“Hmmm.”
“Aunt Emmy.” The whisper came again. I felt a poke in my arm.
Slowly, I peeled my eyes open. Charlie’s face was about an inch from mine. Where was I?
The living room swam into view as Charlie backed off. “Why are you sleeping on Luke?” he asked in a normal tone of voice, and I felt the pillow under my head jerk.
Nope, not a pillow. Luke and I had been asleep on the couch, with him propped up on his back, and me on my side between his legs, cuddled up to his chest. His arms were around me. I could hear him exhale, then yawn. “Hi, Charlie,” his deep voice rumbled in my ear.
I sat up slowly, rubbing my neck. Mother of pearl, my neck was stiff, and my arm was aching. Suddenly I jolted completely awake. “Oh no, what time is it?”
Charlie studied the huge (yet valueless) watch he wore that I had unearthed in the attic. “If this is still right, it’s 7:17 AM.”
“I thought I was late to work,” I sighed, rubbing my neck again, then Luke’s fingers pushed mine out of the way and took over. Oh Lord, that felt so good.
Wait a minute.
“What are you doing here?” I asked him curiously.
“Do you remember me coming last night?” he responded.
I thought back to the Annie, and the bar, and Nick. I closedmy eyes and shook my head to clear it, and Luke stopped rubbing. “I came and you were upset. So I stayed.” His fingers resumed the gentle massage.
I remembered the ride home with Annie, and wondering who on earth had given her a driver’s license. Then I had stood in the shower. Then Luke came, and I cried, and cried, and cried as he held me.
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 onhis 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?”
