Love You to Death by Melissa March Page B

snuggled under the covers. I turned
up the volume on the TV to drown out Cass’s vomiting. I stifled a
giggle as he muttered curses about never eating raw oysters
again.
    My thoughts were racing a mile a minute.
Stewie was alive. He wasn’t dead. All this time I thought it was my
fault. I blamed myself for his death. Cass knew it, and he didn’t
care. He let me believe it. I hated him.
    “Hate is a strong word”, my mom would
always remind me. Yes, it was.
    So, while my duplicitous new husband barfed
up a few organs, I plotted and planned. I had renewed purpose, a
second wind. It wasn’t only me I had to save. I needed to find
Stewie and rescue him. At the same time, I had to figure out a way
for both of us to get away from Cass. We had to go somewhere he’d
never find us. A place he would never expect to look for us.
    Cass finally drifted off to sleep around
three in the morning, his arms wrapped around the base of the
toilet. We missed our flight, which left at nine. I didn’t even try
to wake him. I dressed quickly in shorts and a T-shirt, lifting
twenty bucks from Cass’s wallet. I quietly slipped out of the room
and down to the café.
    I ordered a croissant stuffed with sausage,
eggs and cheese, and juice. A few travelers stumbled in looking
very tousled and tired. I smiled at a little girl wheeling a pink
Barbie suitcase.
    My priority of the day was getting Cass to
reschedule the honeymoon. I had to convince him to go home so I
could find where he was hiding Stewie. My heart did a little
two-step when I thought of him. My lips twitched, wanting to laugh
out loud at the vision of him in his Batman mask giving them a hard
time.
    Why did Cass tell me Stewie was dead? And
why was he hiding him from me? The answer hit me like a
well-placed dart between the eyes. Cass had told the man to keep
Stewie in case they wanted more testing done. He was taking him to
that lab again.
    Fury, hot and swift, poured through me. Cass
had dismantled my self-esteem and turned me into a mindless
punching bag, and I let him. But I drew the line at kidnapping a
defenseless mentally impaired boy.
    I let the door slam shut behind me as I
entered our room. Cass jerked under the covers.
    “Not so loud!” he growled. I grinned
devilishly and plopped down on the bed beside him.
    “How’s the patient?” I asked loudly.
    “I think I’m dying,” he groaned, turning over
onto his back.
    “I guess you’ll think twice before drinking
so much,” I said, fighting to not laugh.
    “I think it was those oysters,” he said,
issuing a hacking cough, the signature sound of all cigarette
smokers.
    “We missed our flight.”
    “I guessed as much.” He flung an arm over his
eyes.
    “So... I guess I’ll call a cab.” I bounced on
the bed again for good measure. He glared at me from under his
arm.
    “For what?”
    “Are we staying here another night?” I asked,
reaching for the phone.
    “No, we’ll just hop another flight,” he
explained, as he slowly eased from the bed, heading to the bathroom
with the spryness of a ninety year old.
    “What’s the point? The honeymoon is ruined
now,” I whined.
    My insides felt like Jell-O, but I had to do
this. I held my breath as I waited for his response. It wouldn’t be
good. I glanced at the bathroom door. It was halfway open.
    Cass peered through the opening, one eye and
half his face showing. He was giving me the look that preempted all
the physical attacks. Eyes narrowed into slits, lips compressed
into one thin slash. With courage I didn’t really feel, I went
on.
    “Don’t give me that look. It is. You puked
all night and now our flight is halfway to the strip. I don’t wanna
go now. I wanna go home.”
    A second or two went by. I measured them with
the hammered beats of my heart.
    “You’re an ungrateful wench,” he bit out.
    “And you’re an inconsiderate jerk.”
    I barely got the words out before he flung
the door the rest of the way open. It bounced off the wall with