Chapter 13
Chapter
Thirteen
CLARA
First day of school.
Photos at the bus. Luke looked so proud holding his backpack. Helen made an instant bus buddy.
Ginger was right…
Maybe Virgil was, too.
A hollow thud on the door pulls me from my thoughts. I’m not used to knocking. Not used to having uninvited guests, either.
I’m stunned into silence at finding Virgil at the door, hat in hand, auburn hair blazing in the mid-day sun. Maybe he doesn’t feel as comfortable now that he knows the kids are in school.
Maybe he’s giving me more distance, sensing I’m getting better. Pulling myself back together. Or maybe he’s pulling away.
My stomach knots. A cold feeling climbs my spine. “You don’t have to knock,” I scold, throwing the door open wide. “Thought you’d know that by now.”
His brows furrow, cinnamon-brown eyes swirling with something he doesn’t try to convey in words. He doesn’t step through the door either. The moment feels instantly awkward.
“Kids usually invite me in,” he explains. Of course. This is the first time he’s visiting without them. “Just wanted to see how you’re holding up with them… away.”
A sting hits the back of my eyes, though I fight hard against it. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
He finally steps inside, moving past me close enough that I can feel his heat. The sturdy presence of him. My treacherous body shivers.
God, what’s wrong with me?
Inside, he moves to the coffeemaker, working quickly. Within minutes, the bitter earthiness of freshly brewing coffee fills the air. I watch the big man looming over the kitchen sink like he owns the place. Emotions tangle inside, things I still won’t let myself feel… or think about.
The chair scrapes across wood when I sit down at the table. Okay, more like collapse, resting my head in my hands for a long moment. I hear him working quietly. The sound of the refrigerator door squeaking open. Then the pouring of cream and the metallic tap of a spoon against ceramic mugs.
I don’t look up until I hear the hollow thud of ceramic against wood. I wrap my hands around the mug already knowing what I’m getting. A quarter inch of heavy cream and two packets of sugar. Not sure I can make it better for myself anymore.
He sits across from me, hands folded in front of him. Not saying anything. Just being present. Occasionally, he takes a sip of black coffee, then rubs a hand over his beard, inhabiting the space with me. Nothing more.
I look up finally, realizing I’m a coward. I have to say it. Make it clear. Somehow.
I open my mouth, then close it again. Words roll around in my mind, then on my tongue.
How to say this?
Keep it simple, Clara.
Our eyes meet, then simmer. “Glad you’re here.”
He nods once. “Not a time to be alone.”
That’s it. That’s all.
But it feels like everything.