18. A Picnics Worth Of Unpacking
Chapter eighteen
A Picnic's Worth Of Unpacking
Albany
I t's been two weeks since the fire. I still can't believe Haze is alive, let alone that Sal has moved back in to care for him. When Sal called to tell me what happened, I was devastated for him. Every time I close my eyes, I see him covered in soot, his arm dripping in blood, his eyes terrified that he might lose Haze.
What I don't do is think about how empty my house feels now. I don't dwell on what I've lost or what might have been. I throw myself into work, and the bit I do with ice cream draws my largest crowd ever. I would never tell anyone that my preoccupation with sex and dessert comes from how hard I'm missing Sal.
Sal handed over his class rolls, and I cancelled all his classes for two weeks. He's thinking about closing the school indefinitely, but I've convinced him not to. His students love him so much that not one of them asked for a refund. I've promised them weekly updates, as they are all concerned about Sal and the horrific burn on his hand. He's been to the plastic surgeon, and there's a nurse who comes out to the house to change his dressings while Haze does his physiotherapy and gets his antibiotic infusions.
All I can do now is be there for Sal, and Haze, however I can. So, when Sal texts me, asking if I'm free for dinner, I jump at the chance. I quickly pack a picnic basket, thinking maybe Sal could use a simple meal with some privacy so we can talk.
As Sal pulls up to my place, I head out to the car, basket in hand. "Hey there, handsome." I greet him with a soft smile. "I hope you don't mind, but I thought we could have a little picnic. Somewhere quiet, just the two of us."
Sal returns my smile, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "That sounds perfect." He reaches over and opens the passenger door for me. "Where did you have in mind?"
"There's a little park not too far from here," I tell him as I slide into the seat. "It's peaceful, and we can have some privacy." I buckle my seatbelt and glance over at him, worry etched on my face. "How's Haze doing?"
Sal's hands tighten on the steering wheel. "Stubborn as always. The doctors say he's making good progress, but…Haze is a bullheaded, stubborn ass. He hates feeling helpless. Needing care has turned him into a miserable shit." He shakes his head. "I'm just glad he's alive."
I reach over and squeeze his arm. "I'm glad, too. And I'm glad you're there for him, Sal. He's lucky to have you."
Sal nods, his jaw tightening. "I just wish I could do more. Seeing him like that, Albany.…" His voice trails off, thick with emotion.
I don't push him to continue. Instead, I sit back and let the familiar hum of the engine and the passing scenery soothe us both. When Sal pulls into the small park, I grab the picnic basket and follow him to a secluded spot under a towering oak tree.
As Sal lays out the blanket, I begin unpacking the basket. "I packed a few of your favorite things," I tell him, my voice soft. "Thought you might need a little comfort food."
Sal pauses, looking up at me with a grateful expression. "You're too good to me." He settles down on the blanket, patting the spot next to him, his face a curious mix of expressions.
The urge to wallow in my own feelings is strong, but I push my melancholy to the side. I'm here to be a support to Sal, not to add guilt to his shoulders with my whining.
I join him, our shoulders brushing as we sit side by side. For a long moment, we simply sit in companionable silence, listening to the birds and the gentle rustling of the leaves overhead. Then, I reach out and take Sal's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
"I'm here for you, Sal. Whatever you need."
"I appreciate that," he says quietly. He scoots his hips down, lying on his side, then pats the ground next to him. "Can I hold you?"
I nod my head, biting my lip at the sting of tears. "I'd like that." I slip down along his body, nestling my ass in his crotch, sighing as he drapes his arm under my boobs and pulls me tight against him.
"Living with Haze is hard. He's like a tidal wave that never stops crashing against cliffs that don't erode. Only, the cliffs are Haze, too. He's just as unwilling to change the landscape as he is to power down the water. Loving Haze is a vicious trap, one I want out of just as much as I long to stay in."
