Chapter 8 #3
I turned to face him. “I don’t understand. How did you end up on my couch?”
He rubbed over his face with his other hand. I had never seen him look so disheveled. He had a five o’clock shadow, and his hair was all rumpled. It made me want to kiss him, and lay back down on his chest for the rest of my life. I reached out and smoothed his dark hair.
“Annie called me, a little hysterical.” He glanced at Charlie.
“Pal, head into the kitchen and see if you can find some bread to make toast.” He saluted, and was off.
“She said she went to Roy’s to talk to you, and Nick Barnes grabbed you and hurt you,” his face tightened with anger.
“She said you fell and your arm was cut open, and you wouldn’t get stiches.
Your phone isn’t working. I’ve never driven as fast as I did to get over here.
I thought I’d find you bleeding to death, and Annie just left you here with Cassie and her husband and a child to take care of you. ”
“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” I protested, then slid down and put my cheek back on his chest. Maybe I didn’t, but it sure felt good.
I remembered him checking my arm last night, winding a bandage around it, looking at my bruised hip (had I taken my pants off?) from where I had hit the ground hard at Roy’s, and giving me acetaminophen, which would not interfere with clotting like NSAIDs would.
I remembered telling him that was important when you had a wound.
“Emmy, why were you so angry at me? Annie was babbling about Coach Sean lying to you about Charlie, but what did that have to do with me?” he asked me softly. “What’s going on?”
I rubbed my face on his t-shirt. He smelled so good.
“I heard you with your dad.” I continued to hide my face, not looking at him.
“That night at Annie’s house. I heard you say how I was just a waitress who worked in a grocery store, and my sister was…
a tramp. It hurt my feelings to know that’s how you think of me.
” I picked my head up and looked into his eyes. “Is that how you think of me?”
“I made the toast,” Charlie announced, coming in with a short stack of dry bread on a plate.
I sat up again. “Thanks, pal. I’m really hungry. Let’s go into the kitchen to eat.”
I stood slowly, wrapping Nana’s crocheted throw twice around my pants-less self, and ran a hand through my hair. “Want some toast?” I asked Luke.
He stood too, stretching and twisting. “We need to talk more,” he said. “And you need a new couch. I think this one is stuffed with rocks.”
We followed Charlie into the kitchen and I did my best to create some kind of breakfast out of the meager food supply that Mike and Cassie had left.
It would never occur to Mike that groceries didn’t magically appear in the cupboards and fridge for him to consume.
I wondered about Mike when he lived on his own; did he just stand in front of an empty freezer, thinking the food would materialize?
Who was I kidding—there was certainly always a woman there with him, and she would know the way to the grocery store.
We sat down at the table, with our paltry breakfast. “I want to look at your arm again,” Luke said.
I watched the coffee maker, willing it to drip faster into the pot. “It’s fine. It’s too late to get stitches, anyway.”
Charlie looked at the bandage on my arm. “Why do you need stiches?”
“Please don’t talk with your mouth full. I don’t need stiches. I cut myself on some glass last night but it’s ok now.”
“Is that why Luke is here?”
“Yep,” I answered, scraping the bottom of the jelly jar for my toast. “I need to go get dressed for work.”
“I’ll drive you in,” Luke told me.
“You can see my fort while Emmy gets dressed,” Charlie offered to him. “She always takes a really long time and it’s so boring to wait.”
I had to get into my room to get clothes for the day, which meant standing in my wet robe after my shower and knocking loudly until I heard Mike make some disgusting noises and roll out of bed.
“What do you want?” he snarled at me when he opened the door.
“You’re in my room,” I told him, pushing past, and letting the “you idiot” remain unspoken.
I got dressed in the bathroom, then went back downstairs to tell Charlie to get ready too.
He was still outside with Luke, who was shaking his head no and holding the axe that I thought I had hidden really well.
“Charlie!” I called out of the back door.
“Throw on some clothes and brush your teeth. We have to get to the NGS.”
Luke followed him up the steps and Charlie ran upstairs. “Did you know he had this?” Luke asked me, putting the axe down on the porch.
“I’ll find another place to stash it,” I said. “It’s an obsession.”
“With me, it was a Swiss Army knife. Until I almost cut off my pinkie.” He held up his hand to show me the scar on his finger, then reached for my cheek, cupping it.
“I missed you this week. Emmy, what you heard—I was trying to tell my father that he was wrong about you.” He looked at me.
“I’m sorry you heard that. I don’t think less of you because of where you work, and I’m sorry I insulted Cassie.
