Chapter 11 #2
The woman who had been a constant in my life settled into her booth with a small sigh and then reached both hands across the table, palms up.
I sat opposite her and put my hands in hers.
I didn’t squeeze like I used to when everything in me felt like it was unraveling. I didn’t clutch her like a lifeline.
I just held on.
Connection instead of survival.
She studied my face for a long moment, her thumbs brushing over my knuckles.
“You’ve done well,” she said finally.
The words slid right past my defenses and lodged somewhere deep.
“I’ve come to grips with some things,” I admitted. “I’ll always mourn, but it no longer consumes me.”
She nodded. “It was the same way for me,” she said. “But we can’t compare my situation, Honey. I went on to have my sons. Have you reconciled that your path is different?”
My throat tightened. I pulled in a breath that felt too big for my chest.
“How did you know?” I asked.
“I felt a new hurt in you,” she said simply. “Different shape than the others. Like a bruise under the old scar.”
I swallowed hard. Trust Little Grandma to describe my emotional medical chart like a weather report.
“I think…” I began, then stopped. The words tasted bitter and honest. “I think the worst part about not being able to have children of my own is that I haven’t been able to share that with Zarek. Or maybe…”
“Maybe?” she prompted gently.
“Maybe the worst part is that Zarek can’t move past our loss,” I said. “And I don’t know how to help him. It feels like I’m screaming at him in a soundproof room. He sees my mouth moving, but he doesn’t hear me.”
Her eyes softened. “You always were good with your metaphors.”
“I make a living off them,” I said weakly.
“You help him,” she said, “by being you. You’ve always been his anchor. His port in the storm. That hasn’t changed.”
“That doesn’t seem right,” I argued quietly. “Years ago, when I was so damaged, he saved me.”
“No, Honey,” she said, and there was no room for debate in her tone. “He helped you save yourself. That’s a big difference. You’re going to have to do the same thing now.”
I let that settle between us.
It did feel right, in a way that made my chest hurt. Zarek had been the first person who looked at the broken pieces of me and didn’t try to glue them into a shape that made sense for him. He’d just sat with me, held my hand, and handed me the glue when I was ready.
I’d kept thinking I should fix him, even though I hadn’t been attempting to do so.
Maybe what I needed to do was sit next to him and hold out my hand until he was ready to pick up the pieces.
“I’ve kind of been doing that,” I said slowly. “At least, I’ve been trying. But I’m worried about his self-destructive behavior.”
“Do you think he’s going to hurt himself?” Little Grandma asked, a flash of real concern tightening her mouth.
I shook my head. “Not…not like that,” I said. “The dumbass is doing MMA fighting and letting other men hurt him. He’s getting the snot beat out of him in a cage instead of on a fireground.”
Her eyebrows climbed. “Well,” she said. “That’s one way to get your cardio in.”
Despite myself, I snorted.
Her fingers tightened around mine. “Always remember you’re not alone,” she said. “This town loves you and Zarek. You have people you can call for help. You do not have to stand between him and every bad decision all by yourself.”
A quiet weight lifted off my shoulders with those words. I hadn’t even realized how much responsibility I’d been carrying, like I alone was in charge of keeping him from detonating.
“I just…want to protect him. Even from himself.”
“You can’t,” she said. “You can stand beside him. You can tell him the truth. You can love him. That’s a lot. But he has to decide to step away from the fire.”
“Metaphor intended?” I asked.
“Always,” she said dryly.
Lettie arrived then, mercifully breaking the intensity. She set a steaming mug of chamomile tea in front of each of us and slid a small plate with a biscuit toward Little Grandma. Then she turned to me with a grin.
“For you,” she said, and deposited a cinnamon roll the size of my face in front of me, dripping with icing.
My mouth actually watered.
“And because you look like you haven’t been feeding yourself proper,” she added, setting down another plate—a mound of scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, fried potatoes, and a slice of melon that tried to make the whole thing seem virtuous. “Patty says if you don’t finish it, she’ll be offended.”
“I will never be able to eat all of this,” I protested faintly.
A familiar voice floated over my shoulder. “Yay, you got enough food for me.”
Zoe slid into the seat beside me without waiting to be invited, her bangles chiming, her eyeliner perfect as usual. She pressed a quick kiss to my temple and stole a strip of bacon as she bumped her hip into mine.
“I see you started without me,” she said.
“I see you’re stealing my bacon,” I replied.
“I came immediately, that earns me one strip,” she said, unrepentant.
Little Grandma sat back with her biscuit and tea, satisfaction written in every line of her face.
My sister on one side, the town matriarch across from me, a ridiculous amount of breakfast in front of me, and Jasper Creek just beyond the window.
For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like a mute girl in a ruined city.
I felt…loud. In a good way.
Not fixed.
But better.
And maybe, just maybe, ready for whatever Saturday’s barbecue was going to throw at me.