Page 18 of Wham Line
Before long, we were in bed together.It seemed too small, and although Bobby was the major cuddler in our relationship, now I had the sense that I was the one infringing on his space.I tried to lie normally, to remember what it felt like to be in bed without…this.Bobby’s breathing was soft and even against the empty backdrop of the darkness.
I didn’t want this to be the way we went to sleep, not tonight.It took me a few minutes to work up the courage.This was Bobby, I reminded myself.This is the man you love.He’s hurt.He’s hurting really badly, as a matter of fact.
I found him in the dark and laid my hand on his stomach.It rose and fell with his breathing.His bare skin was warm.I wanted to say, You don’t have to be this person, not with me.I wanted to say, You don’t have to fight it so hard.But I didn’t; the silence in the house was like an infection, and it had gotten into me, too, somehow.I moved my hand in small circles, and the soft friction of skin on skin warmed my palm.
His hand swallowed mine, stilling me.
And then he rolled onto his side, his back to me, and I listened to his breathing until something like sleep took me.
Movement woke me sometime later.I lay with my eyes closed for another moment.The sun was up and warm on my face.My brain rebooted, details from the night before filtering in.It probably wasn’t that bad, I told myself.You were tired.Emotions were high.Everything seems worse in the dark.He’s still processing everything.And of course your first meeting with his dad and brother didn’t go great—they’re grieving.
Just get through today.You both just need to get through today.
A hand on my leg made me open my eyes.Bobby sat on the edge of the bed.He had already showered and dressed, and the faint perfume of unfamiliar soap was jarring—a kind of cheap, drugstore floral that wasn’t my Bobby.His hair was combed, but notcombed, if you know what I mean.In a fresh set of hoodie and joggers, he looked about as close to a bad boy wild child as my Bobby could get.The only change was that at some point in the night, he’d bitten his lip hard enough to split the skin; it was freshly scabbed, and I was immediately certain of two things: first, it must have hurt like the dickens; and second, in absolutely no way was I permitted to bring it up.
Squinting against the day’s unrelenting brightness, I tried not to and then asked anyway—through a yawn, no less—“What time is it?”
“Nine,” he said.“I know you’re still tired, but I think we should get moving.”
Normally, I was a big believer that nothing good happens before eleven and nothing great happens before noon.Nine o’clock, in my opinion, was for the birds.But then the rest of what Bobby had said penetrated, and I asked, “Get moving?Oh God.Is your dad waiting for us?”
Bobby shook his head.
Again, I couldn’t help the “Thank God” that escaped me.I sat up, groped for my glasses, and squinted through them at this more rebellious Bobby—who, I now noticed, hadn’t shaved.Not that he grew much facial hair, and not that I minded (since a scruffy Bobby is a decidedly rakish and handsome Bobby).But still.
“Right,” I said.“What do we need to do?Do you know if your dad already found a funeral home—oh wait, I bet there’s a checklist online.”
“Not that.Indira.”He gave my leg a little shake and stood.“We’ll get breakfast on the way.”
I tried to follow, but I was tangled in blankets.“Wait a minute—what do you mean, Indira?”I kicked one leg free.“Bobby, there’s a lot to—” An overly optimistic hop finally got me free of the bedding.“There’s a lot to do.Your family needs you right now.”
“Eric’s taking care of most of it.”Bobby crouched to fold his clothes—hisdirtyclothes, because of course he would fold them.He tucked them under his duffel, and just like that, the room was pristine again (if you didn’t countmypile of dirty clothes and the fact that it looked like someone had wrestled an alligator in the bed).Bobby had even found time, apparently, to clean the grime from the alley off his shoesandmine.“I’ve only got a few things to handle, and I can do them on the phone.”
“Right, but—”
“She’s not under arrest, by the way.The sheriff let her go home last night.”
“Okay.”I tugged on the shoulder of my sleep shirt to adjust it.“But shouldn’t you be with your family?”
Bobby’s back stiffened.He stood.“Indira’s still a suspect in a murder investigation.”
“I know.”
“I thought you wanted to help her.”
“I do, but—”
“I’m on leave from the sheriff’s office.Bereavement; the sheriff didn’t really give me a choice.”Before I could follow up on that, he said, “I might as well do something productive.”
“Bobby,” I said.But then I stopped.
The silence went on until he said, “What?”
My heart was beating too fast.I swallowed and said, “Just let me get ready.”
The drive back to Hastings Rock was quiet.Bobby stopped long enough to pick up coffee and breakfast sandwiches.I asked him, half an hour later, if he was going to eat his, and he said he wasn’t hungry.And that was all the talking we did.
When we got to Hemlock House, the sky was ultrabright behind it, and it made the old building look like something cut out of a magazine.Gulls wheeled in flickers of gray and white.When Bobby stopped the Pilot and I opened my door, the faint screech of their calls floated in with the crash of the wave and the faint brininess of the ocean.I had to remind myself I’d been gone less than twenty-four hours.
