Before I can take another step, Sterling has his arm around my waist. “Go slow.”
“Thank you.” It’s only about ten feet, but I welcome his support and his muscular strength, a notable trait in the Lawless gene pool. Being closer, I can see the salt and pepper in his hair and the wrinkles around his hazel eyes, barely giving away his age.
“Holler if you need anything.” He waits for me to clear the doorway before closing me in so I can do what I need.
I take care of business, wash my hands, and splash cold water on my face. I pull open the drawer under the sink, assuming that’s where my brush is. When I don’t find it, I go for the small built-in cabinet above the light switch. It’s not there, but something else is.
Pills. Lots of pills. Bottles of pills, some over the counter, most with Ben’s name printed on the label. Muscle relaxers, anti-inflammatories,opioids…depression and anxiety medications.
I shouldn’t have snooped. That wasn’t for me to discover. I slam the little wood door shut and try like hell to tell myself I didn’t see it at all.
I tug at the mirror, and when it pops open, I finally find my brush. I also find a pink toothbrush and an array of beauty products, none of which are mine.
Painful yearning hits me like a shock. Guilt plagues me. Remorse consumes me. Regret overpowers me, tightening around my throat and stabbing at my heart. I wrap my fingers around the ledge of the counter and drop my head. I practice breathing—slow, long, even, but it makes it worse.Shit.This panic attack is going to be strong, and it’s coming on too fast.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I will my brain to remember something else, anything else. The fact that Ben has a cabinet of another woman’s stuff in his bathroom shouldn’t bother me, but it does. That’s just the nail in the coffin, though. What’s pulling me under and sucking the life out of me is discovering that Ben has to take an entire pharmacy—because of me.
The pain I caused him wasn’t just physical. I knew what happened messed with his head, but I never thought that it was so bad that it’s still affecting him to this day. I showed up and didn’t even consider that. How selfish. God, I’m the worst.
The back of my eyes burns, and my bottom lip quivers. A bevy of tears blurs my vision, and in the blink of an eye, the dam breaks. I don’t want his parents to hear me fall apart, so I stifle the sob that’s lodged in my throat and grab a towel to muffle the sound.
A soft knock comes, and Vera asks, “Is everything okay?”
I suck in uneven breaths enough to squeak out a couple of words. “Yeah, fine.” Then I press my lips together, holding my breath, forcing the agony to stay where it’s been uncomfortably living for over a quarter of my life.
“Okay, good. I hope you don’t mind, but I saw your travel bag on the counter, and I noticed your toothbrush was thrown in with your other things. My dental hygienist’s heart couldn’t bear the thought of all that bacteria just having a party on the bristles, so I ran to the store this morning to get you a new toothbrush because Bennett didn’t have an extra. Can you believe that? Who doesn’t have at leastonespare toothbrush lying around? My son, apparently.” She adds with a huff.
“He’s a single man, Vera, he doesn’t need more than one toothbrush,” Sterling’s voice booms from the living room.
“What would he do if he dropped his in the toilet?” she asks in a panic.
“How on God’s green earth would that happen?”
“Well, I don’t know, but it’s possible. We’re talking about the same child who got his belt loop stuck on the pantry door because he climbed it to steal chocolate chips.”
“He wasseven,” Sterling shouts.
Vera harrumphs. “Just last year, he turned on our disposal with my mother’s sterling silver spoon in it!” Her voice gets scratchy at the end, and I snort-laugh.
I hear heavy footsteps, and then Sterling’s voice is right outside the door, too. “If poor Annie didn’t already have a headache, I’m sure we just gave her one with all this shouting.”
“Oh no! Ben sure won’t be happy with us if we did. He gave us explicit instructions to take good care of you. Did we give you a headache, sweetheart?”
Even though I’m on the verge of a breakdown from the guilt and the shame. From the reminder of Ben calling me that. The soft tone of a concerned mother I never had. The ridiculous banter between loving parents. The kindness of people who should hate me.
For the first time in a really long time, I don’t feel totally and completely alone.
“You didn’t give me a headache.”
“Wonderful. Oh, and feel free to use any of the other items in the cabinet. I got them while I was at the store for you, just in case you’d need them.”
“Thank you. I’ll be right out.” Miraculously, I don’t sound like I’ve been crying.
“Take your time, dear. I’ll get a plate warmed up for you.”
She’s so nice. Too nice to me. I think the shock of her kindness chased the panic away, and I take advantage, even though I’m not deserving.
I open the new toothbrush, apply minimal makeup, and spritz on one pump of my fruity body spray. The walk to the kitchen is quick, and my ankle feels less stiff.
