Eighth Day of Christmas
Kestrel didn’t remember sleeping, but when she opened her eyes again, morning light glowed behind the drapes. And Hank was still there.
She was lying on her other side, and his large body spooned her back, his arm draped protectively over her waist. She didn’t even flinch, the position was so normal for them—the old them, anyway.
But now, in daylight, the anxiety began to crawl back into Kestrel’s limbs. There would be awkward conversations she wished she could avoid. And, she reminded herself that she didn’t want to cuddle with him. She wanted to deck him!
That thought sparked the memory of her punching Hank when she assumed he was a spider. The feeling of laughter trembled in her chest and rose up dangerously high, but she stoppered it in her throat. She didn’t want to wake Hank before she had a plan to get out of this as painlessly as possible.
But he must have heard her breathing change, because he whispered, “Were you able to sleep?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“I’m glad. I meant to stay up and make sure that man didn’t come back, but after a couple of hours, I must have fallen asleep too. It felt like I’d been knocked out.”
“You always did sleep like a Disney princess,” she said.
She could almost feel him smile.
He started to withdraw his arm from her waist, but it was under her blanket now, and as his hand passed over her hip, he inhaled sharply, his motion freezing. “You’re naked. I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize.”
She didn’t move. And neither did he, the tips of his fingers still lingering on the bare skin of her hip.
“Oh god,” he exhaled.
His hand moved almost imperceptibly, the smallest slide of a fingertip against her skin.
Sparks of electricity shot out, across her hip, and down into her center.
Her core felt unbearably tight, like a popcorn kernel so hot it had no choice but to burst open, and in reflex, her spine arched slightly.
She held her breath, afraid if she breathed, she’d ask him to stay.
“Kes,” he whispered, and his voice sounded sad and hopeless.
Every part of her body yearned to grab him and pull him on top of her, to kiss the sadness out of him, to feel his hands worship her skin and the weight of him hold her securely to this world.
She didn’t speak. His hand moved away, leaving that spot feeling cold. The mattress moved as he adjusted, and she assumed he’d flipped onto his back. But when she turned onto her other side to face him, he was still on his side, and now his face was inches from her own.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” he said.
How familiar this felt. She recalled the first time they’d made love.
There had barely been room for Hank on her twin mattress let alone both of them.
But afterward, they had lain there as they were now, staring at each other, their faces so close he looked like a cyclops.
She had marveled at how being so open with Hank didn’t make her feel anxious and scrambling for self-protection.
Sharing every part of herself with him had been an adventure.
And now Hank’s face was as near as a breath.
Her whole body was lit up like a Christmas tree, and though there was barely any space between them, she yearned to close the rest. To connect herself with him again, with her mouth, with her hands, to feel seen and touched and loved as she used to be.
And to adore him, to kiss the loneliness out of him, to allow him to feel truly loved—
No, she told herself firmly. They were not who they used to be. Hank had rejected her. And whatever closure he sought was his own business. It would be self-betrayal to cut herself open to him just to help him achieve that, when he had no intention of loving her again.
“I should go before I’m seen,” he said. But he didn’t move. She could feel his soft exhale on her lips. Her body felt made of sand, as if it would lose its shape and flow into him.
No, she told herself again. She rolled onto her back, tucking the blanket under her chin, and closed her eyes as if she meant to fall back asleep. Her insides sighed sadly as she felt the warmth of his body retreat.
He was so quiet, she didn’t even hear him cross the room or close the door.
When she looked again, he was gone. Maybe it had been another dream, this one far less sexy though full of that complicated almost-ness Jerome had talked about.
Her hand rubbed the sheets beside her, detecting the lingering warmth that had been Hank.
She spread out in full starfish, limbs pointed to the corners of the bed, and she couldn’t help smiling at the ceiling.
It was a small victory. Somehow, she had survived a close encounter with Hank.
A very close encounter. No awkward conversation.
No drama. And even more amazing—the hard walnut beside her heart felt smaller and wasn’t currently threatening to rise up into her throat and choke her.
“Why, it’s a Christmas miracle,” she whispered.
Maybe that was enough closure for Hank, and for her too. At least for part of her. Another part was screaming at her for letting him leave.
