Page 35 of Apex of the Curve

His smile was a proud one that made me melt just a bit and he said, “Atta girl!”

He started a burn pile and went to get the pizza out of the oven.

We sat and ate off paper towels, talking over some things that shifted from boxes to trash, boxes to other boxes to keep, and boxes to a neat little pile by the door to burn.

I mean, I could always change my mind later, but for now… it was cathartic in a sense. You know?

When a trash bag filled, or we ran across a box that needed to be completely tossed, he didn’t wait. There was no preamble. As soon as I declared it was junk, he took it out the front door and tossed it into the back of his truck.

Within the hour, it was feeling much less claustrophobic in my mother’s house and it really was like I could start to breathe in an emotional sense once again.

Fenris set another box into my lap and we were laughing a little, talking. The laughter died on my lips with a wave of nostalgia as I pulled the lid off the banker’s box to reveal a nest of tangled fair ribbons.

“Oh.” I lifted a blue ribbon off the top with shaking fingers.

“What’s that?” he asked, the tears already leaking out of the corners of my eyes.

I sniffed and said, “The first time I took a blue ribbon at the Puyallup Fair for one of my pottery pieces.”

I picked up the picture buried under the nest of ribbons of me flanked by Charles and Copper. My mom had been behind the camera.

“Memory good, bad, or indifferent?” he asked cautiously.

“I don’t know anymore,” I whispered and something inside of me broke all over again.

He came over, took the box from my lap and the ribbon from my one hand and set it aside, pulling me into a hug as I clutched the photograph to my chest. The realization hit me that nothing would ever be the same again. The comfort of that time – knowing I was loved and supported and knowing that Copper, my mother, and my husband were proud of me. Now my family was gone and my husband? Well, that was all a lie, wasn’t it?

“Shh, I got you,” he whispered, his hand cupping the back of my head, fingers threaded through my hair as he held me tight, and pressed me into his shoulder, sheltering and letting me cry it out.

I was so sick of crying. So sick of hurting. So sick and tired of it all…

“Okay, time to change tact, you need a break,” he said and gently let me go.

“Pack a bag.”

“What?” I asked, voice warbling.

“Whatever you need for work for the next couple of days and some clothes for the weekend. Come on, let’s go. Lock it up and let’s get you out of here.”

“I don’t understand…”

“We’re leaving. Just put it down. We’re walking out of here and getting a few days between you and the pain and we’ll come back to it. This isn’t working for you.”

“I can’t just leave,” I protested weakly. “Where would I go?”

He looked at me judiciously and asked me point blank, “Do you think you can trust me?”

I made eye contact and there was something in his eyes, something I couldn’t explain with words but the feeling…

“Yes, of course,” I said breathlessly.

“Pack a bag, at least four days, through the weekend. You need a break from this place. I’m gonna need you to follow me.”

“Okay,” I said nodding carefully.

“I’m going to take this trash out, these empty boxes. You gonna need those, am I right?” He indicated my briefcase and my purse.

“Yes.”

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