Chapter 27
27
A belle will never start a fight, but she can finish one.
Carlisle watched Simon hold back something. All he said was, “She's okay.”
He didn't answer her question .
Carlisle didn't have a lot of experience dealing with something like this, though she had more than most and would have thought she had a lot of knowledge. Watching his reactions to whatever his mother said, Carlisle was realizing how different it was to live with someone and deal with taking the meds rather than just see them in the emergency room when the crises hit. She might be getting a more up close and personal look at it tomorrow when Charlie came home.
Even though she was his twin and had always been closest to him, she wasn't going to go to the airport tomorrow, or even drop by to say hello. Despite what her mother said, she knew better than to add on to anything he had to deal with. She wasn’t going to visit until he asked her .
She could see some level of the same thinking in Simon. She tried not to judge. It was his family, she shouldn’t interfere, but the words came out of her mouth anyway. “Your mom needed money?”
She hoped her tone was neutral. He just nodded, “I’ve got it.”
But there was something in his expression—the pull of the delicate skin at the corners of his eyes, the downward quirk at the edge of his mouth. If he had it, it wasn't going to be easy. How many times had his mother called and emptied his bank account? Carlisle wondered.
She tried to mold her expression into something supportive and unbiased, not to let her face show what she was thinking. But he'd already warned her he didn't have the money to do more than mini golf and now he looked stressed.
“Do you want me to watch Kitten while you take care of things?” He'd been calling the tiny cat just “Kitten.” Carlisle had a host of names but, as much as she loved the baby, it was his. He’d offered it to her, but she was concerned.
She was doing well now, but what if she took another downturn? One where she didn't get out of bed for two or three days? How would any pet fare with her? Especially a tiny one that needed extra attention?
Simon had protested that he had to go to work during the day. But cats would be okay with that.
Once again, he didn't quite answer her. He was probably just going to need to transfer money around. She wondered if he had retirement savings.
She'd had some before. Recently, though, she'd emptied them for the business. Her new financial planning involved a lot of prayer and luck.
Kitten had slept through the two episodes of TV and that seemed to have been enough for her. When Simon had tried to transplant the tiny creature into Carlisle’s lap, Kitten had protested, gotten down and began sniffing around. So now Carlisle headed into the other room to find her.
No Kitten. Damnit . She looked around, making sure all the doors were still closed, that she hadn’t wandered into the bedroom or his office or, God forbid, a closet. Though Kitten could be in the kitchen with Simon for all she knew. Carlisle tipped her head and peeked, making sure the door to the back deck had remained closed.
From the kitchen, she could hear Simon muttering over the digital tones of probably some online banking account. She looked again for Kitten. Back and forth she walked as she tried to find the tiny fluff.
Was she under the couch? There wasn't much furniture to hide behind but, shit, Kitten was tiny.
Wait. Simon had ordered garlic knots with the pizza. They’d come in a foil pan in a paper bag. Carlisle was not above bait. Already she'd seen how much Kitten liked bags.
“Alright, little girl,” she called out. Grabbing the bag off the coffee table, she crumpled it, making noise. She would have thought Kitten would pop out for that, but nothing happened.
She would have guessed that Kitten would already be in the bag, or maybe tucked inside the tissue box, but Kitten couldn't get up on the coffee table. She couldn't get up onto Simon's lap and she was too scared to get down off it as of right now.
Carlisle crinkled the bag again, but when that failed, she popped it open and dropped it on the floor. Waiting, she counted off the seconds to herself. One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . .
Simon had a pair of boots sitting by the front door. Ankle height, they looked waterproof and ready to head out maybe when the grass was wet and soggy. Maybe when he needed to grab the mail or something.
The little orange head popped right out of one of them. Then Kitten ran to the bag and ducked inside before Carlisle could hit five.
“Where's Kitten?” His voice came from right behind her, almost startling her.
Turning, Carlisle watched his already worried expression pull even tighter as he scanned the room.
“She's in the bag.” Carlisle pointed with a smile. Not that they could see anything. It was adorable.
Simon didn't laugh or even smile.
Carlisle tried again. “She was in your boot by the door. So that's a good place to look next time we lose her.” She didn't correct herself, but realized she’d said “we”.
No reaction from him. Whatever happened on that call with his mother, he was bothered by it.
“Did you get what you needed done?” When he nodded slowly, she asked, “Do you want to finish the show?”
Though he offered a nod, he didn’t seem to be functioning any better. His movements were stiff. He was still upset.
She'd been here once before when his mother called and asked for money. How many times did it happen when she wasn’t here? It didn't seem like a good system, but it wasn't her place to say so.
Though he moved, his joints didn't seem to flex. She tugged him over toward the couch, sat him down, picked up the remote and played the end of the episode. Only another four minutes.
Even at the end, he still didn’t seem relaxed.
“You look tense.” She wasn't normally one to try for seduction, but he looked like he could use a little bit of help.
While the credits played on the TV and Kitten romped in and out of the bag, Carlisle ran her fingers through his hair. She moved up onto her knees and started kneading at the tension in his neck.
When his eyes fell closed and his shoulders finally slumped, it felt like a victory. She got him to turn and present his back to her. She rubbed along his spine, put pressure on all the tense muscles, worked her way up into his hairline and felt her own slow smile when he groaned.
He leaned into her touch, encouraging more. When she reached his shoulders for the third time, his hand came up, looping around her wrist and stopping her.
“Stay?” he asked again.