Chapter 5 #5
She took another small step as they slowly turned beneath the lights.
"...I just forgot what it felt like to feel safe enough to try."
His smile faded into something quieter.
Something deeper.
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead of answering immediately, he simply let his fingers close around hers with the gentlest reassurance.
It wasn't a possessive gesture or an attempt to say something words could not.
It was simply a quiet promise that, for as long as she stood beside him, she wouldn't have to carry her fear alone.
For a little while, the rest of the world seemed to fade into the background.
The rest of the world didn't disappear. It simply faded into the background for a little while, allowing the peaceful rhythm of the evening to become the only thing that truly mattered.
The music drifted softly through the evening air while lanterns swayed lazily overhead, casting gentle shadows across the packed earth beneath the oak trees.
Around them, conversations resumed naturally.
Someone laughed near the grill. A motorcycle rumbled somewhere beyond the front gate before falling silent again.
Around them, life continued exactly as it always did.
Children laughed, conversations drifted between picnic tables, and motorcycles occasionally rumbled somewhere beyond the clubhouse.
Yet neither of them felt any urgency to fill the silence.
For the first time, the quiet between them felt comfortable instead of uncertain.
Sunshine found herself watching the porch instead.
Several of the older veterans had settled into the rocking chairs lining the front of the clubhouse. Mr. Dawson rocked slowly while little Emma—one of Harbor House's youngest residents—sat cross-legged beside him, completely absorbed in a picture book.
He wasn't reading it.
She was.
Every few sentences she stopped to explain something she believed he'd misunderstood.
Mr. Dawson nodded with complete seriousness.
"I see."
"No."
Emma pointed firmly at the page.
"The bunny."
"Oh."
He adjusted his glasses dramatically.
"My mistake."
Emma smiled proudly before continuing.
Sunshine couldn't help smiling.
"They've adopted each other."
Remedy followed her gaze.
"Pretty much."
"They're good for one another."
"They are."
He watched the unlikely pair for another moment.
"Mr. Dawson spent almost six months refusing to leave his room."
She looked at him.
"Really?"
He nodded.
"He'd lost his wife."
His voice remained quiet.
"They'd been married fifty-three years."
Sunshine's heart tightened.
"He didn't think there was much reason to keep trying after that."
"What changed?"
He smiled.
"Emma."
She looked back toward the porch.
The little girl had now climbed halfway into the elderly man's lap while insisting he make different voices for each animal in the story.
"He told me once..." Remedy said softly, "...that children have a way of borrowing pieces of your broken heart until you remember how to carry it yourself."
Sunshine swallowed.
"I think he's right."
"I think so too."
She watched Emma giggle as Mr. Dawson attempted what was either a rabbit voice or an alarmingly enthusiastic squirrel.
It was difficult to tell.
Whatever voice he had been attempting, Emma thought it was absolutely wonderful, and her delighted laughter was all the encouragement he seemed to need to keep going.
As another song drifted through the speakers, its slower melody encouraged the couples beneath the oak trees to draw just a little closer together, allowing the easy rhythm of the evening to settle over everyone gathered there.
Without realizing it, Sunshine relaxed another fraction against the rhythm.
She wasn't thinking about dancing anymore or even where to place her feet. She wasn’t even thinking whether someone might be watching.
Before she realized it, she had stopped thinking about each individual step and simply allowed herself to move with the music instead.
Remedy noticed first.
"You stopped counting."
She blinked.
"What?"
"Your steps."
"I was counting?"
He smiled.
"Every one."
She laughed quietly.
"I guess I was."
"You aren't now."
She looked down briefly before meeting his eyes again.
"No."
"No," she admitted with a quiet smile, surprised to realize it was true. The answer lingered gently between them, carrying far more meaning than either of them was ready to acknowledge aloud.
Neither of them mentioned that she had also stopped holding herself so rigidly.
Or that she'd unconsciously stepped a little closer.
It wasn't because Remedy had drawn her any closer. Without consciously deciding to do so, Sunshine had simply stopped feeling the need to protect herself with quite so much distance.
Across the yard...
Steel leaned casually against one of the picnic tables while pretending to help Toxic refill trays of food.
"You owe me twenty."
Bishop looked over.
"For what?"
"They're dancing."
Bishop smiled.
"I believe the bet was about who noticed first."
"Mace noticed yesterday."
"Mace notices everything."
Steel nodded thoughtfully.
"That's true."
Toxic looked up from arranging burgers onto a serving platter.
"What're you three whispering about?"
"Nothing."
Steel answered much too quickly.
Toxic followed his gaze toward the dance floor.
His expression softened almost immediately.
Toxic watched them quietly for another moment before a small, knowing smile crossed his face.
"What?"
Steel asked.
Toxic smiled to himself.
"She's relaxed."
Bishop nodded.
"I noticed."
"When she got here..."
Toxic watched Sunshine laugh at something Remedy had quietly said.
"...she looked like she expected somebody to tell her she didn't belong."
Steel's grin faded.
"And now?"
Toxic looked toward Charlie.