“Give me your socks,” she said while Daisy looked up, eyes heavy with sleep.
“Socks?” Rose replied but did as she was told.
Lizanne mixed the garlic with the olive oil in a little bowl she’d also brought. Then, she walked up to Rose, the tincture in her hands. “Feet up please. I’m going to massage this in. Then we put your socks back on. It’ll suck out the illness.”
“Is this some Regency hack you learned on the show?”
“No, however, it’s an old wives’ tale. It probably does nothing.”
Lizanne rubbed the oil into the soles of her feet, her thumbs working the tension out of Rose’s arches. She pulled the socks over them and drew the duvet up. Rose looked at her from the pillow.
“Thank you,” Rose said. “Even if it doesn’t work, it felt nice. And thanks for everything.”
“The eggs were a tragedy,” Lizanne said. “The soup is the least I could do.”
Rose almost smiled. “I wasn’t talking about the soup.”
Lizanne didn’t say anything. She just let her hand rest on Rose’s ankle for a beat longer than necessary.
Daisy, who had watched the garlic ritual with great seriousness, lay down on top of the duvet between them and was asleep in thirty seconds.
Lizanne sat in the quiet. Rose’s breathing slowed. Daisy’s hand found Lizanne’s at some point and closed around one finger.
Lizanne thought about the apartment in Burbank. The years of cinema floors and bus routes and auditions that went nowhere. All the distance between that empty life and this crowded room. She thought about the card in the bin, about Jeremy, and about how good it had felt to take care of Rose and Daisy this morning. She closed her eyes and listened to the silence in the house without moving.
Chapter 25
Rose
Rose woke up before Lizanne. She lay still for a moment, taking stock. Her throat was sore but manageable. Her head was clear. Through the curtains the morning light was already warm and the house was quiet in the way it got when Daisy was still asleep.
She turned her head. Lizanne was on her back beside her, one arm thrown over her eyes, breathing slowly. Still in yesterday’s clothes because she hadn’t wanted to leave Rose alone long enough to change. Rose looked at her for a long moment and felt the full weight of the last two days settle over her.
Lizanne had made terrible eggs and held Daisy while the smoke alarm screamed. Daisy had told her this yesterday evening, in awe of Lizanne’s kitchen towel-wielding skills. Lizanne had rubbed garlic oil into the soles of her feet without being asked. She had been there for her. Without cameras. Without anything.
She got up quietly and went to shower. She stood under the spray and let the heat work on her shoulders and thought about nothing, which was a luxury she hadn’t had in days. She was just beginning to feel like herself again when she heard the bathroom door.
Lizanne appeared on the other side of the glass, her hair a mess, her eyes searching.
“Daisy?” Rose asked.
“Still asleep.” Lizanne looked at her through the steam. “How do you feel?”
“Better.”
Lizanne stood there for a moment. Then she stripped her shirt and panties off, opened the shower door and stepped inside.
The space was large enough for two only if they stayed close. Rose looked at her and that sweet spot between her legs throbbed.
She reached out and pushed the wet hair back from Lizanne’s face. Lizanne’s eyes closed briefly. That small involuntary thing, that leaning in — Rose had been watching her do it for days now and it still caught her every time. Lizanne was so careful with herself in every other context. Only here, only like this, did she just lean in.
Rose kissed her.
Slowly at first. Lizanne kissed her back with both hands at her waist and Rose felt her exhale and pulled her closer. Lizanne stood in the steam and let her.
Rose took her time. She kissed her jaw, her neck, the curve of her shoulder, the base of her throat — staying at each place until she felt the response, the catch of breath, the shift in how Lizanne was holding herself. Lizanne’s hands moved to Rose’s face and stayed there. She was trying to be still. Rose could feel the effort of it in the tension across her shoulders, the deliberate way she kept her breathing even.
Rose pressed her lips to her collarbone and felt her swallow.
