about something over which she had no control. I’d been there more than once myself and knew it was an exercise in futility. And, I also knew that given the unproductive outcome of our visit, we were still flying blind. Without a doubt, that was the real issue here. But no matter what I said, my wife hadn’t yet been willing to let go of her self- recriminations.
“That’s the problem. I am too,” she said. Her tone was harsh, and she was obviously flogging herself with the words.
“You don’t think you should be?”
“No.” She shook her head but kept her eyes aimed toward the dark red chunk of tomato she was still pushing around her plate. “Maybe that’s why I failed…because I was too afraid.”
I sighed. “Honey, first off, you didn’t fail. It just wasn’t happening, that’s all. Secondly, I’ve got news for you. If fear is what keeps an ethereal connection with the dead from happening, then I’d never channel a single spirit because I’m usually pretty terrified.”
“Cac capaill,” she muttered.
“It’s the truth, whether you want to believe it or not,” I told her. “Besides, even if you had made a connection, we still might not be any better off. You know as well as I do that you don’t always get what you’re after.”
She objected. “But there might have been something.”
“Or not, just like I said. You just don’t know. Miranda is pretty good at covering her tracks when she wants to be.”
“Fekking saigh…” my wife grumbled.
“You’ll get no argument from me there,” I agreed. “Listen, I know how you feel, but you’re just going to have to get over it. We’ll have to find another way of doing this.”
“I’m still sorry.”
“I know. You’ve already said that.” I watched her for a moment as she continued to play with the food on her plate. Then I pushed the salt and pepper shakers toward her. “Would you like some salt for that?”
She shot me an odd glance as she lifted her fork and stabbed it hard into one of the tomato slabs. “No. Salt is bad for you.”
I hoped her mood wouldn’t continue. Felicity was usually far too stubborn to stay in a funk for very long, especially if she saw a way out. However, where the subject of Miranda was concerned, it could sometimes be a different story.
Ben’s voice came from the side as he breezed past me. “Jeezus…is she apologizin’ again?” I looked up and saw him sliding back into the booth on the opposite side as he continued, “I was only gone five friggin’ minutes. How many this time?”
Apparently he was still keeping track after all.
“Just twice,” I told him.
“Twice? Lemme see.” He grunted and then rolled his eyes up in an animated fashion while he scribbled in the air with his index finger. A second or two later, he dropped his gaze down and focused on her as he reached for his burger. “Yeah, those two make it an even twenty-five, Firehair. That’s the daily limit on apologizin’. Now ya’ hafta stop. It’s a law.”
“I haven’t apologized twenty-five times,” she snapped.
“Yeah, actually, ya’ have.”
“He could be right, honey,” I offered. “I lost track at ten.”
“Fealltoir.”
“No, I’m not a traitor,” I replied. “I’m just telling it like it is.”
She turned her attention back to Ben and countered, “Well, twenty-five isn’t an even number.”
“Doesn’t matter, you know exactly what I mean,” he replied then bit off a chunk of his sandwich and began to chew.
“Well, I’m terribly sorry if I’m annoying you,” she snipped.
He swallowed and then shot back. “That’s twenty-six, Irish.”
“That’s the second time you’ve called me that today.”
“Yeah, so?”
“You’ve never called me that before.”
“Yeah, well I didn’t know you were still a foreigner before.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Twenty-seven.”
She huffed out an annoyed breath. “I think you know exactly what I meant.”
Ben raised his eyebrows and shook his head at her. “Last Friday when we were all at that restaurant with the weird name.”
“Flipdoodles?”
“Yeah, that one.”
“What about it?”
“We were talkin’ and ya’ said ya’ had dual citizenship, right?”
“Aye.”
“There ya’ go. Makes ya’ a foreigner in my book.”
Felicity stabbed her lunch hard and muttered, “ Go ifreann leat.”
“Yeah, go ahead and get it all outta your system. You ain’t any good to me if your just gonna sit there an’ pout.”
“What’s it matter? I’m obviously not any good to you anyway.”
“Not like this, that’s for damn sure.”
“Well, at least I didn’t just stand around wringing my hands like a big sissy.”
“Do what?” Ben shot back.
“You heard me then.”
He gave her a hard stare for a moment, then the corner of his mouth turned up in a half grin. “For a second there I thought you were serious.”
“Are you certain I’m not?”
“I’m never sure of anything with you.”
“Good. That’s the way it should be.”
My friend sighed and grunted, “Well, I wouldn’t let it go to your head if I was you.”
“Are you two aware that you sound like an old married couple?” I asked.
“Blame your wife,” Ben replied as he returned his attention to the hamburger he still had pinched in his hand. “She started it.”
“I think you’re probably both equally at fault,” I said.
“Actually, no, it’s him,” my wife quipped. “I think it’s probably all the sexual tension.”
“The what?” Ben yipped.
“Sexual tension. You’ve been dying to sleep with me ever since we met.”
“Awww, Jeezus…” Ben groaned, dropping his sandwich onto his plate. He was obviously caught off guard by her gibe. “Dammit, Firehair, you know that ain’t so.”
“What? I’m not good enough for you?”
“I didn’t say… I mean… You… Dammit… Now you’re just goin’ too far. Why the hell do ya’ say crap like that?”
“Because I find you very entertaining when you’re embarrassed,” my wife replied. “That’s why.”
“Rowan?” he appealed, glancing over at me.
“Why are you crying to him?” Felicity snipped.
“Backup,” he retorted.
“I’ve told you before, Ben,” I said with a shrug. “She knows the mere mention of sex is a hot button with you.”
“Well, ya’ know I’m not wantin’ ta’…ya’know… I mean… Jeezus, she’s your wife for Chrissakes.”
“Believe me, Ben, I’m not worried. And, it doesn’t bother me if you find her attractive.”
“Don’t you start too.”
