Chapter 14
Chapter 14
A fter soup, bread, lemonade, a shower, and his six-hour nap, Leo felt like a new creation. His shoulder still hurt like demon fire, but it was a feeling he could ignore. The post-blood loss exhaustion had been much worse, but now it appeared to be over. He emerged into the warm and cozy living room clean and refreshed in all the ways. Esther sat staring into the fire, looking drowsy. He wondered if things would be weird with her, but he should have known better. She seemingly had no idea what had almost happened, how close he’d come to giving in to the odd temptation a half hour ago.
She sat in the side chair, her feet propped on an ottoman. Leo sat on the settee and studied her. “Have you slept yet?”
She shook her head, snapping out of her trance to smile at him.
“Why not?”
“I was busy,” she said, shrugging one shoulder, her fingers twining in her braid.
“The shower’s free,” he said.
Her smile widened. “Are you saying I stink, Leo?”
“You’re still covered in my blood,” he noted, pointing to the stain of his blood on her shoulder where she’d cradled him against her.
“Oh,” she said, looking down with a flinch, her face pinching with the reminder.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she said. She stood and brushed by him. A minute later the shower started. A short time after that she emerged from the bathroom, bringing the scent of lavender soap with her. Now Leo was the one staring into the fire, lulled by the heat, by the gentle pop and crack of burning wood. This is nice, he thought. Someday he should have a place with a wood burning fireplace. It was the sort of warmth that seeped into the bones, much more than the modern forced air of his apartment.
Esther sat on the floor in front of the stove and began doing something with her hands. It took him a moment to realize she was combing her hair. At long last, the braid was gone. Her hair was free and, as he’d suspected, hung in a glorious sheet down to her hips.
“How do you comb it when it’s so long?” he whispered, his fascinated gaze unwavering on her progress.
“Very carefully,” she said, sounding pained. It was no easy task for her small arms to try and skim through the layers. Leo nudged her with his foot and motioned her closer. She eased backwards until she bumped the edge of the settee. He leaned forward, took the comb, and began using it with his good hand. Even so, it was a workout. Her hair must weigh a ton.
“Doesn’t this give you a headache?” he asked.
“Every day,” she said. Her eyes were glazed as if she were enjoying the sensation of his fingers in her hair as much as he was. He set aside the comb and began sliding his fingers over her scalp. She closed her eyes and fastened her arms around his legs to keep from keeling over. “I should let Amelia cut it,” she added in a whisper.
“Don’t,” he said, sounding pained. “Who’s the long-haired goddess?”
“Aphrodite,” she supplied.
“Right, that one. You look like her.”
“Have all the women you’ve been with had long hair?” she asked.
“I can’t remember,” he said honestly. He couldn’t remember any of their faces or features. He picked up the comb again and resumed sorting her hair. When he finished, he gave the comb back to her. She clutched it to her chest and rested her head on his knee, eyes closed.
“Go to bed,” he said, squeezing her shoulder.
“Can’t,” she murmured.
“Why not?”
“You’re sitting on it.”
“What? Go to bed, an actual bed,” he commanded.
She turned to peer up at him. “Leo, there’s only one.”
Reality dawned. The house was tiny, too tiny for more than one bedroom. He was a dunce. “You take the bed,” he commanded, his hand smoothing over her shoulder again.
She shook her head. “You’re injured. You need your rest.”
“I’ve had my rest, and I’m perfectly comfortable here. Your turn to sleep.”
“No, the bed is for guests,” she said, turning stubborn.
“We’re both guests,” he reminded her.
“But…”
He pressed his finger to her lips. “As the head of this household, I’m telling you to take the bed.” He expected her to argue, mostly because he was joking. In his experience it never worked to pull rank on a woman. But once again he forgot Esther wasn’t like most women. She took him at his word and, meekly, stood and walked into the bedroom.
Leo remained staring at the fire, trying not to feel disappointed and alone, trying not to feel anything at all. He added more wood to the fire a few times until, eventually, he fell into a restless, uncomfortable slumber.
A few hours later, he awoke to panicked whimpers, Esther’s, to be exact. He bolted upright, disoriented. He stood blinking in the darkness, trying to remember where he was, where she was. She whimpered again and he headed in her direction, imagining the worst, an assailant, a rapist, a murderer.
