Page 6 of The Caretaker
She turned to Solace. “How about you?”
“No, thanks,” he said. “I’m heading out.”
“I’ll take the check and a to-go box,” I told her, seeing no reason to linger any longer now that he’d be leaving. I snapped a few more photos of the tavern while he watched me, his expression thoughtful.
He pulled a pen from his pocket, stealing a napkin from the small stack near my plate. “Here’s my address and phone number in case you need a tour guide. Or someone to talk to,” he added.
“Your address? I could be a serial killer.”
Solace chuckled, the sound throaty and warm. “Well, you certainly look like one,” he joked. “But I have a feeling you’re harmless.” He stood, gaze going to the coat rack near the entrance. “Cell service can be spotty up here, especially when the snow is this bad.” He jerked his chin to the napkin I now held. “Use either to find me, if you want or need to.”
There was nothing duplicitous about him that I could sense or see. It was clear he had demons he wasn’t willing to share, but his intentions felt pure.
“Okay,” I said, already planning to take him up on his offer. And for the first time in nine months, I felt like maybe there was something to live for.
And with that, Solace was gone, but he’d left something behind.
Hope. Solace had given me hope.
Solace
Twelve Months Ago
Then
PATRICK HATED MYsentimental nature. He said I used nostalgia as an excuse to not move past traumatic events, so maybe today wasn’t the best day to dig through Gavin’s vinyl collection—the one I couldn’t seem to part with for sentimental reasons—in search of one of his favorites. Patrick was sure to see my actions as passive aggressive, but it wasn’t. It was Gavin’s birthday, and I had every right to miss him.
I powered up the old record player, dusting off the needle before setting it on the most important album ever created in the history of creating albums—per Gavin. Lowering the volume, I peered toward the stairs, waiting for my husband to come charging down in annoyance…or outright fury.
Sighing with relief when that didn’t happen, I dragged myself over to the media console to run fingers over the framed photo of my older brother Gavin—Gav as we preferred to call him. I couldn’t bear to look at the photo next to his, so I flipped it face down, then retook my seat on the bay window bench, tucking my feet under me.
Gavin’s favorite song from the album came on, and the irony of it never failed to take my breath away. He would bellow the lyrics at the top of his lungs, and wouldn’t stop until everyoneelse joined in. Well, until I joined in. The song had always made Patrick uncomfortable.
I allowed myself a few tears, then brushed them away with the sleeve of my sweater as I glanced toward the stairs again. Patrick said I cried too much, that I felt too much. He used to love that about me. He’d said it made me emotionally open and mature. Now he slung around terms like “too sensitive” and “too dramatic,” using them as weapons to hurt me. If only I could manage being cold and distant, an artform he’d mastered.
I traced a G into the condensation building on the window, then used a flattened palm to wipe it away. Leaving it there wouldn’t have gone over well.
The snow flurries coming down barely accumulated along the front yard, but the weatherman predicted we’d be hit with a storm soon. I’d have to stock up on supplies before then, since I’d be here alone while Patrick spent the next three months on a humanitarian mission with Doctors Beyond Borders. He’d be gone by morning.
“You’re not dressed,” he snapped, startling me. I twisted around to see him waiting at the bottom of the landing, mask in hand.
“Dressed?” I eyed his tuxedo in confusion, setting my feet on the floor.
“I assumed you were using the guest bedroom when I didn’t see you getting ready upstairs.” He stormed over to the record player and ripped the plug from the outlet. The music stopped abruptly, leaving me alone with his enduring anger.
“The hospital charity ball,” I whispered, closing my eyes. “I’m sorry. It won’t take me long to get ready.” I stood, but he stopped me with a raised hand.
“It’s fine. I’m already running late. I’ll just go alone.” He pulled his Venetian mask over his head, reaching into the closet for his coat. “I do everything else alone.”
As low blows went, this one fell well below the equator, hitting me in the gut, right where he’d taken aim. I found it hard to leave the house for long periods at a time, but he knew it was because I felt closest to Gavin here.
“I can meet you there,” I said. We lived in the quiet town of Willowbrook. A suburban area less than an hour away from the heart of New York City. “It won’t take me long to get there.”
“Don’t bother,” he replied, not even looking at me as he wrapped his scarf around his neck. I ran my teeth over my bottom lip, crossing my arms and debating if this was worth a fight. “And don’t bother waiting up,” he added, gripping the doorknob. “I’ll be late.”
Ialwayswaited up for him. Couldn’t sleep without him. He knew that too, but he was in the business of constantly punishing me.
“You’ll be gone for months. Can’t you at least come home at a decent hour to spend some time with me?”
