Chapter 6
CROW
The drive back to Bridget’s house is a lot more awkward than I expect.
Mia chatters away about school and dinner, while Bridget listens beside me in the front seat.
I can tell her mind is racing. She’s twisting a business card in her hands, tearing at the edges with her nails.
The tension she’s giving off can’t be good for her head.
“That from the cops?” I ask quietly, ticking my chin at her hands.
She nods, and I hear something pained in her voice as she says, “County services. In case I need them.”
I pull into a cheap gas station not far from the hospital. Bridget tries to shove her debit card at me. I ignore her and turn to get out, but she stops me with a hand on my arm.
Her hand on me is firm and warm, surprisingly strong after what she’s been through today. Her face is starting to bruise and swell from the stitches, and her color isn’t great. She needs some food and some real rest, but when she touches me, I get lost for a moment in the sensation.
“Logan,” she says, her voice soft. “You’ve done so much. I can pay for the gas.”
“How about this,” I say. “You stop trying to fight me and rest.”
Bridget looks confused. “And if I do? You’ll let me pay for the gas?”
I smile. “No. But you might as well save your energy and stop fighting me since you’re going to lose either way.” I look down at her slim fingers lightly pressing against the inked birds on my arm. I pull away from her touch and immediately miss the contact.
“Relax,” I tell her. “I’m just going to put a couple bucks in the tank.”
I don’t want any more hurt for Birdie. Whether I know her or not, I recognize the struggle in her eyes. The defeat. And if I can take a little bit of that away from her by just doing what I can, then I’m going to. It’s a lot more than I can do for myself.
Despite driving on empty, Bridget’s car has been fairly well maintained. I make a note to pop the hood when we get back to her place, but then I remember the stairs and the missing phone. There’s a lot more to do than giving her car an inspection.
I start making lists in my head and recognize an unfamiliar feeling in my chest. It’s new, and it drives me forward, like an invisible thread that I can follow from one moment to the next.
Maybe it’s a weird form of power. Maybe it’s hope.
All I know is, for the first time in a damn long time, I like the way things feel.
I’m sweaty and hungry and would really like to get out of these funky running shoes, but having Bridget in the car, her eyes following my every move, and Mia in the back, a little bit more of that sadness gone from her face…
This feels a lot like living. Like life.
It’s nothing I’ve felt in years.
And it feels good.
I give the hood an approving tap and then climb in behind the wheel. “Car’s in good shape,” I say. “I only had enough cash on me for a couple gallons, but it’ll get us home.”
Birdie’s eyes are half closed, but she smiles when she thanks me. “Are you a mechanic?” she asks. “The only way my luck could get better today is if you told me you were a headache specialist.”
“I cause more headaches than I cure,” I say, a half grin on my lips.
“But yeah, I work with these.” I crack my knuckles and then start up the car and head back toward Bridget’s house.
“Cars, houses, small engines. If it’s mechanical, I can probably get it going.
Electronics—phones, computers…not so much. ”
Her eyes are fully closed now, and I notice that Mia has dozed off in the warmth of the late afternoon. The sunlight hits her face, and I watch the rays move from her to her stuffed toy as I drive.
Mia seems to relax more the farther we get from the hospital, and I do the same. The tension in my shoulders sags, and suddenly, I’m tired too. Exhausted.
When we arrive at the house, I pull the car into the exact spot it was parked this morning, right outside at the curb. I hurry around to the passenger side and help Bridget out. I offer her my hand, and at first, she refuses.
“I’m okay,” she says. “I can do it.”
But then she reaches for the strap of her purse and moans slightly as she angles the strap over her shoulder.
“Okay,” she chuckles, holding out her hand. “I’m not going to be a hero.”
I take her hand, and she looks from our hands clasped tightly palm-to-palm and carefully steps onto the sidewalk.
“Thank you,” she says, her voice tight.
“Got your keys?” I ask.
She unzips her bag and digs through it while I open the back door and unfasten Mia’s seat belt. She wakes up as I snap the buckle a little loudly.
“Sorry to wake you,” I mutter. “But we’re home, Mia.”
She yawns and then gives me a sleepy grin before handing Gavin to me while she climbs out of the back.
Bridget locks the car, and the three of us walk to the front door, a ragtag, worn-out group. It’s been a day, but walking up to the house feels somehow familiar. Right. And that fucking scares me.