But when he reached the room, Esther was in bed alone, thrashing the covers off, panic building. If he didn’t wake her soon, she would likely start screaming. He eased forward and touched her arm. She yelped and rolled away from him. He put his hand out again, trying to soothe her. But again his touch had the opposite effect. This time when she flailed, she belted him in the ribs, only a few inches below his injured shoulder. Leo saw stars. For a moment he thought he might throw up or pass out, but Esther became increasingly agitated. He did the only thing he could think of; he climbed into the bed and lay on top of her, smashing her flat beneath him.
Instantly, she went still. For a moment he feared he’d killed her, so much smaller was she than he. But about thirty seconds after the thrashing stopped, she spoke, her voice small and afraid. “Leo?”
“Shh, I’m here. You were having a bad dream.”
She nodded, sniffling, and then it was as if a dam broke and she started to cry in earnest, great heaving sobs that wracked her body. He started to roll away. She clutched his shirt. “Don’t, don’t move. I need the pressure to pull myself together.”
“It’s okay to cry,” he told her.
“Then why don’t you ever do it?” she asked.
“Who says I don’t?”
“You don’t, I would know.”
“How would you know?” he asked.
“Because it would make you feel better, and you’re miserable,” she said, ending on a breathless little quaver.
“Can’t argue with that,” he said, but at the moment he didn’t feel miserable. It seemed he liked squishing her as much as she liked being squished. At the moment, he felt so…what? Peaceful, perhaps. Even though a woman sobbed an inch away, beneath him, he was aware it was a release of all the stress she’d stored the last few days and not some deeper sort of trauma. Not like him, whose trauma went so deep there seemed to be no end to it.
“I was so afraid,” she trembled.
“I know,” he soothed. His hands were useless, trapped as they were beneath him. He had only his words. “You did so good, and it’s okay, it’s all okay. You’re fine.”
“I wasn’t afraid for me. I was afraid for you.” She shuddered hard, making him shudder in response. Pain rippled through him, but it was almost cathartic, another purge of bottled emotion. He’d been afraid, too. It felt good to let go of a little of that fear.
“I’m going to roll off you now,” he said, and she whimpered, a small little wounded animal sound. “So I can hold you,” he added. He rolled to his bad side, wincing. It landed on the soft bed, not as painful as he’d thought it would be. His good arm reached out and gathered Esther close, pressing her against him. And then he could soothe her properly, using his hand to smooth up and down her neck, over her ear, her shoulder her back. “You’re okay, we’re okay. It’s going to be all right.”
She nodded, nestling against him, fitting her nose into its sacred spot, and Leo admitted it was what he’d been waiting for. She had been content with being smashed, but he wasn’t. He had needed and wanted to hold her and feel her respond in kind, surrendering herself to his care.
“Don’t go back to the couch,” she pled.
He didn’t bother to tell her it hadn’t crossed his mind. “All right,” he said, as if conceding to some overlarge request. She sat up and pulled the blankets over both or them. The bedroom was cold, but Esther was warm. She nestled back into her spot, winding her fingers in his shirt. He did the same to her hair, threading his fingers in the mass, his thumb sliding over the silky strands.
“Leo,” she murmured, her voice sluggish with repressed sleep.
“Mm.”
“Anam cara.”
A minute later, her soft, even breathing told him she was asleep. Careful not to wake her, Leo stretched to the nightstand and picked up his phone. It had enough battery to flick awake and look up the word. Anam cara: A person with whom you can share your deepest thoughts and feelings; a soul friend .
L eo woke the next morning, hands outstretched, grasping at the empty bed beside him. It took him a groggy moment to remember why, or rather who he reached for. He sat up and took stock. Shoulder: painful but livable. Room: freezing. Bed: lonely. Leo: pathetic. Esther: most likely gainfully employed caring for him in some capacity.
Gingerly, he peeled back the covers and stumbled to the kitchen. Esther sat in front of the fire, coaxing it back to life. Her hands were cupped around her mouth and she blew, her lips making a gentle whooshing sound. Her hair was still down, surrounding her face and shoulders in a black cloud. Leo’s gut clenched, and he couldn’t understand why. It wasn’t a lustful feeling. So far in his life, that was the sum total of his experience with women. He had no idea what to do with soft and easy affection, the sort that made him feel monstrously protective and cared for all at once. In the past his relationships had been usurious, almost a barter system. He and women had a mutual understanding: he only gave as much as he took which, in the scheme of things, wasn’t much.
