10. Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
Cora
I can’t remember that last time I dressed up to look nice. Could have been my graduation. In fact, I think it was. I’ve been dealing with Dad’s health for so long that the last thing I worry about is me. Or at least how I look. I get the bare minimum of my own attention. It’s been years since I got a haircut, put some makeup on, or wore clothes that weren’t for the diner or needing to be comfortable at home. Even when I have to go out, my hair is usually in a messy bun and I’m wearing something two sizes too big.
And though Shark has already seen me in not so great outfits, after what he did for me today, I feel like I should try a little harder to impress him. Or maybe not so much impress him, but reward him? Ugh, that sounds awful. I’m dressing up to show off my body as a reward for what he did for me today at work—like borderline prostitution. Rewarding him with my body? Yet, couples do stuff like that, right? They play games like that and it’s okay.
But you and Shark aren’t a couple.
No… we aren’t.
I’ve never cared much about dating or sex. Never found it all that appealing, though maybe that was because there isn’t much to pick from in a town like this. At least there wasn’t when I was younger. But these biker guys are kind of hot…
It’s obvious there is a pretty big age gap between me and Shark. I’m not sure how much, but I’d guess he’s in his thirties. So maybe ten years? Give or take a few. We didn’t go to school together because I’d certainly remember him. Though, he’d likely looked much different when he was younger. Smaller, not so muscled or hairy. I probably wouldn’t recognize him as a kid.
Summer is here, and so a summer dress seems fitting… if it still fits. Though I hardly eat much these days, I feel I’ve filled out a little. Maybe it’s muscle from all the running around I do, or maybe I’m eating more than I can remember. No clue.
I pull the white and blue floral dress off the hanger. It’s my favorite. A little more form-fitting than the others, so if it doesn’t fit, at least I have something else to fall back on. I love the way this one hugs my body. Tight around the waist and flowy on the hips. It comes to about mid-thigh, and it’s really soft. Because of the tight bodice, it pushes my breasts up, which I’m not complaining about either .
“Here goes nothing,” I mutter to myself as I throw the skirt over my head and shimmy it on. I’m tugging it down when I hear a loud crash from outside my room. There’s another before I get the door open, so I double my pace, running toward the living room where I heard it come from while shoving the dress down the rest of the way so I can see.
Our house is small. Old. It’s safe and sturdy, but the floors are warped and there are crevices between the molding and a few cracks in the walls. The plumbing sucks and we don’t use the hallway bathroom anymore. I had to lock the door from the inside a few months back and climb out the window to keep it that way because the damn lock is broken, and I haven’t been able to fix that yet either. My list of things to fix in this house is hanging on the fridge, and I’ll soon need another sheet of paper.
“Dad, stop!” I shout as he rears his arm back to throw the picture frame he took from the wall. He seems to not hear me and does it anyway. The glass shatters and the wood breaks apart as the photo flutters to the floor, landing face down.
“Dad, please stop!” I run toward him and put my hands on his arms. “What are you doing?”
The rage on his face is scary. He looks as if he’s about to murder someone. Like the picture he just threw threatened to harm the person he loves most.
“They’re watching us, Marie. I saw them!”
I cringe at the use of my mother’s name. He does that a lot, calling me her name. It happens more often than him using my name nowadays. I try to take it as a compliment .
“No one is watching you, Dad,” I say gently.
“The eyes! I saw the eyes!” he barks, shaking out of my grip. I step back, knowing if he’s about to get violent, there isn’t much I can do about it. He hasn’t been violent toward me in a long time, but he doesn’t realize his strength. He’s a big guy, even with how much weight he’s lost.
“Dad, you have to relax. It’s not good for your heart,” I plead. “Will you sit down, please? I’ll get you some water. Better yet, come to the kitchen with me.” I hold my hand out and he stares at it for a long time. I hold my breath, releasing it when he finally takes it and follows me. He sits down at the dining table when I gesture to it. I pour him some water from the jug in the fridge with shaky hands, because he likes it cold. Cold drinks sometimes soothe him when he gets like this, and they’re safer than hot ones. Learned that the hard way.
