Chapter 11
Heather
It’s been three days since Grant noticed my scars in the sauna. Every time I think about it, I can feel his eyes locked on mine. I can see the expression on his face—part confusion, part hesitant anger—and feel the old shame and embarrassment rise up in my throat.
He wasn’t judging me. I know that much, at least. But his quiet shock and the familiar questions were still more than I could deal with that night.
So I ran.
I ran out of the sauna like my hair was on fire. I ran upstairs and locked myself away in April’s room, using her as an excuse to get away from the questions and the feelings that were threatening to overwhelm me.
Grant hasn’t brought it up since then, thankfully. Not once. Not even a meaningful look or a carefully worded question designed to circle back to what he saw.
I should be relieved. I am relieved. But that initial embarrassment I felt hasn’t gone away, and my own frustration with myself has only grown since then.
I’ve just finished taking a shower, and I can hear April getting ready in her bathroom, on the other side of the wall from mine.
“Are you almost ready, sweetheart?”
“Yeah,” she calls back. “Should I wear shorts or jeans?”
“Whichever will be more comfortable. The weather will be nice enough for shorts.”
She’s still having a rough time at school, so I promised her a trip to the Denver zoo—just the two of us—if she worked hard and made a good grade on her weekly math quiz.
She ended up with one of the highest scores in the class, and I’m glad, but I would’ve still taken her even if she’d had one of the worst. I think we both need this little escape more than either of us is willing to admit.
And of course that makes me think of Grant again.
For all the work I’ve done, the therapy I’ve been through and the fact that I counsel abused women on a daily basis, I was still unable to admit to him that I used to be with a man who abused me.
Not that Grant has given me a single reason to think he likes me as more than a friend, or that I have an obligation to put on a good face for him. In all honesty, I shouldn’t care what he thinks about my past or how I justified my decisions back then.
But I do care. I care what he thinks about me, and I don’t know how to shut down that part of my brain.
Maybe that’s part of the reason why I panicked in the sauna. I sure as hell can’t afford to mess this situation up.
Not when April is still having a rough time in school and I’m still settling into my new position at work. This is the best opportunity I’ve ever had to find somewhere safe and nice for us to live, and then build something better for both of us.
The last thing I need is to complicate things by getting involved with our temporary landlord.
“Mom!”
I jump at the sound of April’s voice. I’ve been so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t hear her coming, but now she’s standing in my bathroom doorway with her hands on her hips, fully dressed and clearly impatient.
“You look cute, sweetheart,” I say, offering a smile as I shoo her out of the doorway. “Just give me five minutes and I’ll be ready, okay?”
“You asked if I was ready like ten minutes ago.” She’s giving me the same exasperated look I usually reserve for her when she’s dragging her feet. “I’m ready to go and you’re just standing there staring at nothing.”
I can’t even argue because she isn’t wrong.
“You’re right. I got distracted. Give me five more minutes—for real this time—and then we can go.”
“Five minutes?”
I look down at myself, still in my towel with my hair dripping wet and my makeup not even started, and have to laugh.
“Let’s make it ten, just to be on the safe side. How about if I make it up by taking you to breakfast on our way to the zoo?”
“Yes!” She pumps her arm in the air and does a little victory dance. “Ten minutes, and I’m watching the clock!”
“Grab two bottles of water from the fridge and put them in your backpack,” I call after her, but she’s already thundering down the stairs.
At least her excitement for breakfast and the zoo has outweighed her irritation that I’m taking so long to get ready.
Pushing all my other thoughts aside, I throw myself into the task at hand, using every bit of nine-and-a-half minutes to finish getting dressed before I head downstairs.
The house is quiet except for the sound of cartoons coming from the TV in the family room, so I step into the kitchen and strain to listen at the top of the basement stairs.
Grant’s sports highlights are just barely loud enough to make out from up here, but that means he’s somewhere down there working through his morning routine.
I consider going down there to say goodbye, just with a casual wave and a mention that we’ll be out for the day.
It would be the polite thing to do, for sure.
But the memory of his face when he saw my scars flashes through my mind again, and I turn on my heel. The fewer opportunities we have to be alone together, to slip into those vulnerable moments that seem to happen so easily between us, the better.
