Page 11 of The Caretaker
I turned to the photo of young Gavin again, huffing a laugh at his smile with the front two teeth missing. He didn’t resemble Solace or the uncle he shared a name with. Maybe he looked like his mother, or maybe he’d been adopted. Solace didn’t wear a wedding band, and he’d all but said he lived alone. “What happened?” I whispered to the photo. “And why does your father blame himself for it?”
I wanted to take that blame from him, take that pain and every other moment of agony he may have experienced in this lifetime and carry it for him. I shook the thought from my head. I didn’t even know him, yet the want lingered in my chest.
His reaction when I’d mentioned Stacey being pregnant made sense now. I’d opened up a wound for him. I lowered my head, fighting against the urge to run into the kitchen and apologize again.
I sat on the couch and stifled a groan, then a yawn. It should’ve been a crime for anything to be this comfortable. Setting my camera on the coffee table, I snuggled into the mountain of pillows, convincing myself it wouldn’t hurt to closemy eyes until Solace returned with our tea. I knew it was the worst idea I’d ever come up with as soon as my eyelids lowered and something warm and soothing yanked me down into an abyss.
I woke with a gasp, shooting upright and frantically taking in my surroundings.Where the hell am I?
“You’re safe,” said a tender voice, calming me. I blinked the rest of the sleep away, seeing Solace sitting in one of the cozy armchairs across from me. “Bad dream?”
“Yeah.” I screwed my eyes shut. “The accident. Oranaccident, I should say.” I didn’t remember the actual crash. “Truck horns blaring, bright lights blinding me, and broken glass everywhere. The usual nightmare fanfare.” I flopped back, about to ask where we should start with our town tour, but stiffened when I noticed the full moon beyond the windows. I shot up again, whipping my head toward Solace, who had a stack of magazines spread out on the coffee table and his lap. “How long have I been asleep?”
He checked the time on his phone before removing the black-rimmed glasses he wore. “It’s eight o’clock.”
“Six hours?” I asked in surprise. “You let me sleep for six whole hours?”
“Yeah, I let you drool too,” he said. I brought my fingers to the corners of my mouth. They were dry. He cracked a wicked grin.
“Liar.” I grinned in return. “I can’t believe I slept that long, and that you let me.”
“You obviously needed it. And I’m sure you’d have done the same for me if our roles were reversed and I needed the rest.”
“I would have,” I said. “But we’ve wasted a whole day.”
“We’ll get another one tomorrow.”
A few days ago, a comment like that would have upset me. I knew because Leland said something similar to me and it had set me off. No one understood the anxiety of an amnesiac; the lack of trust we had for the world around us. No one understood how it felt to not have the full picture of your life, to be missing important parts of it. There was a constant urgency to get it back. It hummed in my blood and shook my bones. That urgency never left, was always at the forefront of my mind. It screamednow, now, now! Except…it didn’t scream that at this moment. At this moment I believed Solace. I believed that we could put it off for tomorrow. And for once I wanted to, if only so I could remain seated across from him. So I didn’t have to leave this place—his home—that felt so much like my home too.
“Okay,” I said. “Tomorrow.”
Solace nudged a thermos in my direction. I had the lid unscrewed and chamomile tea flooding my throat before he could explain that it might not be hot after all this time.
“Hot, warm, cold…it doesn’t matter,” I said, coming up for air.
“Have you always loved tea?” he asked with a hint of amusement.
“No. Franklin is a tea connoisseur. He’s Leland’s partner,” I stopped to remind him.
“I know. I remember everything you’ve ever said to me, Noon.”
I dropped my gaze, swallowing down my reaction to his words, to the passion I must have imagined them infused with. To the “ever” that seemed out of place but perfect all the same. “He, ah, was tasked to babysit me one day, early on, before I could manage taking care of myself. He made me a cup of tea. The first sip ended with me in tears. It felt more familiar than anything else at the time. I’ve never had it taste quite like this, though. Did you add milk?”
“Yeah,” he said after staring at me for a beat. “It’s my grandfather’s secret recipe. My son loved it too.”
I wanted to know more about his son, but I wanted to avoid bringing up painful memories for him even more. “What’s with the magazines?” I asked instead.
“I used to model. Feels like forever ago. Was thinking of maybe getting back into it. Thought I’d see what’s popular these days. See if I still have what it takes.”
I snorted. “What, good looks? You’ve got that in spades.” I froze with the thermos cup to my lips. “Sorry,” I said, lowering it. “My filter seems to be locked up in the same place my memories are.”
“Or maybe you just don’t have a filter,” he said, as if that was okay. That was how I felt around him—okay.
“Maybe,” I agreed.
“I’d need to reach out to my previous agent. See if she’ll take me on again. First I have to update my portfolio,” he mused, slipping his glasses back on. They transformed him from elegantly handsome to studious and quirky, adorable even. I cleared my throat, but it did little to clear the sudden spark of attraction or the subsequent confusion and guilt behind it.
Solace went back to flipping through the magazines as I finished off my lukewarm tea. An idea hit me.