My mouth gapes. I hadn't expected to start off right at the heart of things. "That doesn't sound terribly healthy," I venture, not wanting to lie to Sal or criticize a man I barely know. A man who almost lost his life two weeks ago.
"It's not. I can't fault Haze on paper. He's attentive when he's available. He treats me like a king. He's faithful." Sal pauses, then laughs bitterly. "Sexually, anyways. I'm sure if he could find a way to commune with his wife, he'd forget I'm alive."
My heart spasms at the pain in Sal's voice. I flip over and face him. "Has Haze ever gone to therapy? To any kind of grief counseling? I'm not criticizing him," I rush out. "I know grief is a long, personal journey. It's just…that doesn't feel fair to you."
Sal takes a breath to speak, but I'm not done. I reach over and grab some blueberries, smiling as I stuff a couple of them in his mouth. "If Haze is still in love with Angie, then he isn't ready, Sal. Not for you, and especially not for me."
Sal stops chewing, then swallows...hard. "Was I that obvious?"
I shrug, then nestle into his chest. I'm having a hard time breathing evenly, but my respiratory issues aren't positional. "You were into me, Sal. And you were still in love with Haze. It wasn’t hard to put myself in your shoes and come to the conclusion that maybe you want me to balance Haze."
He strokes a hand over my head, gently pulling my trapped tresses free. "I've never seen hair like yours. I want to see it in the moonlight, under the stars, without another person in sight."
The compliment trickles down, warming my heart before giving me another spasm of heartbreak. I don't say anything. All cam girls know how to take a compliment, but I'm not giving in to his digression. Especially since he didn't deny my theory. That stings like a mother trucker. I settle into his arms, trying to rein in the pall of sadness that settles against my skin like a weighted blanket.
"Hey, don't do that. Yes, full disclosure: Haze and I broke up because I wanted to bring a woman into our home." He scrubs his face in frustration. "It's not something I can boil down to sex. I need softness as much as I crave his hardness. I long for a delicate touch the same way I revel in his roughness. A woman's intuitiveness, the way they nurture, the way a woman instinctively gives. I've had the honor and good fortune to have some incredible women in my life. I suffer the lack of one, and I know Haze does, too.” He pauses after a frustrated sigh. “I’m not explaining myself well. I know men and women are more than those pretty, stereotypical-sounding explanations. I know there’s a more eloquent way to get this out."
My heart expands as Sal solidifies my opinion of him. I rub his arm, murmuring, "I know you’re good people, Sal. I would never think less of you for voicing what you need."
"But it’s not just what I need, Albany. Haze needs it, too. He won't consider another woman. He believes he's being unfaithful to Angie."
"Poor Haze," I breathe. "Wow. That's a lot to unpack. I'm no psychologist, but it sounds like Haze is denying himself as a punishment. Because he had a woman like that, and he knew what he had. Angie was great, Sal."
"Yeah," Sal agrees, his voice miserable. Poor man. He isn't trying to replace Angie's spot in Haze's heart. He isn't trying to make him whole. Anyone who’s lost someone knows only a time machine could accomplish that feat. He just wants to help Haze heal, to find a way to bring the next chapter of his life the joy Sal believes Haze deserves.
"You can't do that for him, Sal. Haze has to figure that out for himself." I know my own voice is filled with pity, but I can't help it. Sometimes love isn't enough. "Angie was an incredible woman. She was gorgeous, sweet, an incredible mother. I remember watching her and Haze together. They had the kind of love teen girls dream of." A tear slips down my face. "I was seventeen when Jake died. I was so lost in my own grief that I didn't think much about his dad."
"Is the guest house still empty?" He brushes a lock of hair off my face with his bandaged hand.
"Of course, it is. And so is my house. I miss you, Sal." I don't hide my face. I want him to see exactly how much I miss him.
"Keep it empty?" he asks. His eyes travel over every inch of my face, and my breath catches at the longing in them.
He misses me, too.
"Yes," I breathe as he catches my mouth. The kiss is full of promise, and I can't stop myself from believing him.