The Between Years

that the room was truly tidy. After I pounded the dust out of the stuffed toys, I placed them right back in the position in which I'd found them. The same went for Kenny's board books after I'd wiped them down. They all returned to being strewn about the floor. But I never tripped over anything because I remembered where everything belonged after a while.

    I didn't realize I had become obsessed at first; cleaning Kenny's room was simply part of the routine to which I was accustomed. Even in retrospect, I can't fathom the idea of tearing the room down, removing all traces of Kenny's existence, and turning it into something completely different. The best I could have done was to renovate it into an office. And so what? It would be a haven for me to write e-mails and mark papers and nothing more. Randy tried to communicate all of those ideas, but I'm not sure he believed them.

    Soon, Randy caught on to what I'd been up to. No, he wasn't being nosy, I'll admit. He stumbled upon my little obsession by chance. He'd planned to give Kenny's clothes and toys to the poor, or so he'd said. I suppose that the boxes and bags he'd dragged into Kenny's room were supposed to compensate for his drained-sounding voice when he'd said it. I don't doubt his sincerity or his generosity, but I wonder if he really could have brought himself to do it. He certainly looked like a man on a mission when he stormed into Kenny's room like no one lived there and threw the boxes down in the middle of the floor!

    I snatched his arm. “What the hell are you doing? You can't just get rid of these things!”

    “ Honey, we don't have any use for these things anymore.” Randy gentle unhinged my arm. “And there are plenty of people out there with nothing who could use them.”

    “ But these were Kenny's toys! These were his clothes for God's sake!”

    “ I know they were, Sweetie, but we're never going to be able to move on if we keep a shrine to Kenny in our house. We can give these things to people who need it and we can feel good about ourselves. Then we can turn the room into something cozy like a den.”

    “ You can't make me tear this room down.” I felt like a little girl saying that. “I bet you can't really do it either.”

    I stared at him silently for a moment, waiting for him to move. Judging by the look in his eyes, he meant to, but couldn't bring himself to do it.

    “ Okay, fine,” he said. “I can't do it. Not yet anyway.”

    I wrapped my arm around his waist and led him out of the room. Admittedly, I did it more for my own benefit than his, but I doubt Randy was without his ulterior motives. After entering the room so hell bent, he needed to save some face.

    That night, Randy showed his first signs of sexual appetite in months. After our goodnight kiss, he ran his fingers up and down my arm the way he did to grab my attention. Tingly sensations danced on my skin. I felt his erection through his pajama bottoms press against my leg and his lips brush against my neck.

    And I was scared. Randy's motor was running, mine was stagnant, and I didn't know what to do. Certainly I couldn't just tell him no or push him away. I mean, I could have done that, but I didn't want to hurt his feelings while he was still fragile.

    If I'd had the same amount of interest as Randy, the problem might not have occurred I suppose. But I won't blame myself. Each time he advanced on me, I pushed him away, not because I was trying to be mean, but because I simply wasn't ready.

    “ You're not still mad at me about Kenny, are you?” Randy asked.

    “ Of course not. I just don't think I'm in the mood yet.”

    He left it at that. Not that the issue was dead, mind you. We would cross that bridge again later, but he managed to stop himself for the time being. Yet his tolerance only lasted for a couple of weeks, and I swore Randy changed. He became much more persistent, and while I suppose he still might have taken no for an answer, he would push his luck to its limit before he let up.

    After a while, we worked out an unspoken compromise. I succumbed to him when he felt the urge, let him take care of the work, and was generally uninvolved. I laid back, legs spread, feeling like a backseat passenger on a bumpy country road, something I could tolerate but derive no pleasure. I did it only because I worried that Randy might snap and I had no answer for that.

    I took my pill on those nights when I knew he would want to take me. I would lye back