Chapter Nine
The Furies
Emory’s apartment pretty much turned into our honeymoon suite. During the day we ate a late breakfast (because of our numerous late nights), then Emory and I would relax, she on her reclining divan, I on a furry, large floor pillow. Her hand would descend and I held it or, as her light robe parted, I lay my head on her lap and lightly stroked her bare leg while her fingers idly brushed through my hair. We would remain that way in peaceful silence. I would be caught up thinking about the events from the previous night, our latest union, and Emory the same. I knew this because just before I would mention one particular detail Emory would do so. Unlike Morgan, who said she read body language to gauge a person’s thoughts, I became convinced Emory could actually read m
