Chapter 14
14
THE CRICK IN MY NECK roused me from sleep. I shifted from lying on my side to my back, my face unpeeling from the leather of the sofa. Ugh. I rubbed my sweaty cheek. Sunlight bathed the living room. Shielding my hazy eyes, I glanced at the entertainment center and the clock residing on one of the shelves. I concentrated enough to make out it was one. My stomach growled. Before dozing off I’d eaten a few crackers and drunk a glass of Gatorade. And, hallelujah, it had all stayed down. Maybe I was ready for some of Mayté’s casserole she’d left this morning.
Slow footsteps sounded, and Micah emerged from the hallway leading to my and Hayley’s bedrooms. A prickle of suspicion darted up my spine. He held Precious in one arm and a folded newspaper in the other. And where were his shoes? Had he removed them to go into stealth mode?
“I thought you were going to your place.” My voice proved thick with sleep.
“I was, but ... after you dozed off you looked cold, so I got you a blanket.” He set a wiggling Precious down.
She scurried toward me and stopped next to the sofa, her enormous googly eyes beseeching me, as though insisting I acknowledge her presence. As I reached over for a head pat, her rat tail swished. Easing to a sitting position, I cleared my voice. “Thank you.” But that still didn’t answer why the man had come from the direction of our bedrooms. Had he been snooping?
“I was going to use the blanket from your bed, but I realized you’d slept in your puke clothes all night.”
I winced. That had to be the worst way to be referenced by a single, attractive man. Or really, any human being with a beating pulse.
“So I stripped your bed.” He jutted a thumb behind him toward my room. “And laundered everything. I was just putting it back.”
“You washed my things?”
“Only bedding and towels.” He held up his hand. “I know better than to wash a woman’s clothes and bras and...”
I tensed. Please don’t say panties.
“Delicates.”
I exhaled a low breath, massaging the ache in my neck. “Thank you, I think.”
He altered his weight from one socked foot to the other. “All of this is to preempt you from getting mad at me.”
Using my palms, I wiped the sleep from my eyes. “What did you do? Turn all my white bedding to pink with a rogue red sock?”
“No. When I found the blanket, it led me to your secret stash of Twinkies.” He unfolded the newspaper, but it wasn’t a newspaper at all. “And tabloids.”
“ What ?” I glanced down at my lap and discovered Mawmaw’s afghan. A bolt of heat shot to my cheeks. Normally, the colorful blanket resided in an antique trunk at the foot of my bed, concealing the contents of the chest. Of all the blankets in the house, he’d found this one? I gripped the crocheted cover, fighting the impulse to yank it over my head and wait for my flaming blush to dim. Or for the sock-footed sneak to leave.
“In my defense, a corner of the blanket was peeking out of the trunk. Practically waving at me.” He mimed a limp wave.
“In my defense, those tabloids are my grandma’s.”
One side of his mouth tipped into an annoyingly endearing grin. “But you’ve read them, right?”
Why was it so hot in here? With all these holes in Mawmaw’s blanket, it shouldn’t be this hot. I pushed the sleeves up on Hayley’s hoodie I still wore and ripped the blanket off my legs. Precious pounced on the edge of the cover hitting the floor. “I haven’t read them all.”
He held up a periodical in each hand, both from the ’80s. A copy of the National Enquirer , featuring the latest Elvis sighting. And Weekly World News , highlighting Bat Boy. My cheeks flamed afresh.
His smirk slid into a chuckle. “You haven’t read them all yet .”
Avoiding his stare, I focused on Precious, full-out gnawing on the blanket. “No,” I scolded, pulling the cover away. She latched onto it with a growl. Maybe she was part pit bull. I hoisted the puppy with one hand, and her ferociousness disappeared, along with her hold on the afghan. I moved the blanket out of reach and placed her on the floor.
Micah eyed me expectantly, making it clear he wasn’t letting his discovery go. Maybe he was part pit bull too.
I curbed a sigh. “I flip through one from time to time, in my grandma’s honor.” And as a more tangible reminder of her. How many times had I found her browsing those pages at her kitchen table during her afternoon café au lait? Remarking on Elizabeth Taylor’s latest marriage and divorce. How she couldn’t wait to try La Toya Jackson’s meatball recipe that had been printed in one edition. Or reflecting on David Hasselhoff’s beach body. These tabloids were a unique part of her. The equivalent of having a bottle of her favorite perfume and taking a whiff every now and then. Plus, the stories were so ridiculous I couldn’t help but smile when reading them.
His mouth scrunched to one side, playful skepticism brightening his eyes.
“At least they’re not riddled with boogers.”
“I obviously gave you a bad impression of library books. They’re not all riddled with lagniappe.”
“Ugh.” I cringed. “You’ve been living up north too long. Lagniappe is only in reference to good free things. Extra fried shrimp on a po’boy. Additional time on the carousel at City Park.”
