Page 9 of Surrender

He looks good. Too good for his late thirties. Sandy-brown hair clipped close on the sides and long enough on top to slip between your fingers. His nose is straight with a slight bump from a scuffle with one of his brothers, and there’s a sharpness to his jaw that didn’t exist the last time I saw him. His strong frame is obvious despite wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt.

I find it highly unfair that men get better with age, and I feel like with each year, I’m chasing the last few grains of sand in the hourglass before I turn into a wrinkled hag. Or a fucking midnight pumpkin.

A flush heats my cheeks at a long-buried memory. He even saw me naked once by accident.

I spent the entire month following that summer incident avoiding him, which wasn’t too hard because he seemed to avoid me too.

A notification sounds on my phone beside me. I squint at the harsh light to read an incoming email from the temp agency.

Urgent: Your Hiring Date Has Been Rescheduled.

Dammit!

I glean the short body of text quickly. Due to the incoming blizzard, the agency has postponed my start for next week. The position is for a patient scheduler at the local hospital. Considered full-time at thirty-two hours per week, it’s not much, but I don’t need a lot right now. I just need something to return me to the workforce after a few years without a job.

Returning to Fairview Valley might not have been the best choice of moves. The small size provides limited opportunities. I should have slapped my finger on a map and started somewhere brand new, but I sought comfort instead.

The throbbing in my temples pulses faster.

This is no big deal. So I rolled into town this morning thinking I was signing on a new house and about to start a new job. Instead, here I am in a motel without a place to live, and the job has been postponed.

A week delay isn’t so bad. I can use the time while my kids and I adjust to daycare to reacquaint myself with the place where I grew up. Of all my concerns, the approaching blizzard should monopolize my worry. I don’t have any necessities here to get me through a few days. I should call the front desk and ask if the motel has a kitchen area where I can store a bag of groceries.

New items join my mental to-do list as I double-check the locks on the door and turn out the lamp.

“Momma?” Lucy’s sweet voice calls out as the room plunges into darkness.

“Yeah, baby?” I ease into the bed beside Bennett and reach across his small body to lay my hand on Lucy’s back.

“We go sleep now?”

I brush her soft blond hair off her face. “We do. It’s time for bed.”

“I don’t like the dark here,” she whispers, scooting close to her brother’s side.

“The dark here isn’t any different from the dark in your old room, but I can pick up a small light tomorrow if you’d like.”

She nods against my hand. “Love you more than chocolate milk.”

“I love you more than cupcakes with sprinkles,” I whisper back.

“Love you more than rainbows.”

“I love you more than tickle fights.”

“I–I love you”—she yawns, the sound stretching out the vowels—“more than horsies.”

“I love you more than the entire world.”

As my little girl drifts off, I fall asleep right behind her, still sifting her soft strands of hair through my fingers.

* * *

A shrill cry snatches me from a dead sleep.

My eyes open to a disorienting darkness, hands frantically patting the bed in search of my kids. Once I confirm two warm little bodies beside me, my heart rate slows measurably as the evening floods back into my awareness.

I hear it again. Bennett stirs beside me, his arms stretched above his head as he wails. Loud. Not the sweet little cry of an infant. This one sounds angry. Full-bellied sobs. His chest seesaws with his labored breaths.

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