“I’ve got you, babe. You kept it together, but you can let it out now. I won’t go anywhere.”
No more words escape as I cry into Bennett’s shirt, his body wrapped around mine helping to relieve my stress.
CHAPTER NINE
Sunlight pours from the open window on the other side of the room. It heats my face and forces me to open one eye before I’m ready. Right away I notice the bed is empty. Bennett made his exit sometime in the middle the night or early this morning. I don’t know. And even though I’m happier this way — who wants to wake up next to the guy you spent all night crying on? — I use the entire walk to the bathroom feeling disappointed. My feet drag on the carpet.
The upstairs is quiet but there’s a continuous banging of pans and loud muffled noises coming from downstairs while I brush my teeth with a finger and splash water on my face. I finish taking care of business, flush the toilet, and wash my hands, drying them by flapping them around in the air as I walk out of the bathroom since I couldn’t find a hand towel.
On the first floor the sounds increase in the area of the kitchen, and since they’re too loud to ignore, I hesitantly make my way there. Bennett could be torturing eggs this morning. It’s my responsibility to step in and give them an honorable death. After watching him last night, there’s no telling what I’ll find in his kitchen today. Especially unsupervised.
Yet in the living room there isn’t a small child watching cartoons and it’s not Bennett I find in the kitchen. Instead Dolores stands in front of the fridge, the door open and her head tucked inside.
She tosses a container of cottage cheese on the counter and closes the door. “That’s a nice shirt you have on,” she says, not sparing me more than a passing glance.
Huh? The lower my eyes get the more my cheeks turn red with embarrassment. I’m most definitely standing in Bennett’s kitchen wearing only the long T-shirt he gave me last night and my underwear. Thankfully, the shirt falls low enough it’s not like she can see anything. But had I known it wasn’t Bennett in here I would have taken the time to change back into the scrub pants. Maybe.
Walking around in a shirt felt like a better idea than putting on those dirty scrubs again. What I really need is a shower.
“This is not what it looks like.”
She tilts her head, squinting at me from behind an oversized pair of glasses. “I’m hearing that a lot lately.”
I take two steps toward the kitchen counter with my hands held out. “My bakery window was shot yesterday, and someone died, and I didn’t want to put on scrubs, and Bennett said I couldn’t go home, and I swear we didn’t sleep together.”
Dolores doesn’t say anything. She just stares at me for a few seconds.
“Okay, I mean we did sleep together, but only sleep because I was crying. Mad Dog died…” When she doesn’t say anything I keep going “and the scrubs.”
“There, there.” She walks around the other side of the kitchen and pats me on the back, steering me to one of the stools. “I heard you had an eventful day.”
“Ugh. Pearl called?” I question resting my head in my hands.
She laughs. “Yes, but the paper picked it up, too.” From the other side of the fridge she pulls out a thin folded over newspaper and slaps it down on the counter.
I release a strangled “ugh” sound. Right there, on the very front page, in big bold type face is the headline, Bakery Shooting. One Dead.
“Don’t fret. These things happen to everyone.”
They happen to everyone? Maybe in Pelican Bay, but not where I’m from.
“The boys are fishing down at the pier. It’s one of their rituals Bennett tries to never miss. Let me make you an egg. One of the guys Bennett works with dropped off your clothes earlier this morning. I put the bag in the downstairs bathroom.” She points to the closed door between the kitchen and dining room hallway.
It’s uncharacteristic to let someone cook for me, but the thought of clean clothes is enough to get me to agree to anything. I scramble into the bathroom and find a small black gym bag sitting on the counter by the sink. There’s no time for me to worry who went through my apartment and packed for me, but it doesn’t take long to figure it out. When I pull back the zipper a note flops out.
Scribbled out on one of the promotional postcards I had made up for the bakery is a note. In thick black pen it says, “I hope I grabbed everything you’ll need for your stay with Bennett. Good luck, Tabitha.”
I dig around in the bag looking for a long pair of jeans and a T-shirt but the top layer of clothes is unacceptable. I don’t even know how Tabitha found the cute little pink teddy. I keep it hidden in the very back of my underwear drawer just in case one day I need it. The next item I pull out is a black lacy number I know she didn’t find in my apartment because I don’t own anything like this. It’s totally see-through and I spend way too long looking at it from every angle before I crumple it into a ball and shove it in the bottom of the bag. I’m not sure if it’s a shirt or lingerie. But I am sure I won’t be wearing it.
Tabitha is definitely going to pay for this.
At the very bottom of the bag I find a pair of stone washed jean shorts and a white tank top, the words “I bake pretty things” written in glitter across the chest. It’s the best I can do unless I want to wear the vanity shirt I received as a going away gift from the diner that says “eat me” on the chest with a picture of a cupcake below it. Half the clothes in the bag aren’t even mine. I would never attempt to wear a size two pair of ripped jeans. I didn’t even know they made clothes in a size so small. It has to have come from Katy’s wardrobe.
No one who works at a bakery is wearing a size two.
I repack the best I can and spend a few minutes finger combing my hair before I chance a look in the mirror. It’s a shock, but I don’t look half bad. Better than I expected.
“Okay, Nessa. It’s time to get out there and get it together.” I repeat the saying two more times before it kicks in. I can do this. Some shit happened yesterday, but when I walk out this bathroom door it is a new day… in new interesting clothes, and I’m going to make the best of it I can. Today is not the day I sit around and cry. That’s done now. Today is the day I work on rebuilding.
