Heaven Can't Wait by Pamela Clare

of regret, looked about the park for her. He needed to talk to her. He needed to apologize. Tomorrow was their wedding day. It was time to set things right.
    The sun was squatting fat and orange atop the purple silhouette of the mountains, stretching long shadows across the grass. But he didn’t see Lissy anywhere.
    He walked up to Kara, ignoring Lissy’s mother. “Have you seen Lissy?”
    “I think she went home,” Mrs. Charteris answered.
    Kara adjusted the sleeping baby in her lap. “She told Tessa she had a headache.”
    “Thanks.”
    He could see city utility trucks parked at the edges of the Cone Zone, their yellow work lights flashing. They were working late. He was halfway down the block when he smelled it—just the faintest whiff.
    Gas.
    It happened as if in slow motion. A deafening blast. A rush of heat. An eruption of orange flame. Their condo exploded, spewing fire and knocking Will to the ground.
    He stared for a moment in utter shock, then leapt to his feet.
    “Lissy!” His heart beat like a sledgehammer in his chest. “No!”
    Then he was running toward the blaze, oblivious to the heat, to the pain in his knee, to the cries of friends in the park behind him. He had to get to Lissy.
     
    Lissy slipped the key into the lock and opened the heavy oak door. She’d been halfway back to the condo when she’d found her feet carrying her instead down the bike path to their new house. She needed to feel the future, to feel hope, to feel the life she was about to enter surrounding her.
    She stepped inside, smelled the mingled scents of floor polish, new paint and moving boxes. She walked slowly through the rooms.
    Here was the living room with its gleaming wood floor where they would put up their Christmas tree. They’d talked about how it would sit in front of the big bay window, where everyone could see it and feel its cheer. Here was the dining room, where they’d teach their kids to hold their forks properly and not to talk with their mouths full. Here was the kitchen, the pantry, the laundry room.
    She climbed the wide staircase, her hand trailing over the polished wooden banister Will had so painstakingly restored, then walked around boxes toward the three smaller bedrooms. One day children would sleep here. Boys? Girls? She’d be happy with either. Or both.
    She wandered from room to room, until she found herself standing in the master bedroom. It faced the front of the house, a wide window opening onto the branches of the cottonwood tree outside. Dappled light filtered through the leaves onto the wood floor around her feet, bringing with it a sense of contentment.
    She turned, faced the empty space where their bed would go, imagined the nights—and mornings and afternoons—they would spend together there. It was there their children would be conceived. They’d already made love on the floor in that spot just to break it in—or to sanctify it, as Will liked to say. As if just by having sex they could make things pure, clean, holy.
    That’s certainly how it felt. Sex with him was like nothing she’d ever known before. She supposed it was because she loved him—with everything she had, she loved him.
    Would it be enough?
    The very walls around her seemed to wait for the answer to that question.
    Her mother and father had never loved each other, not really. They’d turned marriage into misery, not only for them but for Lissy, too. How many nights had she fallen asleep to the sound of her mother’s crying and her father’s shouting?
    That wasn’t the kind of marriage Lissy wanted.
    Be honest, Lissy. You didn’t decide to stop having sex until after the wedding for the sake of romance. You did it because some part of you doubts us—doubts me!
    The sharp edge of regret pressed in on her.
    Will was right. The bet had nothing to do with romance. It was about fear. Fear that somehow she wouldn’t be enough to keep Will for a lifetime. Fear that his love would wear away with time. Fear that