Page 29 of The Grief We Hold

“If they have doughnuts, yes. If they don’t, you could maybe get a cookie or something.”

He puts his little shoulder against the dresser. “Let’s go, Momma. They might not have anything left by the time we get there.”

I could reassure him that it’s a bakery, open all day, and unlikely to run out of anything for a few hours. But I capitalize on his hustle.

“Lift, don’t push.”

We make it a few more feet, and even I feel tired.

I hear the truck pull up alongside us before I turn and see Wraith, face like thunder. His boots make a crunching sound when they land on the asphalt. “Where are you going with that?”

I look at the dresser, then at Wraith. “Hmm. Let me think. I saw a dresser on the road and said to Fen, ‘Why don’t we see how long it would take us to drag it the full length of Main Street for kicks?’”

Wraith folds his arms across his chest. I hate the way it makes his Henley-clad biceps pop and the way my body responds. “It was a simple question, Blue.”

“That already had an obvious answer. You saw my place. The dresser was free. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I promised Fen a doughnut if we get it to the bakery without issue.”

Fen looks up at Wraith. “Does the bakery sell doughnuts, Wraith?”

Wraith looks down at my boy, and for a millisecond, I swear his features soften. “Pretty sure it does, kid.”

“Do you like doughnuts?”

“Love ‘em. Could eat a whole box of six of them in one sitting if I had to.”

“Six?” Fen’s eyes widen. He’s never been allowed more than one at a time. Six probably sounds like the kiddo version of heaven.

“Well, as lovely as this interaction was, we need to get going before it rains or something,” I say.

The three of us look up at the utterly cloudless blue sky.

“Yeah. I can see why you might think that’s gonna happen.” He walks to the dresser and pulls the first drawer out before depositing it into the bed of his truck. The muscles in his arms flex as he moves, and I really shouldn’t be paying attention to how wide his shoulders seem or how capable his hands are.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He huffs a laugh and starts to grab the second one. “Guess I’m not the only one capable of asking obvious questions.”

“I don’t need begrudging charity. I don’t need your help when it’s obvious you’d rather be anyplace other than here.”

Wraith tosses the second drawer into the back of the truck, then pauses to unfurl a ten-dollar bill and hand it to Fen. “Go with your mom and get that doughnut. I’ll drive the dresser over to your place and leave this in the doorway for when you’re done.”

Fen gleefully takes the bill from Wraith’s hand, then surprises both of us by reaching to throw his arms around Wraith’s waist. “Thank you for helping us. It was heavy.”

Wraith looks uncertain for a second, then pats the top of Fen’s head before messing Fen’s hair. “You’re welcome, kid. Guess you’re the only one in your family with manners.” He tips his chin in the direction of the bakery. “Go get yourself a doughnut too.”

I think about my husband. How everything was earned, had consequence, required repayment. Nothing was ever freely done. So, I take the money from Fen’s hand and pass it back to Wraith, ignoring the sad look in Fen’s eyes.

He holds his hands up. “Not taking that back.”

Maybe it’s because I’m tired, still recovering from being so sick, and exhausted from trying to lug the heavy furniture the mile to our home.

Or maybe I’m just overwhelmed by the memories of the life I used to have and the fear I have of repeating that mistake.

So, I step into Wraith’s space and fold the note before putting it into the pocket of his leather cut. “I can’t afford to owe you.”

Wraith reaches for me, as if to touch my cheek, but then quickly draws his hand away. “You don’t owe me shit.”

“Men always say that.”

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