Once Bridget unlocks that door, my reason for being here will end. That sneaks up on me like a wildfire, and I feel a sudden dread replace the momentary good feelings. Somehow dread feels easier, more familiar.
I let it take over. I don’t belong here. I’m just the good Samaritan. The ride home. All the light and hope of just a few minutes ago start seeping away.
Bridget’s hand is shaky as she jingles her keys and puts the house key into the lock. She doesn’t seem like she should be alone just yet. But what am I going to do? Leave Mia and Bridget to fend for themselves all night?
Yes, I tell myself. That’s exactly what I have to do. This may have been the best day of the last few years for me, but this has been a horrible one for Bridget and Mia. I’m sure they just want to put all this behind them. Including me.
Bridget opens the door, and Mia runs inside. She races ahead to use the bathroom, leaving her mother and me alone.
“Home sweet home,” she sighs. She walks in, but I stay planted on the front stoop. “Logan?” She’s looking at me, the bruising that’s darkening her face making her look even more vulnerable and tired. “Aren’t you coming in?”
“Uh…I can,” I say.
She shakes her head. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
It’s okay. You’ve given up your whole day for us.
I don’t want to keep you.” She walks into the kitchen and grabs a pad of paper and pen from a basket and then comes back to the front door.
“Can I get your contact information? I’d really like to be able to get in touch once I find my phone. ”
Shit, her phone.
“Let me help you find it,” I say, stepping inside. “It’s not safe to leave you like this without any way to call if you need something.”
I stand there just inside the doorway, and it’s as if by walking into her house, invited and wanted even for just a little bit, I’d be taking a major step forward into my future.
“Would you mind?” She drops her arms to her sides, looking exhausted. “If I have to crawl around on my hands and knees to find it…”
And just like that, I step inside.
“Logan, can I offer you water or tea or something? I’ve got sweet tea made.”
“Some sweet tea would be great.” I look up at the stairs and spot that loose bit of carpeting. I trace the path a phone could have gone if she dropped it from the top of the stairs.
If the phone hit the tile and skidded, it’s got to be some place. I crawl around on my hands and knees, reaching under furniture and find it almost immediately.
“Got it.” I pull the device out from under a small bookshelf. It was far enough back there that Mia’s little arms would never have reached it even if she did know it was under there. “Screen’s not even cracked.”
“Well, at least the day isn’t complete shit.” Bridget takes the device from me and hands me a tall glass filled with ice and a light-colored tea drink. “Thank you so much,” she says. She stifles a yawn. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you. For all of this.”
“Thanks for the tea,” I say. “Now, just a couple things before I get going.” I point at the stairs. “You mind if I take a look at that carpet?”
She shakes her head, and I go up just as Mia runs up the stairs. She meets me at the top, Gavin still in her hands.
“Whatcha doing?” she asks, dropping onto the top step and sitting down. She watches as I sit on the stair with the loose carpet.
“See here?” I ask, pointing to the carpet.
“I’m going to take a look at what’s underneath here.
If you have nice floors, I might be able to get rid of this old carpeting for you completely.
” I meet Mia’s eyes and give her a look.
“No more tripping.” I tug at the loose piece, moving it carefully so I can see how it was applied and what condition the floor is underneath.
“Oh yeah. We’re in luck. The carpet is covering up a really nice floor.
” I’m saying it loudly and looking down at Bridget now.
“When your mom’s feeling better, maybe I’ll pull up this carpeting and clean up these floors.
In the meantime, I don’t have tools or anything with me to repair this.
” I look at Bridget. “Can you sleep down here for a night or two? I can get back tomorrow with tools.”
The look on her face is unreadable at first, but then she starts to sputter. “Logan, I can’t let you do that.”
I nod and hand Mia the still-damp towel that’s been sitting on the carpet since Birdie’s fall this morning. “Honey, can you put this some place for your mom?”
She grabs the towel from my hands and dashes off.
“You’ve raised a smart kid.”
Birdie’s response is proud but tinged with sadness. “She’s had to be.”
Mia returns from wherever she took that towel and sits back on the top step. “So, now what?” she asks.
“Honey, now nothing. We need to let Logan go home. He’s given up his whole day taking care of us.”
I head back down the stairs, stopping beside Birdie in the foyer. “Just watch the loose spot,” I say. “Consider putting up a handrail on the wall.”