“You want to wash your hair?” he says.
“I’m too tired to?—”
He reaches for a water cup I left on the counter this morning when we were getting ready. He dumps out the extra into the sink, and I watch him wordlessly as he fills it up with hot water and carefully pours it over my head, scrubbing gently.
“All I have is the 2-in-1 shampoo you hate,” he tells me.
I manage a laugh. “I snuck in some good stuff when you weren’t looking at the general store.”
He gives me a bright smile.
“Want me to go get it, or you want me to stay here?”
“You can go get it. And I’ll take that hot toddy too.”
“All right. But don’t clean the fun bits without me,” he says.
That makes me laugh, and even more of the trepidation and doom and gloom of the vision leaks away with the sound.
I take my time scrubbing, thinking while he’s gone.
I enjoy the quiet, even though I do awfully miss him already.
The sound of him pitter-pattering around in the kitchen is comforting, and I like that I can hear it over the noise of the water running in the tub.
It feels almost normal.
Completely opposite of the vision that just had me laid out in the driveway.
“Albatross,” I say out loud.
That’s the bird.
There’s a shiver even though the water’s hot enough that it’s nearly uncomfortable.
“Albatross. Bursting glass. Snake.” The words echo weirdly around the bathroom.
I shake my head. I don’t know what it means, but I don’t like it.
Caleb knocks before entering. I’m half submerged up to my chin now, and the hot water’s doing its job soothing all my aching muscles and slowing my still too-fast heart rate.
“Did you say something?” Caleb asks.
I glance over. He’s got the hot toddy in one hand and the bottles of shampoo and conditioner threaded between the fingers of his other hand.
“Yeah, I said something,” I tell him.
Water sloshes as I sit up more, my wet hair sticking to my shoulders and neck. I hold out my hand, and he gives me the hot toddy. I sip it, and he surprises me by squirting the rosemary shampoo in my hair and starting to scrub gently while I drink.
“You want to tell me what it is you said?” he asks.
It’s gentle, no pressure, and I nod as he works through my hair.
“I think something’s going to go wrong at the ritual,” I say.
“Was that what it was?” he asks.
I like that he doesn’t second-guess me or try to interpret the vision himself.
