“The housekeeper picks them out. If you don’t like them, I can toss them.”
“No, no. They’re pretty.” I reach over and pluck a blossom. The divine scent soothes the jagged edges in my chest.
“You can use the shower first.” He takes me inside a gigantic en suite bathroom, complete with a Jacuzzi tub and a separate stall. Everything’s shiny and spotless. Top of the line.
“The towels are fresh. Housekeeping swaps them out every day. Here are the spare dental kits, including a toothbrush. If you need anything, just holler.”
“Okay.”
Once he’s sure I’ll be all right, he leaves. I brush my teeth first, trying to get the taste of cheap tequila out of my mouth.
Here, the hot water comes out instantly. I slip out of my flip-flops, strip off the sweatshirt and pants, then stand under the scalding water. My fingertips and toes prickle as they warm up. It feelsamazinglygood. Reminds me that I’m alive, and life has to go on.
My eyes burn, and I let the tears fall again. It feels liberating to cry. And to feel kindness from somebody who knows me and my grandparents.
Since Monday, so many people tried to show me sympathy, but I could sense their unease, something people often feel when a person they don’t know has died and they aren’t sure of the appropriate level of sadness to display to avoid looking fake.
All Grant has shown is true grief, like he’s sharing the pain I’m feeling. And the burden and grief I’ve been carrying since Monday seem a little less crushing now.
I use the body wash and shampoo in the stall. They smell like fresh pine forest—like him. When I’m done, I notice thick, fresh towels hanging on what looks like a short ladder attached to the wall outside the shower stall. I take a towel, and it’swarm. It feels positively toasty on my bare skin, and I sigh how the little luxury makes me feel more human.
I dry myself and slip into a bathrobe. I’m pretty sure it’s Grant’s, but I don’t have anything clean to wear.
I step out of the bathroom, my hair a little damp. I still feel raw, but at least I’m warm. Seeing Grant makes me feel… I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. But knowing that there’s somebody with me is mildly comforting.
“It’s all yours,” I say.
He points to a hair dryer on the bed. “You can use that. I’ll be right back.”
He hurries into the bathroom, and the spray starts.
I dry my hair, then perch on the edge of the mattress and stare out the window at the dark sky. Raindrops continue to streak the glass. It’s quiet and peaceful in here.
How many women have been in this room?Yvette, most definitely. Even though she was worth only two hearts, she was his girlfriend. I suspect there were more, but I didn’t check for other names with hearts next to them.
“What are you thinking about?” comes Grant’s voice from behind me.
I gaze at his reflection. He’s only in a towel, since I took his robe. I consider not saying anything, but why hide it? “I was just thinking about all the women who were here before me.”
He sits next to me. He smells amazing, clean and woodsy. “I’ve never brought a woman into this bedroom. Actually, nobody’s really been allowed in my home except the staff, my brothers…and my mom that one time.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Not even your father?”
“Definitelynot him.”
He shifts, and I notice tattooed lines on his shoulder. They weren’t there before.
“What are these?” I ask, tracing the first few with my index finger.
He tenses for a second, then lets out a small laugh. “They’re to mark each year I was away from you. There are fourteen total.”
I lift my head, stare into his self-deprecating gaze, then count the lines on his shoulder. Sure enough, there are exactly fourteen.
He continues, “I told myself I did it to celebrate that I was impervious to you, but in retrospect, what I was really doing was marking time. Like a prisoner stuck in a dungeon without windows, wondering when he’d be let out.”
I run a fingertip down the lines. My heart flutters, more than when he told me he loved me, more than when he recited all the little details from our past. A small, cynical and cautious part of me clung to the thought he was just saying that to get me to come down off the balcony rail—that he couldn’t really mean it. But this… It’s obviously been done over a long period of time, and the first one on the top is slightly lighter than the one on the bottom, which must’ve been done more recently.
I kiss the faintest line inked to his warm skin fourteen years ago. Maybe Grandpa knew how Grant felt about me, whether he said the words or not. My grandfather was always wise about matters of the heart, which is why he asked Grant to take care of me. He needed to make sure his baby girl was going to be okay, and he’d never entrust me to the hands of somebody he deemed unworthy. And he did his best to reassure me as he was passing away that I wouldn’t be left on my own.
