I was expecting anI’m sorryor some bullshit like that when she opened her mouth.
“It’s okay not to be okay.”Her words weren’t a whisper this time.They were clear and, I realized … validating.
I felt guilty for being pissed she was here.She’d just experienced a horrific trauma, yet she was standing here, giving me validation for the shit I was feeling.Telling me it was okay.Not that she knew what I was going through.But that my reaction to it was allowed.Something no one else had said to me.
Eight
Elsie
That was the darkness in his gaze.The turmoil that was brewing just below the surface.He was hurting.I understood that.My parents had been ripped from me.I’d not gotten a chance to tell them goodbye, or that I loved them, or that I was thankful to have them as my parents.But I also hadn’t watched them suffer.I hadn’t endured standing by helplessly while their bodies were attacked.He would get to say his goodbyes if the time came and his mother didn’t beat the disease.But I wasn’t sure if that wasn’t more horrific.Seeing her suffer and not being able to do anything to stop it would be a prolonged anguish.
He dropped his gaze back to the items he had pulled out of the fridge.“Would you like a sandwich?”he asked.
Not really.
“Would you like to be alone?”I wasn’t sure I wanted to be alone anymore though.Being around someone who was feeling the same ache inside while trying to manage life felt comforting.Not so lost or abandoned.
He lifted his gaze again.“I don’t think so.”
Did he feel that too?The relief almost easing slightly on the tight grip that seemed to have my chest at all times.
“Okay, then, yes, I’d like a sandwich.But you need bread,” I replied.
The corner of his lips quirked.“The pantry.I’ll get it.”
I watched him walk over to a door and open it, then disappear inside.Letting out a deep breath, I went to stand on the other side of the counter.He had gotten out a lot of items, but not any pickles.
“White, wheat, multigrain, croissants?What’s your poison?”he called out.
“White,” I replied.“Thank you.”
He emerged, carrying two brown bags in his hands.“I like white, too, but there was also sourdough.The bakery that Wilma gets it from makes killer sourdough.”
I wasn’t sure, but I thought Wilma may be the housekeeper/cook.I’d heard her mentioned at breakfast, but I had yet to see her.She was probably lost in one of the many rooms she had to clean.
He dropped both loaves onto the counter.“You need anything else?I think there is some ham in there if you don’t like turkey.”
“Um, do you have pickles?”I asked him.
“Probably five different kinds.What do you want?”
“Dill, please,” I replied.“The ones cut up in little round slices if you have those.”
He grinned, then opened the door to the fridge again and scanned the shelf before pulling out a jar.“Got ’em,” he said, setting it on the counter.
“Thanks.”
He handed me a knife.“I’ll let you slice your bread.Not sure how thin or thick you like it.”
I took it and the loaf he pushed toward me.While I took out the bread, my stomach rumbled a little.I’d barely eaten today, and suddenly, I was feeling hunger.Once I had my two slices, Forge held out his hand to take the knife back.
The cheese was in a fancy container, and I reached to take the lid off, then get two pieces.A fork appeared in front of me.
“For your pickle,” Forge said.
Oh, I didn’t need just one pickle.Twisting the lid off the jar, I stabbed several of them, then let the juice drip back inside before placing them on one slice of my bread.The cheese was on the other.Needing a few more, I went back in to get another forkful.I could feel Forge’s gaze on me as I began to line up the pickles until they covered the bread.My cheeks felt warm.
When I was finished, I finally glanced up at him.His brows were raised as he stared at my sandwich, then at me.