My father has some wrong ideas. But I’m not concerned about what he thinks, all right? ”
I leaned my cheek into his hand and closed my eyes. I had missed him too. And I realized that I had needed him, which terrified me.
An exaggerated thumping down the stairs signaled Mike’s imminent arrival. “Brace yourself,” I warned Luke.
Mike came into the kitchen in his ratty boxers.
I couldn’t help but compare them: Mike, with his pot belly that was inevitable after so many nights spent with so many beers, his hair thinning on top, his face puffy and skin marked with the onset of the rough, red tinges of alcoholism.
And, to put a cherry on top, he was sporting a new black eye from a previous night’s excursion.
Luke, even in a slept-in t-shirt and jeans, was tall and confident, athletic and clear-eyed and strong.
And present when you needed him. And really, really nice to hug.
The double-take that Mike performed once he saw Luke was almost comedic. Then he opened his mouth, and it wasn’t funny. “What the fuck is going on there, Emmy Lou?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at Luke. “Who the fuck is this?”
“Mike Finn, this is Luke Whitaker. Luke, this is Cassie’s husband, Mike.”
Neither of them moved or spoke. It was a standoff.
“I don’t appreciate you bringing your bar pick-ups back to my house, Emmy Lou.”
I choked, and almost started to laugh. Except that Luke suddenly looked so furious that I thought he would throttle Mike.
“What the hell did you just say to her?” he growled.
I put my hand on Luke’s chest and pressed him back.
I could feel his heart pounding. I stepped in front of him and leaned my back to his chest, holding him behind me and away from Mike.
“No, no, come on, Mike. Don’t be a jerk,” I said calmly. And by the way, this wasn’t his house. Nana had left it to Cassie, and Cassie alone.
Charlie pounded down the stairs. “Ready,” he announced.
“Please take care of Cassie today, ok, Mike?” I asked. “Please? She has chemo on Monday.”
He rubbed his jaw, then looked at Luke and sucked in his stomach.
“You could go to Costco and get some groceries,” I proposed.
Mike shrugged. “We need some more beer.” Behind me, Luke made an angry noise.
“Bread, eggs, apples?” I suggested. “Crackers, to help settle her stomach after the treatment. Peanut butter. Jam.” He wasn’t listening. “Can I have your phone? I’ll put a list in. Luke, can you and Charlie meet me at the car?”
Mike reached over on the table for his phone and tapped in the unlock code, then handed it to me, and helped himself to the coffee I had made. I started to type, and as I did, a text popped up.
Darcy Call me babe!!!
I stopped. That worm SOB. I pressed my lips together hard, and managed not to throw the phone at him. I finished typing the grocery list, then gently and deliberately put the phone back onto the table.
“Will you make Cassie breakfast?” I asked tightly.
“Yeah, sure,” he said, checking his messages.
Depart from evil, and do good; seek peace, and pursue it, I reminded myself. Luke and Charlie were waiting.
Luke was still visibly angry as he sat in the driver’s seat. I put my hand on his arm. “That’s Charlie’s dad,” I reminded him softly, and he nodded. It wasn’t any good to make Charlie feel worse about having Mike as a father.
Luke picked up my arm, and laid it across his chest. His fingers skimmed the bandage he had wrapped himself the night before. “Does this hurt?”
I shrugged. “Not too much. It’s my left arm. I can carry my tray with my right instead.”
He looked at me, shocked. “You can’t go back there!”
“I work there,” I said quietly. “I’m going to miss a ton of time at the NGS next week getting Cassie to her chemo. I can’t quit Roy’s.” I swallowed. “Nicholas Barnes is not allowed back in. I’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, Nick Barnes.” He let go of my arm, and clamped both hands on the wheel.
“Hey.” He didn’t turn. “Hey!” Luke glanced at me, face taut. “I’m fine. I fell, but it was an accident. I was upset but,” I took a breath, “you were there, so I’m ok.” I admitted it.
“Put yourself in my place.” Luke adjusted his hands, squeezing the wheel. “What would you do if someone hurt me? Or Charlie?”
“I would find that person and eviscerate him with my bare hands.”
Luke let go of his death grip on the steering wheel. “Now we understand each other.” He took my hand and held it to his chest. “I’m not going to hurt him, but I want to.”
“Emmy, I’m really hungry. Did you bring a snack?” Charlie chimed from the back seat.
I turned and smiled at him. “Try to hang on for a few more miles. By the way, just another note about last night: your sister is a menace behind the wheel,” I mentioned to Luke.
“Is she really that bad?”