Page 145 of Family Affair
He took the towel from her and held it to his wound with one hand, enveloping her in a crushing hug with another. The knuckles on his right hand were bleeding too from where he drove them into the mirror. “I’m not safe to be around.”
“Don’t say it.”
“I broke your mirror.”
“Did it make you feel better?”
“No. It was childish and reckless. It isn’t the mirror.”
“I understand. It’s what you see in the mirror.”
“I knew what I’d see. It never changes. I have poor self-control.”
“There’s nothing wrong with your self-control. You’re hurting. I want to help you more than anything. How can I make you stop hurting?”
“I hurt because I’m broken. You can’t make what’s broke whole again, Coco. There’s nothing to be done now but move forward. I’ve learned to live with regrets, only sometimes it gets… a little sideways. I’m sorry.”
They made it out of the bathroom and he allowed Coco to recline him on the bed and apply two bandages, butterfly style, to his cut pec. He was hairy, and she fussed at the bandages not sticking well.
Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the sound of her voice, and when she fell silent, her breathing. This one woman held his entire world in her hands. While she believed in him, he was alright. How had he lived without knowing her? He could scarcely imagine now.
“I’m sorry, Cade,” she said in a low voice.
He opened his eyes, bringing her blurry image into focus.
“What are you talking about?”
“I set you off with my drawing of Frank, right after I told you about the Pollock drawing. I understand now that it was too much.”
“They are just things.”
“You react to those things.”
“Bad timing.” A smile tugged at his mouth. “You and I earlier… made me too mellow.”
She chuckled. “No more sex for you, then.”
“This isn’t what I meant.” He zoomed in on her lips, swollen from her crying, and kissed her.
Eventually, they got up, and he went to clean her bathroom, sweeping and vacuuming the small space top to bottom, making a mental note to get Coco a new mirror.
A persistent ringing of his phone drew his attention.
“Yes,” he picked it up, recognizing Ross’s number.
Coco looked at him expectantly. He was struck anew how beautiful her eyes were, long-lashed and so damn knowing.
Ross was talking, and it took a good long second for the words to penetrate. A cold feeling descended, not quite sorrow, not really heartache - just another everlasting regret that things could never be righted.
“When?” he asked Ross, his voice dropping an octave. “I’m on my way.”
He disconnected and turned to face Coco.
“What happened?” she asked, her brow puckered.
He swallowed thickly. “My mother has died.”
