Page 43 of Hideaway Whirlwind
Davis asks over my shoulder, “Do you know how to drive a stick shift?”
“Yeah. My car was a manual.” It took me two years to save up for the clunker, only for it to die within six months. It’s something I’d once told Elliott in passing. He remembered. “It’s been a minute, though.”
“Let me know if you need a refresher.” He pats my shoulder before moving away with the comforters Elliott left for us.
My eyes automatically go to the trees surrounding Goldie’s house. While they grant Goldie and her family privacy, they also provide plenty of good hiding spots, even for a man as big and conspicuous as Elliott. Did he truly go back home, or is he out here now? Did he see Davis touch my shoulder? And if he did, is he going to get all scary and possessive and jealous and make my life worse because another man was simply friendly toward me? Been there, done that, and I’m not going through it again.
Fuck him.
I crumple Elliott’s note in a ball and drop it into the open duffel bag filled with Elliott’s clothes. Part of me wants to dump everything in the big garbage bin Goldie keeps to the side of her attached garage on the left and saygood riddance. Instead, I unfold one of his clean, green long-sleeved flannels and bring it to my nose. It pisses me off that it smells likehome, smoky and woodsy with a hint of fresh rain.
I slap my neck when it begins to itch again. That’s the only reason, I tell myself, that I’m not throwing away Elliott’s clothes. Clearly, I’ve suddenly developed an allergic reactionto my old detergent, and unless I want to keep having to take Goldie’s allergy meds, I’m going to have to switch to wearing Elliott’s clothes until I can finally do a load of wash with the detergent he also left for me whenever power is restored.
Starting now.
As soon as Davis steps back inside the house, I race to pull off his borrowed sweatshirt, giving everything a good scratch first, then shiver as the wind whips across my naked skin and soothes the sting. For just a moment, I let my skin breathe as I do a slow twirl, straining my eyes as I sweep the circle of trees before finally pulling on Elliott’s stupid, warm, cozy flannel.
“Are you happy?” I yell to the trees in case heisout there, scaring a flock of birds that take flight from the spindly canopies. I lift my arms and do another twirl. “Is this what you wanted?” Feeling silly for talking to the wind, I let my arms drop, slapping my thighs. “Get a grip,” I murmur to myself, looping the strap of the duffel bag over my shoulder and carrying it and the laundry detergent inside.
Goldie flashes me a guilty look when I catch her and Davis with their heads bent toward each other, whispering and exchanging cash.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” Davis answers, folding the cash and shoving it into his back pocket, chuckling when he sees me drowning in Elliott’s flannel.
“Does no one answer questions around here?” I only just stop short of stomping my foot.
When they cut their eyes to each other and break into a fit of giggles, I surprise myself by cracking a small smile, in love with how in love they are. I love how happy Goldie is. That Davis didn’t turn out to be a piece of shit like her ex. That shefound this good life. She deserves it and more.
My smile falls when I remember who and what and where I am. The power can’t be restored fast enough. As soon as it is, I can apply to work at the diner or the dance hall Goldie told me is hiring, get a few paychecks under my belt, and then find an apartment as soon as I can afford it for my kids and me—no grumpy, protective, deliciously thick men allowed. Ever.
* * *
Two nights later, I look up at the moon, wrapped in one of the comforters, leaning against the wide tree trunk that conceals my position in the woods, listening, listening, listening. The kids had been asleep for all of three minutes before I snuck outside, finally able to keep from falling asleep myself as soon as my head hit the pillow. Grief that I’ve been trying hard to dispel and have to hide from everyone has left me lethargic.
And there it is. A loud rumble and squeaky belt reach my ears from down the road. Unlike the few other vehicles that had approached around the bend, their headlights spearing through the woods as they continued on their path, this one cuts its headlights and slows, carefully pulling over into the grass so as not to nosedive into the ditch. It idles for a few moments before the night goes silent again.
Closing my eyes, I envision each of Elliott’s big bootsteps after he exits his vehicle and closes his driver’s side door with barely asnick. As soon as I’m confident he’s rounded the hood, I slip out of the trees.
Elliott whips his head to the side and stumbles back into his blue Bronco with a muffled yelp of surprise, dropping another armful of presents—clothing, toys, flyers for nearby activitiesand sports for the kids—having left a pile on the porch for us to wake up and find each morning. I have no idea where he’s been getting it all, since all the stores are still closed. He automatically reaches for his shotgun beneath his jacket before his eyes adjust and he realizes it’s me.
Gotcha.
“Why won’t you leave us alone?” I hiss. Or at least I try to, but I’m shot through the heart with longing at the sight of Elliott’s handsome face, his hard edges softened by the moonlight. It rocks me to my core that I want nothing more than to be swept up in his embrace instead of screaming at him to stay away from us or else I’ll call the…Well, I can’t call the cops, but I’d dosomething.
My longing is echoed in his deep, gruff voice when he jumps the ditch and murmurs, “Birdie…”
“Don’t touch me,” I demand, though I sway toward him instead of stepping out of arm’s reach or knocking his hand away when he slips it around my waist beneath the comforter.
“I miss you.”
“Don’t hug me,” I say as he crowds me, backing me against another tree, his body heat warming me when I let the comforter slip from my shoulders to pool at my feet.
“I’m going crazy without you.” His voice has turned raspy, and I have no doubt he’s telling the truth. Butcrazyisdangerous, and I’ve had enough of that.
“Don’t kiss me,” I say a little softer as he gently tugs the flannel’s collar away from my neck and dips to kiss the bite mark that has already faded, his lips soft and familiar against my skin, contrasted by his coarse beard that sends shivers of desire up my spine. I’ve missed this sensation.Him. I’ve missed him, even though it’s only been three days since I left.
“Come home, Birdie,” he pleads.
