Page 25 of Keep You Close

CHAPTER SIX

AJ

We fell into a comfortable kind of domestic partnership. One where I would go to work, then come home to find that Atlas had done an online grocery order to save me from having to go out and do it, just bring it in and put it away.

Then I would make dinner.

And he would usually work at my puzzle or toss Samson’s toys across the house for him while I cooked.

I helped him transfer from the couch to the chair and back again, so he didn’t fall.

Some days, his family perceptively had come around when I was gone to help him get in and out of the shower because he was clean and changed and there was a new shower chair in the hall bathroom.

Occasionally, there would be food in the fridge that his loved ones had dropped off. Some of them even came with cards with little scribbles or sketches from, obviously, the children.

Each time I saw one of those things, my heart squeezed a bit in my chest, seeing how big his circle was, how loved he was.

I wondered if he appreciated it. Because I constantly found him on a laptop that appeared one day, scouting out new trips to take, ones that wouldn’t be as physically taxing on him as he was still weak and recovering.

He was in such a hurry to get well… just to leave again.

I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

But, I guess, we came from different lives. And I couldn’t begin to understand why Atlas lived the way he did. Not without details about his life.

“What are you doing?” I asked, coming into the kitchen to find Atlas on his office chair with the back door opened, letting in the cool air.

“Christ,” he hissed, wincing as he looked over at me. “Seems like your old lady hobbies are rubbing off on me.”

“You’re watching the birds, aren’t you?” I asked.

“The bluejays won’t let the cardinals eat the peanuts.”

“The cardinals can eat out of the feeder,” I told him. “The jays are too big. Don’t feel too bad for the cardinals.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “Samson is chasing the leaves.”

“He might not be the brightest dog, but he sure is entertaining,” I said.

“How long have you had him?” Atlas asked.

I felt myself tense. A knee-jerk reaction whenever anyone asked me about things that involved my past.

“A few years,” I told him. “He was the cutest puppy.” A tiny little bright spot in an otherwise dark period of my life. “A complete terror, but cute. He used to try to eat everything. He had this thing for socks. I used to have to keep all my laundry in a closed plastic container, or he would try to scarf them down.”

I used to live in fear that he would eat something that would cause an obstruction. And there would be no money for surgery. Then what? They’d put him down?

“You okay?” Atlas asked, brows pinched as he looked at me.

“Fine,” I said, forcing a smile as I tamped those memories down. “So, what do you want for dinner?” I asked.

“Sweetheart, you’ve been cooking nonstop for three weeks,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t you want a break? How about you take the night off?”

“We could do that,” I agreed.

I actually really loved to cook. I especially loved cooking for him. He was like a little kid each time you put a plate in front of him. Plowing in, gushing about it, demanding to know what was in it. He asked for seconds while complaining that he was gaining weight.

“I got an idea,” he said, eyes bright.

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