thirty-eight
Finally, Danny is drained and numb enough to stand and walk back to his house. Matteo and Slow bring him through the front door and into bed, and then Mary Ann gently helps him out of his shoes and shirt before touching his cheek and whispering in his ear. He takes her hand in his and nods.
“Callie?” she beckons. “Will you stay with Danny tonight? It’s what he wants.”
“Of course.”
I shoot my mom a text, letting her know that I won’t be home, and her reply is nothing but understanding.
When we are alone, I ease off his pants, and we move under the covers, neither of us saying a word until the lights are off and we are both settled in with Shallots snuggled up tightly against Danny’s feet.
He sighs and rubs his eyes. “I’m so sorry that you had to see all of that. Seemelike that.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for. I don’t want this to be happening to you, but I want to be here for it. For you.” My head moves to rest against his chest, and I slip my hands under his back.
“At least it’s done. Over. She’s made everything clear.”
It’s never over when we first think it is. That’s something I know all too well.
When his alarm sounds early the next morning, I assume he’s going to shut it down and skip work. Paul would understand. But instead, he snoozes it only once and rolls into me for a snuggle.
“I shouldn’t be on this job site too late today. Can I come by later? I’d like to see your mom again.”
Given what he went through last night, he deserves to sleep in and also take a few days off.
“Sure. Of course.” I’m barely awake enough to reply, but I know that he sounds way too chipper, given what went down last night. Still, I don’t say anything about that.
“Can Shally hang out with you today? We’re doing demo with another one of Paul’s crews, and I’m always afraid someone’s gonna throw a bathtub out of a second-story window or demolish a deck without warning. God forbid he’s underfoot.”
“Of course.”
His mouth wanders across my neck, kissing me, licking my skin, tasting me, but then he groans. “Ugh. I really have to get ready.” He hops out of bed and starts for the shower. “By the way, your mom was a beast last night. I didn’t know she had it in her.”
“I hope she didn’t go too far,” I start.
He shakes his head. “No. She and Paul did what I couldn’t do. They’re both tougher than I am.”
“Doubtful.” I sit up. “Hey, do you want breakfast? I could make you something.”
He’s too upbeat, too happy.
“Nah, I’m good. But can you feed Shallots? Then, I’ll drop you at your place.”
“Of course.”
On the ride home, he blasts Def Leppard’s live version of “Armageddon It” so loudly that it’s impossible to talk, which I think is the purpose of the volume. While it’s entertaining to see him use the steering wheel as a drum set and I laugh at his lip-syncing and sitting dance moves, I also know that no one who has been through what he has could possibly be this happy. Yet I cannot argue with his need to escape right now.
When he reaches my house, I lower Shallots to the gravel and circle around the truck to kiss him. “See you tonight?”
“Of course!” The music cranks back up as he flies away.
The house smells like a bakery, and I find still-warm blueberry muffins in a tin on the stovetop. Though perplexed, I grab two and fill mugs with the fresh coffee in the carafe. I wander around the house until I find Mom outside on my beloved back porch.
“Hey. Did you make these muffins?”
“Hey back. And I did. It was hard to resist those blueberries from the farm. You probably don’t remember, but I used to bake a lot.”
I hand her a cup and a muffin and sit down.
