Page 66 of Sometimes You Stay

Cretia tried not to picture the first stacks of magazines she remembered or the trash bags that began to pile up.

Finn smoothed down her hair, cradling her head against him. “Did she hurt you?”

“No. Not like that. Not like you mean.” Her stuttered breath released slowly. “She loved me. She just couldn’t let go of anything else after that. So she didn’t. She kept everything. Every piece of junk mail. Every store receipt. Every piece of clothing that I outgrew. She kept it all. Piles and piles of stuff. Everywhere. I tried to throw things away. I filled up the garbage bin and wheeled it to the curb before I got on the school bus. It was bigger than I was, but I had to do something. When I got home, she screamed at me. How could I have done something so cruel to her? How could I have thrown away the only things she loved?”

Finn took a deep breath above her ear. “What did you throw away?”

“Some catalogs and a few pairs of my abuelita’s shoes. They were so worn, and they had holes in them, and no one was ever going to be able to use them. They had been in the back of the closet. But ... the truth is, I don’t even think she knew what I had thrown out. Only that the trash bin had been at the curb when she got up. After that, I couldn’t risk it. Mom was the only person I had. And one day, it just tookover the house. I don’t remember when exactly. Maybe it came on slowly. I just remember waking up on the couch one morning during my senior year of high school—my room was filled from floor to ceiling with stuff—and I couldn’t find a path to the kitchen. I could feel the bugs crawling on me, but I couldn’t smell the stench of trash anymore. I’d become immune to it.” She wrapped her arms around her middle, a feeble attempt to ward off the memories that came flooding back in full Technicolor along with every sound and smell.

“And no one ever noticed?”

“Oh, they noticed. A few teachers took note in junior high when I didn’t have basic personal hygiene. They called Child Protective Services. Those who visited the house were horrified. But my mom swore she’d get the house cleaned up. They’d just stopped by on an off day. We were organizing.”

Cretia wasn’t sure she could handle a look of pity from Finn, but she risked a glance at his face anyway. She didn’t find condescension there. Instead, his eyes were filled with genuine sorrow.

“The truth is, I didn’t know if I could leave my mom. I just knew I couldn’t live like that anymore.” Even in his embrace, she managed to shrug. “I had been babysitting for a couple of kids off and on, and I asked their mom if I could stay with them. Just until I finished school.”

“So how did you end up with no permanent home?”

“After high school I started nannying for a rich family. They were both doctors and needed live-in help with their two kids. A few years later, they asked me to go on a cruise with them. That’s when I shot my first travel videos. Those early ones were tips for making the most of a cruise. I called them ‘Cruising with Cretia.’ Within a year, I’d earned enoughto fund more trips. And more videos. My reach kept growing, and the rest is history.”

“And that’s how they saved you.”

She nodded.

“Where’s your mom now?”

“Still in the same house as far as I know. I call to check on her every now and then.”

“But you haven’t seen her since you moved out?”

She would do anything to block out that memory, but the painful twist in her gut wouldn’t let her. Instead of going down that trail, she reached into her back pocket and pulled out her phone. “I guess I should get some video before we have to leave to pick up your cow.”

Sixteen

“Are you trying to make my cow a star?” Finn strolled up behind Cretia, looking over her shoulder at the screen in her hands.

“I’m afraid we’re past the trying stage.” A note of laughter filled her voice, and relief flooded him.

He’d wanted to know more about her—to understand where she’d come from and how she’d ended up a nomad. But hearing her story, feeling her tremble as the words spilled out on the beach three days before, had nearly torn him in two.

No one should have to carry the weight of memories like those. And the fact that anyone hefting that could find such joy in life, be so quick to laugh and strong in spirit, astounded him.Sheastounded him.

Slipping his arms around her from behind, he nuzzled her neck even as the dogs barked for their breakfast and Roberta glared in their general direction. The new addition to the barn looked up at them with big brown eyes through shaggy russet hair, his nose blowing hot breath at Cretia’s camera.

She leaned her head against Finn’s, her arms sagging into his embrace, an invitation to hold her close.

He hadn’t exactly waited for one. But now he knew he was welcome.

They hadn’t talked about the kiss since. He’d been busy settling the mini cow into his new home. She’d been busy fawning all over it, taking more pictures than a mother of a firstborn child. In the pasture. With the kids. And now in the last available stall in his barn.

The top of the cow’s head barely reached his waist—though it came a little higher on Cretia. “Perfect hugging height,” she’d declared, kneeling in the hay beside it.

He had to admit that the little one was pretty cute and infinitely patient. He’d suffered through Joe Jr.’s forty-point inspection with barely a moo, and when the dog had decided he was acceptable, the new addition was free to roam the grounds.

No wonder a family had thought he was pet material. The problem was, the cow didn’t always do his business outdoors. And he wasn’t great about staying off the furniture. At not quite five hundred pounds, he’d demolished a few chairs and more than one lamp. The termbull in a china shopfit, even if he wasn’t a full-size cow.

The family had been happy to hand over their little furniture demolition unit. And Finn was happy to give him a home where he wouldn’t have to watch his step.

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