Chapter 50
CHAPTER FIFTY
ELEVEN MONTHS
The early morning sun casts a happy glow over my bedroom as I open my eyes, stretch, and climb out of bed, happy.
The floor is cool under my feet as I pad to the kitchen in my squirrel pajama set and pour myself a cup of coffee from the freshly made pot. Thank heavens for those fancy timers.
With my coffee procured, I grab a small handful of mixed nuts from the bowl I keep by the back door and go outside. The breeze is nice as I sit on the bottom step and wait.
“Good morning, Spike,” I coo as my furry bestie races down his tree to come say hello. I offer him a nut, and he takes it with glee. Then sits between my feet as he munches away.
It’s a peaceful kind of life.
Today’s my day off. Keeping busy has kept me sane for almost a year now, and days like today, when I don’t have anything planned, usually set me on edge. But for some reason, not today.
I pat the fluff on top of Spike’s head before giving him another treat. It took me a few months to earn his trust, but now we’re best buds.
“How did you sleep last night?” I ask him, not even knowing if he’s a he or a she, but it doesn’t matter.
His chitter in response draws a chuckle. Spike might not know what I’m saying, but he acts as if he does. Then again, Dee has opossum friends that understand her. Why couldn’t a squirrel understand me?
Oh, the things one contemplates over morning coffee.
Once we’re through with our ritual, I leave Spike to go do squirrel stuff while I do adult stuff.
“See you tomorrow,” I call to him as I shut the back door and set my empty mug in the sink.
The doorbell rings.
Although I don’t expect anyone, I quietly walk through the kitchen and living room to peek through the peephole and see who might be outside.
Nobody’s there.
Weird.
Frowning, I unlock the door and open it a crack. In the center of my stoop lies…
What the hell?
A pair of chopsticks.
I…
Goosebumps ripple across my entire body as I pry open the door and step outside.
Why are there chopsticks?
“Sweetheart,” a familiar voice rasps.
I look up, and standing next to my truck is a mirage of a man I once knew.
What? How? This can’t be real.
“Dark!?” I sob, clutching my chest.
He leans heavily on a cane and steps forward. Tears stream down his cheeks.
Another step. He winces. “Sweetheart.”
Oh. My.
Rushing down the steps, I race across the grass barefoot until I’m right there, looking at him. Half of his face is scarred. There’s a deep gash in his cheek. When he tries to smile, it’s watery and only half lifts on one side, like his muscles don’t work quite right.
He reaches out to me with a trembling hand and cups my cheek.
“Hi,” I croak, not realizing I’m crying too as I stare into those familiar gunmetal eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he forces out.
There’s nothing to be sorry for.
He’s not dead.
He’s here.
Dark. Is. Here.
With me.
Here.
At my house.
Not knowing the how or the why, I wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his chest. It smells of him, but not.
He sways into me, like standing is taking all his energy, and I let him.
We don’t speak as I help him into the house and onto the couch, where he drops onto the ugly cushions with a sigh.
“Do you need anything?” I ask, sitting right next to him, staring at him, afraid that if I look away, he’ll disappear, and this will have been the best worst dream I’ve ever had.
Only his warm hand rests on my thigh, and out pops a watery smile as he pulls something off his pinky and hands it to me.
“You. I just need you,” he croaks. “Marry me.”
And I… sob.
The End
For Now…
Ha. Ha. Just kidding.