Chapter 13
The next morning, while I was showering and getting dressed, I kept thinking about kissing Mags. It had been a memorable evening. More than memorable. Last night, I’d barely made it into the shower before taking myself in hand. It took only a few swift strokes before I’d come hard, with the feel of her still on my lips and the press of her lush body vivid in my mind.
I’d wanted to kiss her a whole lot more. But seeing as she had other ideas, I’d just have to enjoy the memory.
Thinking about the evening made me smile to myself. And the smile lingered, even after I remembered I needed to put together some kind of lunch for Gemma. Monday would be her first official day of school, but today she’d get to look around, and hopefully make a friend or two. And she’d need to eat.
“You want chicken, cheese, and pickle sandwiches?” I asked her when I went into the kitchen.
She was sitting at the small dining table, a bowl of cereal in front of her. Staring down at her bowl, she screwed up her nose. “I don’t want to go to school.” Her tone was flat, but at least she didn’t sound angry. She seemed resigned.
“You’ll have sandwiches to look forward to at lunch break,” I said, pulling the ingredients from the fridge.
“I heard you yell in your sleep again last night,” Gemma told me.
“Did you? I can’t remember waking up.” Dammit, I was getting sick of having the same nightmare all the time. I would far rather have dreamed of Mags. Of good things, rather than bad ones. “Hope the shout didn’t scare you,” I added, turning to get a plate from the cupboard.
“I wasn’t scared. But it sounded like you were.” When I turned back to her, she was giving me a questioning gaze with her spoon resting on top of her cereal. “What exactly do you dream about?”
An image flashed into my mind of the nameless thing I’d probably spent last night running from, though I couldn’t remember having the nightmare. At least my waking mind knew I wasn’t a boy anymore, and that the creatures I dreamed of were really my father and his friends, twisted by my sleeping mind to look like monsters rather than men. My subconscious mind seemed to always return to the past. Usually to the time when I hadn’t been able to defend my momma.
“I have bad dreams about my childhood,” I said, spreading mayo onto slices of bread. “You know that. I already told you.”
“Does my mother have the same nightmare?” She poked at the remains of her cereal.
“I guess she might.”
Dropping her spoon, Gemma pushed her bowl away. “But Momma’s always spent a lot of time in bed. Why would she do that if she has bad dreams?”
“I used to spend a lot of time in bed too, and it was because all the emotions I was feeling sucked the energy out of me. Your momma’s probably the same.”
Thinking back, it felt like I used to spend all my days and nights in bed, either dozing or just lying still, staring at nothing. My thoughts were a black maze with no beginning or end. My mind would tread the same worn paths over and over. And though I recognized it was happening, I couldn’t stop it.
“Now your momma’s getting some help, she might have more energy,” I added.
“I hope so.”
“And you’ll need energy for school today. You’d better finish your cereal.”
She stared gloomily down at the mostly full bowl she’d rejected. “I’m not hungry.”
I thought about trying to convince her to eat a little more, and decided not to cause any friction.
“I’ll get you a treat from the bakery today,” I said. “It’ll be here waiting for you when you get home.”
Gemma’s expression lightened. “You just want to go and see Mags at the bakery.”
“I’ve put extra pickle on your sandwiches,” I said, cutting them diagonally. “Lunchtime will be a highlight of your day.”
“Mags is so cool.” Gemma sighed. “Can you believe she knows all those famous musicians?”
“She seems to like the same music as you.”
“Do you like her?” Gemma asked.
“Who, Mags?” I frowned down at the sandwiches, trying to act as though I barely remembered her and hadn’t been thinking about her all morning. “She seems nice. Don’t you like her?”
“Of course I do.” Gemma grinned like we were sharing a secret. And it was so good to see her mood brighten that I beamed back at her.
“Are you almost ready to go to school?” I asked. “You know which bus to catch?”
“You can’t drop me off?”
I shook my head, shooting her an apologetic look. “Like I told you, folks around here don’t hold much respect for the Baxter name. I don’t want them to see us together and start jumping to conclusions about you before they’ve had a chance to get to know you.”
“Okay. I understand.” She hesitated. “Can I ask you something, Uncle Cy?” By the way she started picking at the sleeve of the white shirt she was wearing, I could tell whatever she wanted to ask me was weighing on her.
“Of course.” Putting down the knife, I flattened my palms on the counter and gave her my full attention.
“If Momma has a mental health disorder, and you have nightmares that make you shout at night, does that mean I’m going to get sick too?”
My stomach turned over, my mood plummeting. “No, Gem, it doesn’t mean that.” I gentled my voice. “The way your momma and me grew up had a lot to do with it. You didn’t have a childhood like that.”
“My father used to yell at Momma before we moved away from him. I remember hearing it.”
I crossed to the table and sat in the chair across from her. “Do you want to talk about what you remember?”
“No.” She studied her fingers, busy fiddling with the button on her shirt cuff. “I don’t remember it well. But you said you were depressed before I arrived, and Momma’s depressed. Is it something that’s in my blood?”
“I don’t think so. But if you’re worried and want to talk to someone, you could see my therapist.”
Her gaze jerked up. “You have a therapist?”
“Sure. I’ve been seeing her every week for the last month.”
“Every week,” she repeated, frowning. “You’ve been since I arrived?”
“I have an appointment every Tuesday at eleven. You didn’t know?” I couldn’t remember whether I’d mentioned it.
She dropped her gaze back to her sleeve. “Maybe I’ve been shut in my room a lot. But I hate being away from my friends. It’s not fair that I have to spend so much time away from them. They’re going to forget I exist.”
“They’ll be happy to see you when you get back,” I said. “And in the meantime, you might make some friends here, too.”
“I don’t want friends here,” she mumbled. “I don’t want to be here at all.”
“Well, I like having you here. And you know you can talk to me about anything, Gem, don’t you? But if you don’t want to talk to me, you can go and see my therapist. Or a different one. Whatever you like.”
She lifted her gaze back to mine. “What if I don’t want to go to school?”
“I know going to a new school must be scary, but give it a try. You’ll meet people and make friends. Things will get better.”
“All I want is to go home.”
“Once your momma feels well enough, you can both go home.” I stood and picked up her cereal bowl. “Come on, Gem. Give the new school a chance. Go with an open mind. Today will be an easy day, and you won’t have to do any schoolwork until Monday.”
She let out a loud huff of breath. “All right,” she said in a reluctant tone.
“And when you get back, I’ll have done some more to clean the house up and make it nicer, so you won’t feel embarrassed in case you want to invite friends home.”
She shot me a sideways look. “Or maybe you want to make it nicer in case Mags comes over again?” The suggestive way she said it made me wonder if she’d seen us kissing.
“Mags is coming for dinner again tonight,” I said. “But it’s not romantic. She’s just a friend. And you liked talking to her, didn’t you?”
“You liked talking to her too. It might be romantic.”
“Mags already has a boyfriend,” I reminded her.
“Yeah, an amazing boyfriend.” Gemma sounded wistful. “Eric Storm is so hot.”
“Are you ready to go to school? You don’t want to miss the bus.”
After walking Gemma to the bus stop and getting back home, the first thing I did was google Eric Storm. One look and my heart plummeted. In the first photo that came up, he was on stage, playing in front of an enthusiastic-looking crowd. He wore tight leather pants and a matching jacket, with nothing underneath. His washboard abs were on show as he strummed his low-slung guitar. He was clean-shaven, but not clean-cut. With his chiseled face and designer tattoos, he looked every inch a rock star.