At least for now, while I’m still figuring out how to be under the same roof without my heart doing strange things in my chest.
The zoo turns out to be a hit, and it seems like April is back to her animated, inquisitive self within a few minutes of being there.
It’s definitely a parenting win, which is a rare feeling these days. A fun day with my daughter has also turned out to be exactly what I’ve been needing, without a single care or worry about anyone or anything outside the zoo fences.
“What was your favorite part of the day?” I ask as we pull into Grant’s gated neighborhood.
She looks thoughtful, then stifles a yawn. It’s been a fun day, but a long one, and I doubt either of us will be awake for very long after dinner.
“I think seeing the elephants was my favorite part.”
I have to smile because of course the elephant enclosure was at the top of my list too. We spent almost an hour watching them and reading the various informational kiosks that were scattered around the exhibit.
She sits up straight in her seat and turns to me, her exhaustion seemingly forgotten for the moment. “Did you know elephants can live up to seventy years? And the baby ones suck their trunks like human babies suck their thumbs?”
“I didn’t know that.” I glance over at her as we pull up in front of Grant’s house. Our house. Temporarily. Whatever. “Did you see one of the babies doing that?”
“No, but I read it on one of those signs.” She shrugs. “Maybe the ones we saw have already outgrown the trunk sucking stage.”
“Maybe.” I laugh, then wait for her to unbuckle and collect her things once I’ve cut the engine. “We’ll have to go back sometime soon and check in on them.”
“Yeah! Next weekend?”
“Well… we don’t have to figure out an exact date yet. We can make some plans later.”
That minor deflection seems to be good enough for now, and I follow behind her as she bounces up the driveway to the front door.
Grant is standing there waiting for us before we even make it up the walkway. He’s wearing jeans and a simple gray t-shirt that shows off his broad shoulders, and it’s tempting to let my eyes wander over his biceps and the tattoos that are peeking out of his sleeves.
Way too tempting.
“Hey,” he says, meeting my eyes for a split second before shifting to April. “How was the zoo?”
“So good!” She launches into a detailed recap of the day, complete with sound effects from the sea lions and seals as he ushers us inside.
Grant listens with the patience of a saint, even offering the kinds of encouraging noises and applause at the right times—the kind of attention I wouldn’t expect from anyone outside our immediate family.
Only once we’re all inside and she hurries upstairs to put her backpack away does he turn to me and grin.
“Sounds like someone had a good time. How was it for you?”
“Good,” I nod. “Really good, actually. How about you? Did you have a relaxing day after your workout this morning?”
April is back before he can answer, tugging at my arm and pointing down at the safari-themed t-shirt she picked out from the zoo gift shop.
“Look, Mom! There’s already a hole in it! How did that even happen?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart. Do you think it could’ve been when you threw it on over your other clothes so quickly in the car?”
“Hey! I didn’t make this hole. It just… happened.”
I shoot her a knowing look. “It seems to happen even more frequently when you’re excited to wear a new outfit. What an unfortunate coincidence, hm?”
She heaves an exasperated sigh, then gives me her patented puppy dog eyes. “Can you fix it, though, Mom? Please?”
“I can take a look at it after dinner, sweetheart. But we should get something a little healthier than zoo cuisine in your system before bed.”
That’s when Grant cuts back in, politely clearing his throat. “There are some leftovers in the fridge if you’re hungry. Grilled chicken with quinoa and roasted vegetables. I can vouch that it’s pretty tasty.”
It sounds amazing, but I hesitate a moment. “Are you sure? I’ve been trying to make sure we only eat our own food, for the most part. I don’t want to accidentally eat something you’re really looking forward to.”
He laughs. “I’ll probably have chicken and vegetables another two hundred times this year. I’m sure I’ll manage.”
“Well, if you’re really sure?”
“I am. There’s plenty of food in there and I’d rather not let any of it go to waste.”
It’s such a simple kindness, but that’s not the point. Grant is the kind of guy who would give the shirt off his back and the last bite of food on his plate if he thought someone else could use it more.
And after this week of awkward tension in the house—even if most of it has probably been entirely in my head—it feels good to know that things seem like they’re finally back to normal.
I take April into the kitchen with me and get her set up at the table while I reheat the leftovers that have been stored in color-coded, perfectly portioned containers.