After bathing and dressed in her favorite long-sleeved violet muslin, she hurried to the morning room but found it bereft of company. Perhaps Hank would come down soon, and she would breakfast with him for the first time in two years.
Wait, no, she should go back to avoiding him, that man who had slept beside her and touched her hip and filled her with a longing so sharp, she felt run through with a magician’s sword.
Double cripes. She couldn’t pretend that her heart didn’t beat so tenderly, so hopefully, at every thought of him.
How to cure this? She gripped her arms and reminded herself firmly, cruelly: He is not here for you.
He’s only here to absolve himself. Soon he’ll be gone, forever this time.
Charming entered alone, her hair down and unbrushed. Kestrel remembered other people had needs she could focus on instead of the aching emptiness in her own middle.
She leaned up to kiss Charming’s cheek. “Good morning, my pet,” she said as Andrews might.
“Hidey-hoo, Miss Spinster, pip-pip,” Charming said with a smile.
“Have a seat, let me get you breakfast.” Kestrel poured them both tea and, deciding to take a gamble, said as sincerely as she could, “You seem in good spirits. That must mean Bobby is treating you right and making you feel amazing.”
Charming sat at the table and didn’t answer, but the lines around her mouth deepened.
Kestrel knew that logic didn’t always work.
Over the years, Kestrel had written her mother letters and even managed a couple of phone calls, always failing to talk Jill out of her devotion to Teacher.
In the last conversation they’d had, right after Grandma died, Kestrel had tried a new tactic.
It wasn’t easy, but she expressed support and love for Jill, hoping that empathy would be able to breach the shields Farm Home had built.
It hadn’t made any difference with Jill, but maybe that approach could reach Charming.
“I guess Bobby must be your true love,” said Kestrel. “I had a true love once.”
“Did you?” Charming raised her brows, an invitation to go on.
“It didn’t work out in the end. But while I was with him .
. .” Kestrel tried to find the truest words.
“Even though I loved him so much that I felt like we were part of the same soul, I never lost myself in him. Does that make sense? He celebrated who I was. Even if he was frustrated with me, he didn’t try to change me.
Feeling so accepted was . . . beautiful. ”
Kestrel’s throat tightened, threatening tears. Charming’s expression was unreadable, as if her attention had wandered. Oh well, it was worth a shot. She placed eggs, fruit, and toast in front of Charming and sat to join her.
“Sometimes I sip tea to look the part,” Charming said, “but hasn’t anyone told the Brits that tea tastes like hot swamp water?”
Kestrel laughed.
Encouraged by the laughter, Charming kept going. “No wonder they lost the war. They must’ve been too busy gagging to fight. I mean, coffee has been invented, y’all. Time for tea to wave that white flag.”
“You’re hilarious,” said Kestrel.
Charming’s whole face lit up, genuinely delighted. “Am I? Bobby says I’m so dumb I could throw myself on the ground and miss.”
Charming smiled at her as if expecting her to laugh again, but Kestrel couldn’t manage it.
“Oh,” said Kestrel. “That must have hurt your feelings.”
“Well, I know I’m too sensitive by half. Though I don’t know what that means. By half a what? Half a cup? That’s not very much. Pecan pie takes a whole cup of sugar plus a cup of corn syrup.” Charming put three sugar cubes in her teacup. “Mm, I like things sweet, don’t you?”
“You know who is sweet?” said Kestrel. “Edwin.”
“Lands, yes.” Charming adjusted in her chair, as if she had too much energy for the topic of Edwin to hold still. “I’ve never met anyone like him. He’s like . . . like Santa Claus, Denzel Washington, and Mr. Rogers rolled into one. Plus a little Magic Mike.”
“That was very descriptive.”
“I may be attached to Bobby, but I’m not dead, girl!”
“You know, I think Edwin likes you.”
“Edwin is kind to everybody. He’s become one of my closest friends here. Though one time . . .” She leaned closer to whisper, “I had a dream about him that turned my pantyhose inside out. I was in the library and—”
Charming stopped talking and her mouth opened in shock.
Kestrel turned to look. Edwin had entered the morning room, hat in his hands.
Despite the sprinkled white in his black hair, Kestrel could still imagine him as a small, hopeful boy, staring at Charming as if she were the window display of a toy store.
“Top o’ the mornin’, Edwin,” Charming said, smiling big as if she couldn’t help it.