While he drinks it, I hurry into the living room to clean up the mess. Which is when I realize the flowers Shark got me today are scattered all over the floor, along with a puddle on the carpet and more broken glass.
I should have asked Shark to come by later to give me more time to prepare, but it seemed weird to have him stop by so late. Still, having him here after Dad went to bed would have been smart.
Glancing at the clock, I see I have about fifteen minutes before he gets here. I can’t decide which is more important: cleaning up this mess or getting Dad to bed. Before I can choose, the doorbell rings and I let out a groan, darting my head up to look at it. Guess I’m not getting either done.
I’m sure there are plenty of people who would be embarrassed by the chaos of their life, but I don’t have enough energy for that. There isn’t a single part of me that can waste time worrying about what other people think. Shark will have to accept my life the way it is, or he can walk away. Those are the only options I have to offer.
Unable to do either of the things I wanted to do, I go to the door and pull it open. I force a smile when I see his, but he frowns right away.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
I really suck at pretending things are okay…
“Just life kicking me in the butt again. Come in,” I say, moving to the side. “And please be careful of where you step.”
He moves into the living room, eyes darting to all the messes. From the flowers to the wet spot to the shards of glass and photo. I hope he doesn’t get upset that my father ruined the flowers. He’s been so kind that I can’t imagine him doing that, but you never know. And if he did, well, then it’s see you later. I won’t have someone in my life who can’t understand my father—even if I don’t most days.
“Let me clean this up for you. Have a seat.” He gestures to the couch as he walks to where the picture frame shattered, picking up the large pieces of glass. All I can do is stare at him. After he’s got a few pieces in his hand, he looks at me, frowning again. “Go sit. ”
I sigh, gesturing to the kitchen. “I have to get Dad to bed.”
He drops the glass into a pile on the floor, wiping his hands on his jeans as he walks to me. He takes my face between his hands.
“Do what you gotta do. I’ll be here cleaning this up.”
He kisses my forehead, his lips soft and warm. He lingers there for a long moment. It brings tears to my eyes. I don’t want this to end. This perfect, safe little bubble. Right here, with him.
“Thank you,” I mutter when he pulls back.
As I walk into the kitchen, I wonder who is looking out for me. Having someone in my life like Shark would be a tremendous help. He’s kind, sweet, thoughtful, understanding—and he makes me feel safe. I don’t feel alone. I feel seen. He’s great with Dad, even though that first night I thought he would never talk to me again. Yet, here he is, cleaning up a mess he has no reason to clean up. Helping me do things he has no reason to.
“You ready for bed, Dad?” I ask.
He doesn’t say anything, just gets up like a robot and walks by me, down the hall. I follow him to his room and help him change into his pajamas. Something that used to be weird for me, but now I’m used to. He gets into bed without an argument, and I pull the covers up to his chin, tucking him in and kissing his forehead. Same way he used to do to me when I was a little girl. I fight tears as I turn on the monitor and shut off the light.
“Night, Dad,” I croak out.
“Night, honey,” he mutters, already half asleep .
None of this is his fault, I know that, but sometimes the whiplash from him is worse than anything else. Acting crazy one minute and then completely fine the next. It’s hard to wrap my head around. It’s hard to keep my emotions out of it and not take it personally some days.
When I leave his room, I find Shark in the kitchen, washing his hands. I lean against the wall and just watch him, in awe of how he’s even real. The craziest part is I don’t even know him—not really. I saw him in the diner often, always thought he was hot. He asked me for my number, and I acted like a fool. Yet he didn’t give up and has done nothing but help me since I opened myself up to him a little.
Though, I guess that’s what he does, huh? He helps people. The Merciless Few help this town, and Shark is part of that. Maybe even though I thought he was going to shove Norman onto the grill earlier, and leave him with some nasty scars, he’s a good person. Good people do bad things. We all know that. I can accept that sort of thing, I think. I mean, it’s not like I’m trying to marry Shark or anything, but if we can keep doing this? Whatever this is that we’re doing—friends? Dating?—then that’s great. I like it. I like this . I like having someone I can talk to who isn’t a nurse. Someone who looks at me for a reason other than needing something from me. Looking at me because they want to and not because they have to. Someone I look forward to seeing. Someone who doesn’t just look at me but sees me .
