Chapter 8 #2
“I want you to, sweetie,” I say, bending over to hug her. “But can I have a minute to catch up with Logan?”
She runs up my newly bare stairs and goes back to playing in her room. “Come up when you’re done, and I’ll show you what we made.”
I sigh in spite of myself. I’m happy that Mia made a friend. I’m grateful Logan had help with the stairs. But this is all becoming much more complicated than I ever expected. Help with a bit of loose carpet is one thing, but all this…
“I ran into a small snag,” Logan says, his voice low.
“Some of the steps need to be replaced. Now that the carpet and the padding are gone, you can hear the rot when you step.” He walks up to the staircase and puts his full weight on one of the stairs.
The wood squeaks, and I can see a little bit of give when he shifts back and forth.
“It’s safe for now for you and Mia to walk up and down, but I’d like to come back and replace a bit of the wood.
That’s a bigger job, though. More mess, more noise. ”
He’s looking at me as though asking my permission, but the truth is, I feel as if I’ve lost control of my own life.
“Right.” I turn away and head into the kitchen. I’m hungry and confused. This doesn’t feel like me. Hours ago, I was thinking about Logan’s muscular arms and sexy chin, and now I’m not sure what I’ve gotten myself into. I feel crabby, groggy, and out of control.
“Hey, Bridget, did I do something?” Logan follows me into the kitchen. “Did you eat? Alice brought sandwiches—”
“I’m not hungry.” My words are sharp, the edges intended to cut.
From the look on Logan’s face, I did, in fact, hurt him. The lightness in his face from when his friends were here fades, and that shadowy mask comes back up.
“I get it.” He pulls out his phone and punches in a text. “I’ll gather my stuff. You look like you’re ready to have your house back.”
Part of me doesn’t want him to rush out.
I just want all the confusing and frustrating feelings to slow down.
I feel like I need more time to process, to think through what’s going on.
It’s as if I can tell the wheels in my brain are spinning much more slowly, fighting their way through a light fog.
I’m not disoriented, but I’m also just feeling irritable about everything.
As good as it felt to rest, now things are happening, and I don’t have any control of my own house, my life.
I’m trying to decide whether I should apologize or be apologized to, or neither, when I hear the faint honk of a horn outside. Logan meets me in the kitchen where I’m still standing, staring into the sink.
“Bridget?” His voice is soft. Understanding, but also still hurt.
“Crow, wait,” I say. “I-I’m sorry. I don’t mean to seem ungrateful. Thank you for all you did today. The stairs look great, and I… I can’t believe your friends just showed up like that to help. I’m a little overwhelmed.”
“Believe me, I get that. You need rest and quiet, not a stream of people running through your place.” He nods, and he sounds a lot less hurt.
“I’m incredibly fortunate to have the brotherhood I do,” he says cryptically.
“They are more than I deserve. And these days, the guys come with wives and kids that somehow sort of complete the package.”
He looks happy again, like he did when Morris and Alice were here. The dark intensity of his eyes is warmer now, and I can see his beautiful lips part in a full smile.
“Here are your keys,” he says. “I texted Morris to come back and give me a ride.” He sets my key chain on the counter and steps a little closer.
“Don’t drive yet,” he says. “Okay? Follow the doctor’s orders as best you can.
If you need anything, you know how to reach me.
When you’re feeling better, if you want to talk about the rest of the work on the stairs, the invitation’s wide open. ”
I feel him hesitate at my side, but when I turn, he’s walked to the bottom of the stairs and is calling for Mia. But he surprises me by addressing my daughter’s stuffed animal.
“I got to roll, Gavin. Take good care of Miss Mia.” His voice isn’t loud, but it’s loud enough for Mia to hear him.
She runs to the top of the stairs. “Are you coming back tomorrow?” she asks. “Are you going to finish the stairs?”
Logan just smiles. “I’ll wait until your mom’s ready for more noise and mess in her house.” He gives her a nod and then looks at me. “Birdie.”
He says my name, and Mia runs back to her room, calling out for me to come see what she made with Zoey. Bag in hand, he heads toward the front door but stops before he leaves. He turns to me, and those intense eyes meet mine.
“You said something earlier,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine.
“That you’re not this. That you’re more than this.
” He presses his lips together. “You’re not the only one who feels that way about their life.
Sometimes, the sum of the parts doesn’t look like much more than a pile of shit.
But that doesn’t mean the parts are bad.
You might just need to reassemble. That’s what I’m trying to do.
” He looks down at his feet and then yanks open the door. “You know how to reach me,” he says.
And then he’s gone.
I lock the door behind him and wander into the kitchen. His friend Alice has left a small assortment of sandwiches and a large salad in my fridge. My stomach gurgles at the food, but first, I want to check on my baby.
I don’t know why I’m so irritable, so sensitive.
Maybe it’s the stress of the last twenty-four hours.
But something about my feelings doesn’t feel right.
Under normal circumstances, I would have been the first person to invite these people in.
To make small talk and enjoy the company.
I miss the days when Mom would have friends over after work, older ladies, mostly widows or divorcées.
Mom never dated after Dad, but she had a crocheting circle, volunteer groups…
She wouldn’t have shut down strangers in her house for any reason.
I miss her presence more than ever. I walk up the smooth stairs, marveling at how quickly he removed the carpeting. And I slept through the whole thing. When I make it upstairs, I tap on Mia’s door and plop down beside her on the bed.
“What a day, huh, kiddo? Want to tell me everything?”
Mia is drawing something incredibly complex, and I lean over to look.
“Is this what you did with…what was her name?” I can’t believe I can’t remember the little girl’s name… Shit. “Zoey.”
Memory loss, mood changes. It’s hard to deny that I’m dealing with a mild concussion. No matter how badly I want to be totally fine and normal, I’m not.
“Yes. Look, Mama.” Laid out on Mia’s bed are a dozen sheets of paper with pencil drawings made by two different hands. I can make out the distinctive drawings that Mia made, the eyes of all the characters big and round, and I assume the other elements were made by Zoey.
I’m trying to make out what all the characters are doing, but Mia walks me through each frame.
“We wrote a story.” She traces the animals and figures that Zoey drew, reverently explaining that Zoey is older and has a better grasp on animal anatomy than Mia does.
They drew page after page—together on the same sheet of paper.
Artwork illustrating an adventure between a little girl who doesn’t have a best friend and who is on the hunt to find one.
She tries riding an elephant and playing with dolphins, but the girl’s story isn’t finished. The kids ran out of time.
“So, does the little girl find her best friend?” I ask, stroking my daughter’s hair. I feel I already know the answer, but I want to hear it from her.
“I hope so, but Zoey and I have a lot more to draw before the end. Can she come back this weekend, Mama? Please,” she begs, more intently this time.
Whoever these people are, whatever I did to bring them into my life, I close my eyes and nod.
It may be hard for me to accept help, to welcome new people into the mess that is my life, but Mia is that little girl without a best friend. And Zoey probably is too in some ways. If life brought someone to us who can fill that role, there’s no chance I’m going to stand in their way.
I pick up my phone and compose a text to Logan, making plans for the weekend.