Page 69 of Quiet Beautiful Things

I can’t help but think back to the hug. The hug that was more than a month in the making. I feel it was just the beginning. And I hope Blake realizes that Bolt isn’t the only one in Maisy's life making her happy. I see the bond Blake and Maisy are forming. It’s getting stronger by the day. It’s becoming palpable. Maybe it takes an outsider to notice because it wasn’t the insta-bond one would hope for when meeting their child for the first time, but it’s happening. Slowly and surely. Day by day. Moment by moment. They are becoming a family.

Blake gets out the bag of cat food and a measuring cup. He shows Maisy how to scoop the food up and pour it in the bowl.

I’m amused at the lengths Blake went to prepare for having a pet. The food and water bowls have cat paw prints etched into them. They both nestle into an intricate metal stand that is elevated off the floor by a few inches.

Maisy dumps a scoop of food into the bowl on the left, looking up at Blake for approval.

He nods, then hands her the second bowl and points to the kitchen sink. She scurries over, climbs up on the stepstool in front of it, and fills the bowl smack dab to the very top. Water sloshes out with each step she takes back across the room. When she realizes what a mess she’s made, her smile fades and she looks up at Blake, frightened.

As soon as he sees her face, I know what he’s thinking. Mostly because I’m thinking the same thing.Did she used to get in trouble for making messes?

He gets a dishrag, wipes up the spilled water, then smiles and dabs the end of her nose with it.

She relaxes and sets the bowl carefully into the stand. But the stand is angled, so some water trickles out. She tries to take the dishtowel from Blake, but he doesn’t release it, and they start playing tug-of-war. Soon, they’re both smiling and laughing. I stand back and watch them have this moment, not underestimating the significance of it.

Today has been a turning point in their relationship. All it took was one unwanted kitten to bring father and daughter together.

“Dinner?” Blake asks sometime later.

I look at the clock on his living room wall. It’s way past the time when I normally leave. I wonder if it’s because I’ve been enjoying watching Maisy so much, or if I’m trying to pass the time so I don’t think about Sierra.

“I should go,” I sign.

Blake:No, don’t. I know you think eating here will send Maisy the wrong message. But I’m not ready for you to leave. Stay. Not because it’s your job, but because you want to. I’ll feed her a quick dinner. We can just talk.

I give in, happy for the distraction.

While he whips up a quick dinner of grilled cheese, broccoli, and applesauce, I study a map on my phone. The drive to Chicago is twelve hours. If you account for stopping for gas and food, it may take as many as fourteen. Her plan was to get there before Grant leaves for work, park around the block, and watch him go. That means she’s most likely left New York by now.

Anxiety crawls up my spine. Have I made a mistake getting involved in her family business? Have I just gone and put her in danger? What was I even thinking? Having second thoughts about all of it, I text her, hoping to catch her before she goes. Maybe we need to think about this some more. I stare at my phone knowing the lack of response means she’s already gone. And I don’t have any means to get in touch. No way to know where she is, if she even makes it out with her mom, or how they’re doing. I should have asked her to stop along the way and check in with me. Better yet, I should have bought her a new phone so we could communicate.

A hand lands on my shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” Blake asks.

I don’t say anything. I just stare at Maisy and watch how she won’t even put down the cat to eat. She holds him in her lap, eating one-handed.

Blake: I know something is bothering you, El. I’ve been flirting with you all afternoon and it’s like I’m not even here. Is there something you need to tell me?

I swallow. I should tell him. I should tellsomeone. But then I think back to what I read earlier. About how with every person told, there is an increased chance of abuse victims being located by their perpetrators. I can’t tell him. No matter how much I want to.

Blake: Seriously, what’s going on? You are definitely not your usual self. Have you met someone else and are afraid to tell me?

My head shakes vehemently. Maybe too much. I dial it back.

Me: It’s not that.

Blake: Good. Because I can’t tell you how much I’ve wanted to kiss you all night. That shirt looks really good on you. And now that I know what’s underneath…

It’s hard not to smile as my face heats up.

“There she is,” he says, his shoulders shaking as he chuckles.

Me: Sorry. I’ve just been distracted.

“Work?” he asks.

I shake my head.

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