Dad looks at me like I’m a bug half the time. The customers hardly look at me at all, too worried with their food, which I can’t get upset about since that’s why they’re there. I don’t have any friends to speak of. I lost contact with everyone when Dad starting showing symptoms. My fault, because I cut them all out. I panicked and devoted all my time to Dad. I don’t regret it, though. I’m not sure any of those friends would have understood anyway.
Shark turns, pausing when he sees me, and he smiles. “He all good?”
I nod. “Thank you for that.”
“I ain’t done yet,” he says. “I wasn’t sure where the towels were to soak up the water and didn’t want to go digging through your things. I also need another vase to put those flowers in, unless you’d rather throw them away.”
“Of course, I don’t want to throw them away.”
He smirks. “I’ll get you new ones.”
“I still don’t want to throw them away.”
I walk over, moving by him to open the cabinet under the sink, but before I pull it open, I turn back to him. He’s watching me carefully. I slide my hands up his chest and around his neck before leaning up. Shark leans down, his lips meeting mine. His arm is around my waist, pulling me against him, and god, his arms are huge too. His hand curls all the way around my opposite side, holding onto me for dear life. Like maybe there’s something about me he likes just as much as I like about him. But what could that possibly be? It’s hard to know what he likes about me when I don’t know what to like about me… when I don’t know who I am. I pull away, resting flat on my feet but keeping my hands on his chest. His heart beats strong and rhythmically behind my hands.
“Tell me about yourself,” I say to him.
He chuckles, running a hand through his dark hair.
“Not what I thought you’d say, but yeah, okay. I can do that.”
“What did you think I was going to say?” I ask, getting the vase out from the cabinet.
“Something X-Rated.”
I laugh as I go into the bathroom off the kitchen to grab a couple of towels from the shelf. Shark takes them from me when I reach him.
“I have to sweep in here, so be careful. There’s still some glass around.”
I’m glad the glass broke on the wood and not on the throw rug, which makes it easier to clean up.
I pick up the flowers and put them into the vase while he soaks up the water on the rug. I don’t get them in the way they were before, so it doesn’t look as nice as it did. Some stems are bent and a few are missing petals, and the vase is much wider so they flop all over, but I don’t want them just because they’re pretty.
I situate it onto the coffee table and pick up the photo that fluttered to the ground. It’s one of me when I was a baby, about a year old. I put it in the coffee table drawer because I don’t have extra picture frames. They’re one thing Dad goes after often, and I’d considered taking them all down, but I don’t like the thought of bare walls in the house. He hung these photos, and they all hold memories. I like looking at them, like remembering.
“You got cable or something?” Shark asks. The man is literally on his hands and knees, using all his weight to press the towel to the carpet to soak up the water. Looks like he could break a hole through the floor with those muscles. I practically drool at how they bulge as he does it. “Cora?”
“Hm?” I jerk my head up, meeting his eyes. He gives me a smug smile. My cheeks flush, knowing I just got caught.
“Find a movie for us to watch.”
“Right, yeah. Okay.”
I grab the remote and go to the streaming app to start looking.
“You want me to put these in the washer?” He holds up the towels.
I shake my head. “No, it’s broken. There’s a hamper in the bathroom.”
“Broken how?” he asks, getting to his feet.
Shrugging, I say, “Leaks everywhere. I’ve been meaning to take a look at it—”
He walks into the dining room and comes back a moment later without the towels. I’m sitting on the couch now, scrolling through movie options.
“Where is it?” he asks.
“Where’s what? ”
“The washer.”
I frown, tilting my head up at him. “Why?”
“I want to look at it.”
“No, you can’t do that, Shark, you—”
“Kaison.”
“What?”
“My name is Kaison.”
“Oh—I thought, uhm…” Well, I guess what I thought is kind of ridiculous.
“Thought you couldn’t know my real name?” he asks with humor in his eyes. I shrug in response. “Just show me where the washer is, and I’d prefer you call me Kaison.”