“Extra time spinning isn’t a good thing.”
“Any more talk of puke clothes or spinning or boogers and my appetite will officially be shot.”
He perked. “You’re hungry?”
I nodded.
After heating up Mayté’s breakfast casserole, Micah and I sat across from each other at the dining room table. Thankfully the scent of eggs, red bell peppers, and onions hadn’t turned my stomach. Several tentative bites in, and I was hopeful I’d hit a turning point in recovering. Precious snoozed at my feet, picking the worst possible place to get accidentally stepped on.
Micah’s utensils scraped against his plate as he cut another forkful. “Why the stash of Twinkies? I mean, I understand hiding the tabloids. That’s pretty embarrassing.”
I nailed him with a glare.
He chewed and swallowed, playfulness toying in his eyes and at the edges of his mouth. He was too charming for my own good.
I nudged a square of onion with my fork. “Growing up, my mom didn’t allow junk food. So Mawmaw would sneak me and Claire Twinkies, and we’d hide them in our rooms. Even when I lived here with Mawmaw during college, I still kept a box in my bedroom.”
“You lived here with her?”
“For four years.” I lifted a shoulder. “She was having health issues and needed help.”
His fork paused midway to his mouth, his eyes widening. “You were her caregiver?”
“It wasn’t me alone. A year later, when Claire turned eighteen, she moved in too.”
“What was wrong with her?” He returned his uneaten bite to his plate.
“COPD. She tried hiding it from us, but we’d noticed it progressing for a while. Doing anything simple, like walking to the bathroom, left her exhausted and wheezing. So instead of going into a dorm, I came here. Against Mawmaw’s wishes, of course.” I rolled my eyes, fondness for her warming my chest. “But it wasn’t like she was going to kick me out.”
Micah leaned forward. “What was it like caring for her?”
I pulled in a lungful of air, wishing those final years had been ones filled with positive memories, like the rest of my life with Mawmaw had been. “The beginning wasn’t so bad. But her last year on this planet was hard.” My breathing slowed. “She’d started having episodes of mental confusion, so we had to hire someone to watch her when we were at classes.” Thank goodness Mawmaw had the money to afford that help. “And then nights and weekends, Claire and I scheduled our work shifts so one of us was always home with her.” That time was also when the cracks in my relationship with Ryan had surfaced. He hadn’t been a fan of the caregiver role I’d taken. Of my attention shifting away from him. His reactions and the strain on our bond should’ve been a warning flare blazing across the sky.
I stared at my plate, the heavy tug of the past trying to drag me back into its grim clutches. “But Mawmaw became less mobile, and the physicality of caring for her began wearing on us. Changing diapers, both of us carrying her to the shower. Eventually we couldn’t manage that and had to do sponge baths.” Oh, how she’d hated being fussed over with those cleanings, her delusions bringing out a combative side impossible to reconcile with the woman we’d known all our lives. “Hardest of all was the emotional toll of hearing her struggle for each breath, especially when a cough gripped her.” My eyelids grew hot, my throat scratchy. “I try not to think of it because it triggers so many bad memories.”
Micah had grown still, his gaze steadily on me, a pinch between his brows.
“Being a caregiver like that...” I slowly shook my head. “Watching someone deteriorate, day in and day out. It’s heartbreaking.” An aching dullness gathered beneath my ribs. “And not just for the person who needs care, but for those who help them. The emotional strain. I hated those years for Claire. She should’ve been out, being young and having fun.” Thankfully after Mawmaw’s death, Claire had bounced back quickly. I, on the other hand, had repressed my own inner wounds for her sake.
Micah stared at his hands resting in his lap, his lips slightly pinned together.
I grimaced at having brought on a conversation so full of gloom.
Sarah McLachlan .
Especially with his mom having gone through a battle with cancer. My fingertips flew to my temple. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be thoughtless.”
He blinked, his stare fastening on mine. “You weren’t.”
“But I was. I’m sure you went through something similar with your mom.”
He waved me off. “Her situation was completely different. She didn’t need constant care like your grandma, or have mental or mobility issues.”
“I’m still sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for. I promise.” He picked up his fork, finishing his meal. “So the Twinkies are a tradition?”
I nodded. “They help me feel closer to her. To the good memories.”
“Along with reading her old tabloids.” One side of his mouth quirked, a genuine twinkle returning to his eyes.
My tense muscles eased. “It’s not like I’m buying new ones. Once I’m done with hers, that’s it.” I managed another bite of the casserole.
“And then you’ll give books a try?”
I shrugged and swallowed. “Stranger things have happened.”
He moved his empty plate aside and reached for the periodical featuring Bat Boy. After flipping a few pages in, and a moment of reading, he snorted. “This is terrible.” Turning another page, he rested his elbow on the table. With a restrained chuckle, he continued reading and rubbed his chin, his fingers grating his stubble.