“The fire’s being stubborn,” Esther whispered. He didn’t realize she was aware of his presence because she hadn’t looked at him. She did so now, pushing her hair out of her face with the back of her hand. He smiled at her, for no other reason than he liked her and she was pleasant to look at. Dawn’s early glow was the only light in the room, giving everything a rosy hue.
“I’ll see to the fire,” he said.
“Your shoulder,” she said, biting her lip as her gaze settled worriedly on his arm.
“It’s okay, I have another one,” he said, flexing his good shoulder. He walked across the tiny room and lowered himself beside her. She started to stand, and Leo felt bereft. “Don’t go.”
“I have to make coffee and breakfast,” she said, but she sank back beside him.
“You know I can’t digest food this early. It’s still practically the middle of the night,” he said.
She smiled. “The farm’s been up forever. They probably think we’re lazy.” She sighed. “We’re going to have to venture out today.”
“Why?” he asked.
She wove her fingers together and held them up for his inspection. “The Amish are like this. Community is a big deal. Not a lot of loners here.”
“Yikes for me,” he said.
“You’re not a loner,” she replied.
“We’re loners together,” he said. The fire began to take off. He eased his arm around Esther and she nestled closer, her hair a giant barrier between them. He began to see why she always kept it contained as he pushed a piece out of his mouth. He attempted to tuck it behind her ear, but it sprang free.
“That’s not what I meant. Even without me, you’re not a loner. You pretend to be, but you’re not. People like you.”
“Of course they don’t.”
“Of course they do,” she said. Her nose nuzzled into its spot and she closed her eyes, resting her head on him. He slipped both arms around her and pulled her snug against him.
“Esther, people don’t like me. I’m a train wreck.”
She shook her head, stubbornly, he thought. “People see all the goodness inside you, all the kindness and warmth you pretend aren’t there. Why do you do that?” Her eyes opened. She pulled back to inspect him.
He frowned. “What are you talking about? I’m a grumpy screwup.”
She shook her head.
His frown deepened to a scowl. “You don’t know.”
“You don’t think I know? Who knows you better than I do?”
He opened his mouth but nothing came out. “You don’t know everything,” he muttered at last. “There’s a lot you don’t know. A lot.”
“Do you think when you tell me it’s going to change my opinion of you?” she asked.
He opened his mouth and closed it again. There was nothing he could tell her that would make her see him differently, he realized. He wasn’t certain if the thought was comforting or terrifying. “But you’re Amish ,” he said at last, and Esther giggled, a bubble of laughter unlike anything he’d ever heard from her. She pressed both hands over her mouth, trying to push it back down. He peeled them away and she laughed out loud, pressing her face to his chest to muffle the sound.
“You’ve really got to get over it,” she said when she had herself back under control.
“I don’t think I can,” he said seriously, his thumb caressing her earlobe. She was so pure, and he was so not. They sat in cozy silence while the fire warmed them. At some point Esther had eased into his lap, half her hair tossed over his wounded shoulder like a macabre bandage.
“Trouvaille,” Esther murmured.
“My phone’s dead,” he murmured in return.
“A lucky and unexpected find,” she said.
“Am I your pot of gold, Esther?”
“Gold means nothing to me, Leo. You’re my best friend.”
A little tremble of fear and pain shuddered through him. Being alone, aloof, and untethered was so much safer, so much easier. Caring about someone meant he could lose them. A part of him, a big part, desperately wanted to retreat, retreat, retreat. But he couldn’t. He had nowhere to go, and Esther needed him. “We need to get new clothes.”
“There’s a Wal-Mart a half hour away,” she said.
“No good, they have cameras.”
“Thrift store in town,” she said, suppressing a yawn.
“You could go back to bed. I won’t tell. We could both go back to bed.” The thought of crawling in bed again, snuggled down with Esther, sounded better than anything in recent memory.
Someone knocked on the door. “Too late,” Esther said, pushing away from him to answer.