Page 11 of The Loophole

“Did you get rid of everything from before?”

“All the furniture got donated. The sentimental stuff is packed up in the attic.”

“Did any good come from the remodel?”

“Not really. I wanted it to feel like a fresh start, but when I look around I still see the past. It’s like looking at a double exposure. Have you ever seen one of those?” He shook his head, and I explained, “It’s where one photograph gets printed over the top of another, and you can still see both images. That’s what this house feels like. I look at my stainless-steel refrigerator, and I remember the funky shelves full of plants and cookbooks that used to be in that spot. The fridge was over there.” I pointed to the right. “It was white, and it had these souvenir magnets all over it that I used to collect when I was a kid. There was one from every place I visited.”

I stopped talking, because I really didn’t want to start crying with an audience. In the next instant, Embry grabbed me in a fierce hug, which was startling. I didn’t know what to do, so I held up my hands like someone had a gun on me. “Want to go up to the attic right now and bring some stuff down? I’ll help you,” he said. “It won’t be the same as before, but you don’t have to live in a museum. Not if you don’t want to.”

“Thanks, but I’m not ready to face it.”

“Okay. If you change your mind, let me know.”

When he let go of me, I covered my embarrassment by busying myself with the wine. As I pulled another decanter out of the cabinet, Embry asked, “Can I help?”

“Sure. If you want to take those glasses to your friends, I’ll follow with the wine.”

He began to gather the wine glasses into the crook of his arm. I was about to offer him a tray when one fell onto the floor and shattered. He muttered, “Oops,” and tried to shift the remaining glasses, but he lost control of them and they fell with a huge crash. He looked completely distraught as he exclaimed, “I’m so sorry! I’ll clean it up.”

“No, don’t?—”

Before I could stop him, he tried to pick up a shard of glass and gasped in pain as he cut his finger. When he clutched it to his chest, a blood stain appeared on his pink sweater.

I grabbed a clean dishtowel and said, “Give me your hand.” It was shaking as he held it out, and I quickly wrapped the towel around it to slow the bleeding.

His big, blue eyes were filling with tears. “I’m so sorry,” he said again. “I always screw everything up.”

“Don’t worry about it. I need to see how bad your injury is, but first we need to get away from all this broken glass and rinse off the blood. Is it okay if I pick you up?” He was wearing fabric slip-on shoes with thin soles, and the last thing I wanted was for him to step on a shard and cut himself again.

When he nodded, I scooped him into my arms. He was surprisingly light. His friends had rushed over and were all talking at once, but I hurried past them and carried Embry down the hall to the guest bathroom.

I sat him down on the vanity, and while he held his hand under running water, I found the first aid kit in one of thedrawers. Yolanda had followed us, and she told me, “I’m a nurse. Does it look like a deep cut?”

“I’m not sure yet. Is someone watching the dog to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself on the broken glass?”

“Yeah, Hal picked him up when he ran inside.” She shut off the water and examined the cut before wrapping the towel around it again. “I don’t think it’ll need stitches. Let’s see what’s in that first aid kit.” I handed it over, and as she fished out some supplies, she glanced at me and said, “You’re pretty good in a crisis.”

“I spent a lot of years working in kitchens. There were plenty of minor medical emergencies—knife cuts, burns, you name it.”

As Yolanda bandaged up his index finger, Embry told me, “I guess I should have mentioned this up front.”

“Mentioned what?”

“That I’m a total klutz. I should come with a warning label. If you don’t want to do this now because you don’t want me to wreck more of your stuff, I understand. And I’ll pay you back for the glasses, I promise. It might take me a little time because they looked expensive, but?—”

“You don’t have to pay me back.”

“They were really nice, though.”

“They don’t matter.”

“They don’t?”

“They were just stuff. You’re what matters, and I’m glad you weren’t seriously hurt.”

He offered me a sad little smile as Yolanda finished wrapping some first aid tape around his finger. Then she said, as she washed her hands, “Try to keep that dry, Embry. I’ll check it and rebandage it for you in the morning.”

“Thanks, Yo.”

---