“But you didn’t.” I couldn’t rationally explain my understanding of this man—but I knew he wouldn’t be content being lazy.
“No, I didn’t. I went back to work. Idle hands and all that.”
I cocked my head.
“Idle hands are the devil’s tools.” He held my gaze. “No?”
I shook my head.
“Ah. An expression Marty loved to use—as justification for keeping so damn busy. He was always on the go…and therefore didn’t have time to get into mischief. There’s an etymology to go with that.” He scratched his cheek. “And now I feel like I want to look it up.”
“Okay.” I wasn’t quite certain where he was going with this. “So you went back to work so you wouldn’t…get up to mischief.”
He grinned. “Something like that. Shower now and we’ll eat. Here—I’ll open the windows and turn on the ceiling fan. That’ll get the air moving.”
“Thank you.” The words felt completely inadequate—but they were all I could offer up.
“My pleasure, Andre. I’ll take care of you, okay? Just…trust me.”
“I do. Truly.”
And I did.
Maybe I shouldn’t have…but I did.
Chapter Five
Zahir
My pleasure, Andre. I’ll take care of you, okay? Just…trust me.
As the hot water hit my back, I winced. Both at the tightness in my shoulder and the ridiculousness of my words. This young man had no reason to trust me—let alone believe I’d take care of him. I should never have said anything so…bold.
Marty would be laughing his ass off.
Because I’d always been the nurturer of the two of us. He’d been the one to take risks and reap rewards. I was happy being behind the scenes. Doing whatever I could to make our homelife as wonderful as possible. The polar-opposite thing worked for us.
As I washed the day away, I tried to focus.You’ve offered him protection. He needs you to care for him. He needs…guidance. That you can do. Just don’t steamroll him.I’d never had to worry about that with Marty. He loved playtime even more than cuddle time, and he was never shy about letting me know what he needed from me. Not another soul in the world knew about his pup side. We’d kept all that to ourselves.Even though he’d been gone for more than a year, telling Andre was something I should’ve hesitated to do.
Marty…you forgive me, right? I was just trying to make him comfortable. To let him know I wasn’t going to judge him.
My husband didn’t answer, of course. He never did. But his presence was always with me.
As I finished washing my hair—again offering gratitude for hot water on demand—I tried to picture how the next day or so might work.
Andre would need to find the courage to call Demetrius. I couldn’t do that for him.
Hopefully the older brother would be welcoming to the younger. If all went well, there might be some kind of embrace. Reconciliation. A forging of a new relationship.
I finished washing my hair. I kept it a little longer than I used to. That felt right. A different look from the one Marty preferred. As I stepped out of the shower—feeling much less grungy—I took stock. I didn’t often. The mirror never felt like my friend. And not because of the aging thing. But because I wasn’t so quick with a smile. Because I’d taken some hard knocks. I’d missed my grandparents’ funerals. Acquiescing to the wishes of my parents rather than making a fuss. Grieving in private. Essentially doing the same for Marty because everyone was in pain. By the time I was ready to express my personal agony, everyone had sort of melted away.
I dried off, put on a pair of cargo pants and a loose cotton shirt, and headed downstairs.
To find Andre sorting the food.
Good. Glad he felt at home.
He gazed up sheepishly and pointed to his head. “No hair to wash.”
