“I only just found him. And now he’s been taken away, too. Just like Steve.” Suddenly I’m angry. “It’s not fair! Why do I have to lose two men I love? Can’t it be someone else’s turn?” I’m shamed by that thought. This pain isn’t something I’d wish on anyone else. I shake my head sadly and sigh. “No, that’s not fair either.”
I look over at Austin, still sleeping on the couch. “At least I have a piece of Steve.” I stroke Austin’s blond head. “There’s nothing left of Sam.” I touch my belly lightly, wondering what it would have been like to carry Sam’s baby. But that will never happen. The tears start again, falling freely over my cheeks as I imagine the future I could have had. Sam by my side, a baby in my arms, the rest of my days filled with happiness and laughter, my nights spent next to the man I love. The ache in my chest grows until it feels like my heart is literally breaking. Tim tries his best to comfort me, wrapping me in a hug and just holding me as I purge myself of my grief. The sharp edges of pain dull after a while, but it doesn’t leave me. My whole body is weighed down with sadness, making me lethargic. When my shoulders stop shaking from sobbing, Tim hands me the tissues again and then rises.
“You need something stronger than water,” he says as he moves around the kitchen. He returns with a tumbler of amber liquid. I give it a quick sniff and the fumes make my eyes water. “Drink it. You’ll feel better.”
The alcohol burns a trail down my throat and into my stomach. I cough and wipe away tears that have nothing to do with grief. “Wow,” I splutter, “this stuff could knock out an elephant.”
“It’ll put hair on your chest,” Tim agrees. I take another sip and feel the weight of grief lift slightly. Despite the warmth of the summer evening, I’m suddenly cold. I rub my arms. “I’ll get a blanket,” Tim says when he notices my action.
“Actually, I’m feeling grimy as well as cold,” I tell him. “Could I use your shower?”
“Sure.” He hands me the bulging duffel bag that’s sitting next to the couch. I completely forgot about the bag I’d packed earlier in the night, before my house burned to the ground. “Go get started – I’ll bring you a clean towel.”
I stand slowly, my legs shaking from the exertion. “Thanks,Tim,” I say, and head for the bathroom.
I move mechanically, forcing my brain to stay on my task. I turn on the taps to get the shower heated. I toe off my sneakers and socks. When I strip out of my grubby jeans, I absently notice a hole in one of the knees. When did I do that? Then I notice a patch of grazed skin in the same spot as the tear. As if it had been waiting for me to acknowledge the wound, my knee starts throbbing. I shrug it off. It’s not nearly as sore as my heart. No wonder I hadn’t felt it before. I drop my sweater, t-shirt, and bra on top of the pile of discarded clothing and step into the cubicle.
The water is just shy of scalding, and I quickly adjust the temperature. I stand under the spray for a long time, letting the heat seep into my bones. I hear the bathroom door open and then close – Tim delivering the towel – and I’m once again alone with my thoughts. But instead of focusing on what a mess my life has become, I concentrate on the physical tasks of the shower. I rub my skin with a bar of Tim’s soap and let the water wash away the dirt. I squeeze a dollop of Tim’s shampoo into my hand and lather it through my red hair. The spray from the showerhead pounds my scalp as it rinses away the last of the dirt. I’m tempted to stand in this watery cocoon until the hot water runs out, but Tim might want a shower too and it would be a horrible way to repay his kindness – to deny him hot water in his own home.
There’s a fluffy green towel on a hook beside the shower door, which I use to dry my hair before wrapping it around myself. I rummage around in the duffel bag and eventually pull out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. I find a hairbrush and a toothbrush and turn to the mirror, which is fogged up thanks to all the steam from the hot shower. I use my hand to wipe away the condensation and consider my appearance. My face is red, like I’d been out in the sun for too long. I must have been closer to the blaze than I originally thought. The skin is tight, but the discomfort is manageable. I get dressed, brush my hair and teeth, and prepare to face the world.
I pad quietly back to the living room to check on Austin, and my heart stops in my chest when I don’t see him on the couch. I whirl around in panic. “I put Austin in my bed,” Tim says when I face him.
“Oh, thank God.” I sag a little with relief.
“And after you eat something, you’re going to join him.”
“I’m not hungry,” I say automatically.
“Too bad. You need to keep up your strength.”
I sit on the couch, and Tim brings over a plate of sandwiches and another serving of whiskey. He holds the plate out to me. “Eat,” he says gently. I pick up a small triangle of bread and take a bite. As the food hits my stomach, I discover that I’m actually ravenous. I wolf down two more triangles in quick succession and wash them down with the whiskey. “Feel better?” Tim asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “It was just what I needed.”
“I thought it would be. Now, to bed with you.”
“I can sleep here,” I say, leaning back into the couch.
He stands and offers me his hand. “Nope, you’ll sleep in a real bed.” I take it and rise, capitulating quickly – I don’t have any fight left in me.
“What about you?”
“I’ll be on the couch.”
I feel bad about taking Tim’s bed, but I don’t argue. It would be pointless and I’m exhausted. I climb under the covers next to Austin and snuggle into the pillow. “Hey, Tim,” I say from the edge of sleep, “I’m homeless. Would it be okay if we stayed with you for a few days?”
Tim lays a gentle kiss on my forehead. “You can stay as long as you like.”
“Thank you.” Sleep pulls me under.
Chapter 11
Evil Plans
Buford
“Ledger! Detective Timothy Ledger…of the LVPD!” Buford boomed out as he banged on the door. His men shifted behind him, prepared for the worst. A shuffling on the other side of the door had them reaching for their revolvers. Buford aimed an eye at the nearest one, who hesitated.