Based on the varying times of day I’d now seen him, it seemed he shaved every morning on work days. Did he prefer a beard? Did he remain clean-shaven to appear more approachable to kids, like the way he wore Hawaiian shirts? Was his stubble coarse or soft? Would it leave a burn against my skin after kissing him?
Whoa! Pull it together.
The girlfriend issue may have disappeared, but he was most likely nursing an injured heart. Which hit too close to home. Did I really want to entertain the thought of opening myself up again in that way? To being vulnerable? No. No, I did not. Besides, he still had that divorce red flag rippling above his head.
My gaze drifted to the National Enquirer on the table. The marketing quote from their old commercials played through my mind, “Inquiring minds want to know.” Hadn’t Micah and I reached the point of asking personal questions? He’d witnessed me throw up, as well as being drugged and braless and making inappropriate compliments about his muscles. He’d spent the night. Walked around in his socks. Discovered my guilty pleasure. He also knew about my insecurities with Hayley. And my dreadful periods. Though that last item had been uncovered accidentally. Sheesh . Not even Ryan had known that.
God, what do You think? Do You keep putting this big question mark about Micah in front of me for a reason? Or is it none of my beeswax? Perhaps finally knowing would be for the sake of our budding re-friendship. To put us on equal ground. And as Hayley’s guardian, shouldn’t I know more about the man who’d been dropped into her world? Even if his position at the library was temporary? I studied his face. His strong jaw. The slight crook in his nose, giving him a rugged appeal. He’d broken it in high school, during a football game, and had had two black eyes for a week. I chewed the inside of my cheek.
“My ex -wife and I weren’t a good fit ... because she flossed at red lights, and tossed her floss picks out the window.”
I released my fork against my dish with a light clink. “Can I ask a personal question?”
His attention rose from the tabloid, a tentative smile following. “How personal? Are you wondering about my opinion of Bat Boy and if he’ll use his powers for good or evil?” The tentativeness in his features snitched on his diversion effort.
Something within me nudged to press on. “I’d like to point out that since we’ve become friends again, you know way too many private things about me.”
“Including your appreciation of the way I smell.”
Warmth spread up from my neck, too fast for me to slip the Landry Mask in place. This time he’d pulled out his deflection A game and had swung for the fences. Maybe now wasn’t the right time to satiate my inquiring mind. I picked up my glass and sipped the water, hoping the chilled beverage would help alleviate the heat in my face.
He eased in a breath and released it, his playfulness falling away. “What would you like to know?”
I eyed him for a moment, the space between us growing thick with uncertainty.
“Go ahead.” His tone encouraged, carrying the weight of an almost calm resignation.
The nudge in my chest returned, reassuring. I set my glass down. “What happened to your marriage?”
He didn’t appear surprised by my question. Not one bit. With his lips sealed in a tight line, he dipped his jaw. His gaze turned inward, reflective. “My ex-wife and I began trying for a baby right away. We’d both wanted a huge family.”
Uh-oh. The casserole in my stomach started a slow churn.
“After two years of being unsuccessful, we decided to get checked out, fertility-wise.”
My pulse slowed, but my mind spun, wanting to tell him to stop, but my tongue had been struck paralyzed. This was way more personal than the things he knew about me.
“My wife was fine. I wasn’t.” He studied his large hands, interlocked on the table before him.
“I’m ... so sorry.” And I was. Despite his straightforwardness, Micah had always been a genuine person. The kind of guy you knew would be a great husband and father one day. Even the past two days had attested to that.
He nodded, biting his lower lip. “The short story is, more than anything, she wanted her own biological kids, and I didn’t want to hold her back.”
My heart clenched, instant comradery solidifying in my core. I longed to reach over the table and clasp his fingers. Those for-better-or-for-worse vows hadn’t held up for him. And I knew with Ryan, had we gone through with our wedding, they wouldn’t have held up for me either.
“She remarried a year after we divorced.” His attention slid across the room to the front windows for a moment, then anchored on his plate. “Last I heard, she has five children.”
My heart shriveled. I could only imagine the cringy face Jesus must’ve been making with each of my theories about his divorce. Our past convo came to mind, and I pressed my hand to my forehead. “I’m sorry, so sorry, for how insensitive I must’ve sounded that night when you’d first visited the café. When I’d prattled on about not wanting children.”
With a blink, his stare focused on me, his brows narrowing. “You weren’t insensitive. You were being truthful, and you shouldn’t have to apologize for that.” He surveyed his hands again, rubbing his bare ring finger. “It took some time and a lot of prayer, but I’ve made peace with how God created me. And I know He doesn’t make mistakes.”
Swoon! A man talking about God in such an open and reverent way? And a hot man to boot? But my swooning sensation quickly switched gears, Mayté’s casserole rocketing up my throat. I clamped a hand over my mouth and bolted for the bathroom.