The Godmothers by Camille Aubray

Author:Camille Aubray [Aubray, Camille]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: William Morrow
Published: 2021-06-15T00:00:00+00:00

20

May 1944

One Sunday afternoon, when Amie’s twins were at the movies with their cousins, she found Johnny still lying in bed, listening to the radio, his cigarette poised on an ashtray, only half-smoked. She sat beside him, snuggling close, and as she began kissing him, she felt not only her own arousal but his. And yet, he gently but maddeningly pushed her away.

“Whoa, girl,” he chided. “Kids will be home soon. Don’t make trouble, now.”

“It’s a double feature, and Frankie’s taking them out for pizza afterwards,” Amie murmured. “I’m not making trouble. But maybe we’ll make a sweet little baby. Don’t you want me to have a little girl to dress up in pretty clothes, like Lucy and Petrina do?”

“Sorry, babe. I’m too tired.”

Amie decided it was time to have a little talk with her husband.

“Johnny, it’s been a long while since we’ve made love,” she said bluntly.

“Ah, c’mon, not that long,” he said, staring out the window. “Aren’t you sick of me, anyway?” he teased.

Amie was all the more irritated by this useless denial of his. “It has so been a long time,” she persevered, “but maybe it’s you who’s sick of me!”

She hadn’t intended to let her voice end in a pathetic wail, but it did. Johnny turned to her in astonishment, then raised himself on an elbow and said soothingly, “Aw, honey, of course I’m not sick of you! I’m just plain old sick, that’s all.”

“And don’t hide behind that flu of yours,” she retorted, refusing to be mollified. “Either go to the doctor or shut up about it!”

He was silent a moment, then said more roughly, “It’s not flu, okay?”

“Then what is it?” Amie demanded.

Johnny sat up completely now and threw back his covers. “Just forget about it,” he said brusquely. Amie sat up, too, and reached a hand up to his forehead.

“You don’t have a fever,” she said accusingly.

“No, I don’t. I’m just coughing up blood again, that’s all!” he exclaimed. “Are you happy now?”

Amie looked at him in astonishment. “Coughing blood? What do you mean, again?” He had been coughing all winter, it was true, but she hadn’t seen blood and she assumed it was the flu that was going around. “Johnny, answer me!” she demanded.

“Forget it,” he said shortly, reaching for the smoldering cigarette.

“Stop that!” she exclaimed, snatching it away. “You answer me, right now. I’m your wife. I have a right to know.”

He stared at her a long time, then said in a rush, “It’s the TB again. I had it as a kid. I beat it, a long time ago. Now it’s back, I guess.”

Amie took a good, hard look at her husband, which, she realized, she hadn’t done in a while. Johnny had always been lanky, but now he looked a bit gaunt and pale, with dark shadows under his eyes. She’d put it down to grief over his parents, to stress, to winter’s chill. Now she was seeing, at last. “Oh, Johnny,” she said softly, going to him. “Why

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