Page 16 of Only the Small Bones
Cursing my cowardice, I shoved the book back in its slot, returning to my spot a few feet away from him. Some things were worth facing directly, worth squirming through.
“You were happy too,” I said. “But maybe you can’t trust that happiness. Or you don’t want to. Maybe you hadn’t realized our guards were lowering until then, and now yours are back up again.”
Ryan twisted away from me, staring out the window now. I made do with his pained reflection.
“I get it. But I’m only trying to help you. You can stay as long as you like, Ryan, but it’s been nearly two weeks. If you don’t want my help, then whatdoyou want?”
He didn’t answer, didn’t grab another pencil from the pile next to him to write down what he couldn’t verbally say. Through the glass, I could see he’d reverted to his stoney mask.
I took a deep breath then I let it go. I’d done my best for the night. I’d try again tomorrow. “Just eat something before bed, will you? The tenders and fries aren’t amazing, but at least it’ll be something in your stomach. Zap them in the microwave for a minute or two, or make waffles and bagels. Just please, eat something.”
His stomach growled, like it had before. It took every ounce of strength to turn away from the sound. A scary thought hit me then. Was he using his hunger as a weapon against me?
“Oh,” I said, pausing at the doorway. “My mother’s going to stop by for dinner in a few days. She agreed to make enough food to last a whole week.” Still nothing. I hesitated before adding, “My business partner, Xavier, may join us. He’s a good guy. Trustworthy. If his being here will be a problem for you, I can tell him not to come.” Still nothing. I lowered my head and left.
I was halfway through the living room when the sound of paper ripping hit my ears. I waited for it to stop, but it continued on for some time, followed by labored breathing.Don’t,I warned myself.Don’t turn back. But what if he needed me? I remembered the state of the apartment when I’d returned from my run the other day and doubled back to the library.
Avoiding the creaky floor plank, I held my breath and approached the room. Ryan sat on the floor atop the mountain of torn paper he’d created. He’d wrapped his arms around his legs, his forehead lowered to his knees, his shoulders shaking. My heart reached for him, the ache in my chest intensifying. He seemed so broken. A bird without its wings.
I hurried to my bedroom before I got any stupid ideas about consoling him. Letting him see me right then would’ve been the worst thing I could’ve done to him.
After staring at my ceiling for what felt like hours, a shuffling noise at my door caught my attention. I sprung up, seeing a crumpled sheet of paper waiting for me.
I stood there reading the three semi-neat words, trying to sort through what it could mean.
Chicken tenders and fries.
Smoothing the paper out on the wall near the light switch, I tilted my head, squinting to make out everything that came before it. It was one of the sheets we’d written back and forth on many nights ago. Everything in me sank when I read the last thing I’d asked him. He hadn’t responded to it then.
What’s your absolute favorite meal?
The paper dropped from my numb hands as I realized my mistake.
Opening my door, I shuffled to the kitchen on shaky legs, pulling the saran wrapped pan of leftover chicken tenders and fries from the refrigerator before dumping it in the trash. Gripping the edge of the counter, I dropped my head forward, breathing through the panic and paranoia, failing at bringing an end to it.
Back in my room, with no memory of how I’d gotten there, I popped one of my pills. The ones that made the voices tired. I fell onto my bed, not bothering with turning off the lights, and waited impatiently for oblivion to take me away.
William
“Momma,” I sighed, stepping into the hall and scooping her off her feet into a bear hug. She grunted, unable to hug me back because her hands were ladened with grocery bags. Xavier often made fun of me for not outgrowing the term momma, but I never cared. It was comforting, made me think of cold nights sleeping in her warm arms when she couldn’t afford to pay the heating bill. The word “Momma” meant safety and unconditional love, the epitome of everything she was.
She smelled like rose water and peppermint, a mix of her favorite perfume and candy. I inhaled, welcoming the feeling of home I only got when around her.
“Hi, baby,” she squeezed out as I placed all five feet, two inches of her back on the ground. She dropped a peck to my cheek, and I straightened with a crooked smile knowing she’d left her lipstick stain behind. “I missed that smile.” She graced me with one of her own. “Well, are you going to help me with these bags or what?”
“Oh, yeah.” I shook my head, taking the bags from her.
Pushing inside the apartment, I stood against the door to hold it open for her. She stepped inside, looking me over with brown eyes almost as dark as her skin. I got my moss green eyes from my European father. My complexion was lighter than hers thanks to him too. I used to hate that I resembled him. Still did. But my mother never looked at me like all she saw was the man who’d abandoned her in the delivery room.
After confirming I looked whole and healthy—at least on the outside—she peered down the hall.
“He’s in the shower. He knows you’re coming, but I didn’t mention you were a therapist.”
My mother once dreamed of being a Chief Nursing Officer, but I hadn’t been the only one inspired to change direction after life had its way with us. She specialized in family therapy, which didn’t make her an ideal candidate to work with Ryan. It wasn’t what she was here for anyway. She was good with people. Good at making them feel comfortable, safe. I hoped she could crack Ryan’s shell a little bit. Maybe help me with getting him to give Safe Haven a chance.
“You’re here to feed us.” I held the bags up.
“I won’t lie to him,” she warned. “If he asks, I’ll tell him the truth.”
