know my wittle sister is
having a baby?” she asked. Her eyes were glazing again. At least this time her
psychosis appeared to be manifesting itself as affection and not paranoia.
    “I did. You’re going to make an
awesome aunt.”
    “I’ve never been more jeawous of
her in my wife,” she said, matter-of-factly. “I was supposed to be da one to
get mawwied and have babies. I didn’t even fink she wanted dose fings.”
    “You’ll get there,” he assured her.
    “You’re so pwetty,” she said. She
poked his cheek, narrowly missing his eye. “I bet you’d make pwetty babies.”
    “Geez, is it suddenly and
uncomfortably warm in here?” he asked, squirming .
    She grasped his collar and sat up,
so close to his face that her nose was flattened against his cheek. “Someday,
will you have my babies?”
    “I will give it serious
consideration,” he said.
    “You pwomise?”
    “I promise,” he said.
    She lay back down again.
    “Lacy.”
    “Mm.”
    “Before you go to sleep, will you
do one thing for me?”
    “Hmm.”
    “Will you say, ‘I’m hunting
rabbit’?”
    “I’m hunting wabbit,” she