Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
VIRGIL
I awaken to warmth. Something nestled against my chest. Looking down, I see Clara’s brown curls.
My back aches, legs, too. I’ve officially reached the age where not moving breeds its own kind of pain. Late forties. What do I expect?
But I don’t move, frozen in my spot with her breath warm against my shirt. Don’t want to wake her yet, not when she’s finally getting the rest that’s evaded her, though she won’t admit it.
Helen appears first, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her hair sticks up in the back, and she stares at us long and hard, like she’s trying to wrap her head around it.
I press a finger to my lips. She nods, her face a mixture of curiosity and confusion.
Luke follows behind about fifteen minutes later, holding a stuffed dog, bleary-eyed and still mostly asleep. He’s halfway through his first bowl of cereal before he notices his mama and me on the couch. His eyes round, and he blinks slow, like he’s trying to process it.
Then he smiles, unabashed and relaxed. “Hi, Vir-gull,” he says around a mouthful of marshmallows and flakes.
I nod, raising my finger again.
This time, it’s too late. Clara stirs against my chest, still drowsy… until her body goes rigid. She stares up at me, cheeks instantly coloring, palms flattening against my chest as she pushes herself away.
I register the momentary panic—taste its bitterness, feel its sting.
“God, what time is it?” she squints against the sunlight filtering through the curtains.
“Time to get moving,” I grunt, trying to keep the emotion from my voice. Don’t know why it’s there. Just that this moment, this cabin suddenly feels too close for comfort.
I stand, moaning and stretching.
“Your hand?” she asks, eyeing the bandage.
“My everything,” I grumble, receding back into what I do best. Grumpy mountain man.
“Can’t believe we fell asleep on the couch,” she sighs, staring back at it. Then, reaching for the crumpled blanket to fold it.
“Happened,” I shrug, trying to play it off. But I can still feel the warmth of her, the weight of her head pressed over my heart. Not sure when or how that’ll go away because it felt more right than I care to admit.
“Storm,” I remind before she can get sentimental.
“Right,” she says, lips pressing into a firm line.
The room goes silent except for Helen and Luke’s whispering. I try to ignore it with a frown. Clara looks away, combing fingers through her hair.
“Coffee?” She arches an eyebrow at me.
I nod.
“You were tired, Mama,” Helen adds quietly.
“And everyone needs sleep,” Luke chimes in. “Even papa Vir-gull.”
God.
My breath catches in my throat.
Clara’s eyes dart to mine, her face stuck somewhere between shock and an apology.
“Not papa,” Helen scolds, fire behind her eyes. “Are you stupid?”
Luke blinks once, twice. Then his bottom lip and chin start trembling. Dangerously so.
“Helen,” Clara scolds, voice catching.
“Well, it’s true,” she says, eyes darting between me and Virgil. “He’s not papa.”
“That’s right,” I say too quickly. Then to Clara. “Gonna need to get that coffee to go. Big day ahead of me.”
“Big day?” she asks.
“Time to winterize.” I pause for a long moment, trying to figure out how to say this. “Two cabins this time… unless you’ve had more of a chance to think through what makes sense?”
She freezes.
I turn to face her fully, towering over her.
She has to crane her neck to meet my gaze.
Under my breath, away from little ears, I whisper, “There’s nothing left for you here, Clara.
No reason to drag this out any longer. Through a winter that’s forecasted to be bad. Worse than you’ve ever lived through.”
My words slam into her, though I don’t mean them to. “Worse than I’ve ever lived through? You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I do,” I say, firm but quiet. “And I know you don’t want to lose anything else. That’s why you … leaving this mountain is the only thing that makes sense.”
She shakes her head, anger flashing behind her eyes. “Just because you’ve helped around here. Just because you’ve picked up the pieces… when I couldn’t—” Her bottom lip trembles. “Doesn’t mean I need your advice on when I should and shouldn’t stay.”
“You can’t do this alone,” I grumble.
Fear replaces the anger. The next question comes out raw and broken. It wrecks me. “But do I have to?”
That question’s too big for me to answer. Because maybe I’ve been thinking about it longer than I care to admit. Maybe, last night, I let my mind wander where I shouldn’t. To thoughts of this being more than a one-night thing.
“No, you don’t have to.”
Relief softens her features.
Then I ruin it.
"Because you're not staying up here this winter. You’re finding a place in town. Where it makes sense. Even if I have to pay for it out of pocket.”
Her brows knit, face going hard. “We’re not your charity case.”
Those words hurt more than they should. But they’re still better than the alternative… than doing something with Bryson’s family that feels like betrayal.
“Nope, you’re not that,” I say. “But I can’t have you depending on me like that. Not through winter. Not with two kids. I’m not built for it.”
“Oh,” she steps back, face stung. “I see.”
I turn before I can see what I’ve done to her.
Then I walk out.
Coward that I am.