Page 45 of The Caretaker
A rumbling growl escaped me. Solace chuckled, bowing his head with shyness. Prior to our conversation in the kitchen a few weeks ago, I would’ve berated myself for my reaction, for allowing him to witness it. But something had changed after my confession of feeling unjustifiably possessive of him. And after his admission of feeling jealous of Stacey. Jealous over sharing me with my memories of her. Our growing friendship had taken on an ease that allowed me to be myself—allowed me to discover my new self. I’d developed a crush on him, and although we had yet to discuss it, I knew he’d developed one for me too.
It was obvious in the way I stared at him, and in the way he blushed and stared back. Not to mention neither one of us had slept alone in weeks. Solace fell asleep with me on the couch every night, and held me protectively in his arms until dawn.
Some might’ve found it comical that he was the one protecting me, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it, didn’t give in to it. It felt good to let go, to let someone look after meafter having resisted that from my friends and family since the accident.
It seemed as though Solace needed it too. Maybe being protective of me helped to heal something in him still bruised from losing his son. So I let him hold me each night. I let him find me whenever I drifted out of his arms to step outside and peer into the night sky. I let him curl his fingers around the hair at my nape as I explained the fragmented dream that had woken me up that time, what flash of memory had come back to me before abandoning me again. And then I let it go, knowing that I couldn’t let it have control over me, knowing I would miss these new moments I was making if I did. It would all come back to me in time, and if it didn’t, that was okay too. Solace had taught me that.
I would then allow him to lead me in from the cold and back to the couch where he’d draw the blanket over us and squeeze me even tighter while whispering,“Sleep, Noon. I’ve got you.”
“Ready?” Solace asked, snatching me from my thoughts. He’d settled on the stool, one foot propped on the wooden foot rail.
“Ready,” I answered, stealing another glance at him before turning on some background music and getting started.
We began with an intense stare into the camera lens, one hand gracefully hanging off his knee while the other tugged on the collar of his turtleneck.
“Raise your chin a little,” I directed as I snapped away. “That’s it. Now part your lips just a bit. There you go.” I alternated between direction and praise, getting into it, stopping occasionally so we could review what we had so far and adjust the lighting. Once we were both satisfied, Solace left to swap looks while I staged for the next series.
He returned barefoot in fitted jeans and an equally fitted Henley. Solace had a way of appearing as if he’d rolled out ofbed and grabbed the first article of clothing his hands landed on. Like he hadn’t tried to look sexy, but he always did. T-shirt, jeans, cuffed khakis, sweats… It didn’t matter. He wore the clothes; they never wore him.
He’d replaced the slicked-back hairstyle with a messy topknot, inspiring my spontaneity.
“Follow me,” I said, abandoning the living room for the kitchen. I set him up at the island with a book and a steaming cup of tea, handing him his glasses as an afterthought. The snowy backyard beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass doors created the perfect ambiance.
Time moved fast, and we hadn’t even taken a second to eat. It’d been a race to get the daytime shots done before we lost sunlight. We’d accomplished it, and were both more relaxed once we moved to the last look of the day. Solace wanted to recreate the photo of himself in the oversized suit. He wanted the pictures grainy and dark, for him to be the only beacon of light in a world full of gray. I opted for a narrower lens.
“I want the final series to be my most vulnerable,”he’d said during the planning phase.
With nothing left to do but wait for him to come downstairs, I dimmed the setting on the lights and changed the playlist to something haunting to help set the mood. Sunset had brought along a profound amount of icy rain. An added bonus. I made a mental note to get a few shots of Solace against the glass wall, to catch the deluge pouring down around him.
“Ready?” Solace whispered from behind me.
I pivoted around. “Yeah—” The rest of my words lodged in my throat.
Solace stood at the bottom of the landing wearing a tuxedo that had seen better days. The forest green jacket swallowed him, his fingertips struggling to appear through the sleeves, and the hem of the baggy pant legs pooled at his feet like aworshiping puddle. I suddenly wanted to worship at his altar too.
“You look…ethereal,” I said softly, because beautiful was too tame of a word.
“Thank you.” Solace’s signature blush made an appearance. His hair tumbled down his back in loose waves, and that familiar tug I’d been experiencing more and more lately started up in my head.
I took a step toward him, pausing when the image of a dance floor packed with dancing bodies zapped like a strike of lightning through my mind.
I took another step and was met with another strike.
Tears streaming down a pale cheek.
Another step. Another strike.
A woman with mascara-smudged eyes peering at me.Stacey.
Another step. Another strike.
Pounding on a front door.
Another step. Another strike.
Heartache.Extremeheartache.
I reached for my rupturing heart just as Solace met me the rest of the way and steadied me.
