She reached over and squeezed his hand. He squeezed back. This moment of solidarity and affection was her reward for all the days of work. She’d been right to spend time here. Right to help him.
“I’ve learned in my eighty years,” Wendell said, “that seasons of emotional hardship are like storm fronts. Powerful, yes. Damaging, yes. Scary when they’re on top of you. But alsopassing.”
She sat back in her chair and took a look at her life from way high up, from the view used by TV weathermen when they showed graphics of storm fronts. Over the years, she’d experienced so many sunny, temperate, quiet days. But there’d been vicious storms, too. “Rape should not have been a part of my story. It should not be a part of any woman, man, or child’s story.”
“You’re right.”
When Gavin had attacked her, he’d forced rape into her story. “That’s not what I wanted for myself.” With effort she kept her voice level. “That’s not how it should have gone.”
“I know,” Wendell said with all the compassion of a grandfather. “That’s not the way God wanted it to go for you, either.”
Many trauma survivors reached for drugs and alcohol to numb the pain. She’d reached for an island, solitude, and art. After enduring something brutal, it was so much harder to trust God because trust, in general, was no longer an easy thing to give. Not to God. Not to Jeremiah.
Knock knock.
She jumped.
Jeremiah was here. She made her way to the foyer and could hear Wendell ambling behind her as if she were in high school and he was coming to meet the boy who was picking her up for a date. Which was not at all the vibe she wanted here. But she couldn’t very well tell Wendell to hide himself away in his own house after he’d just been so kind.
She swung the door open and there was Jeremiah. More than six feet of lean muscle. His exercise clothes fit him like a dream, but it was his eyes that wielded the lion’s share of the power. They were slightly hooded and communicated equal parts strength and vulnerability. As usual, it was the vulnerability that got her.
This was fine! Everything was fine.
“Did you bring me Indian food this time?” Wendell asked, crowding next to Remy and winking at Jeremiah. He was referencing the fact that he’d asked if Jeremiah was the Indian food delivery guy the first time they’d met. “Chicken tikka masala is the most delicious dish ever created.”
“I’m afraid that I’m fresh out of tikka masala, Wendell.” Jeremiah grinned. “I’ll bring it next time.”
“Actually,” Remy announced, “I’m canceling Wendell’s imaginary Indian food order. Tikka masala is not a friend to his kidney disease.” She scooped up the credit card, ChapStick, and hairband she’d deposited on the entry table in preparation for the trip.
“You two kids be safe now,” Wendell said as she exited.
“Yes, sir,” Jeremiah said at the same time that she said, “We’re not kids.”
“What time should I expect you home?” Wendell asked Remy, mischief in his eyes.
“Very shortly, since Jeremiah and I can only get along for abbreviated periods.”
“Call me if you need anything,” Wendell said.
“And you’ll what? Come get me via ElderTransport?”
“If you two arrive home after dark and I turn the porch light on and off, that’ll be your signal to stop kissing and come inside.”
“This is not a date, Wendell!”
Chuckling, Wendell retreated into the house. They continued to Jeremiah’s BMW. Once inside, he looked across the interior at her with deep affection and amusement, though she’d done nothing funny.
Butterflies flapped tiny, tingly wings within her stomach. “Are we leaving now?” she asked impatiently.
They started off.
“Do you realize what today is?” she asked.
“The one-month anniversary of the day you rescued me.”
“Drat. I wanted to make you guess.”
“I remember everything about you, Remy.”
