Page 29 of Hideaway Whirlwind
“No,” I croak, pinching my eyes shut so I don’t have to look at the earnestness on his face. “I didn’t—I’m not…”
“Yes, you are, Birdie.” He scoots closer, ignoring the water that pours over his head. “You are a good mama.”
“No,” I mouth as I stroke the dog’s silky, floppy ears.
Elliott sits quietly beside me, intermittently kissing my temple or simply resting his hand over mine on the dog. When the hot water finally starts to cool, he stands and steps out of his wet sweatpants, and I get my first good look at the tattoos on his legs. In a line down from his left hip to his knee, he has MEREDITH tattooed in big, traditional lettering, the upper half of each letter left with negative space and the bottom half shaded in. I want to ask who Meredith is, an uncomfortable tendril of something ugly snaking its way into my thoughts, but I don’t have the courage.
He gathers three large, dark green towels from the tall cabinet to the right of the sink, draping one towel over the dog and another around my shoulders after cutting off the water. Wrapping the third towel around hiswaist, he leaves the bathroom and returns a few minutes later.
“I left clothes for you on the bed,” he says, reaching for my hand to help me up so I don’t slip. “I’ll get her dried off while you get dressed.”
Quickly pulling my towel around my front, unsure how much Elliott has seen with the dog’s head in the way and my body curled, I dress in the flannel and sweatpants he left for me, having to roll down the waistband and roll up the cuffs repeatedly so the pants will fit. I lay back on his bed, exhausted, my legs dangling over the side, while I take deep breaths, not wanting to face the kids yet with my eyes puffy and probably bloodshot from crying so hard. I have no idea where that came from.
I blink my eyes open several times when Elliott, fully dressed, dabs at the cuts on my hands with cotton swabs. “Did I fall asleep?”
He nods and helps me sit up, passing me an open can of ginger ale from the nightstand before he returns to disinfecting and patching my wounds.
“The kids?” I ask, giving him the half-drained can to set aside.
“The happiest kids you ever did see,” he says, kneeling before me. “Thinking up names for the puppies.”
My stomach rumbles just as he finishes sticking the last bandage on my left pinky. Elliott rubs his hands up and down my thighs, his head tipped forward to shield his eyes beneath his brows. What seems an eternity later, he turns his cheek and gingerly lays his head on my lap, wrapping his arms around my legs.
If I had any hope of my eyes returning to normal so I don’t upset the kids or cause them any worry, it’s lost when newtears well up as Elliott takes his comfort from me while I rub his back and stroke the hair off his forehead. “You’re a good man, Elliott Berenson.”
He doesn’t respond other than a fractional shake of his head and the tightening of his arms. We stay like that, silence stretching on and on, until we’re forced to pull apart when Dustin knocks, asking what’s for lunch through the door.
Elliott swipes both hands down his face and beard when he stands, sniffing and turning toward the door. At the last second, he darts back around. Bending low, he cradles my face and places a kiss square on my lips before I can turn my cheek. And then he’s gone just as fast, his voice and my son’s fading down the hallway.
Elliott
The dog, which the kids have decided to temporarily name Storm until we find her family, is cuddled up with her two precious puppies, twins in color if not size, in my second spare room on a nest the kids made of my extra towels and pillows. She’s already eaten every can of shredded chicken and diced sweet potatoes we have, and I know the kids were lying when they said they were full halfway through lunch and supper so that they could give her the rest of their plates.
Come bedtime, I don’t know what possesses me other than the need to torture myself when I slip into Birdie’s room and watch her and the kids sleep in their own puppy-pile together until I can’t bear the sight any longer. I also can’t bear to be alone in my bedroom, so I head out to sit in the lone Adirondackchair facing the creek that should be finished thawing in a day or two. The static in my head is as loud as the gas generator drumming in the background while I swipe through all the photos we took on my phone this afternoon…then to the pictures I’d discreetly taken of Birdie in the days beforehand. Nothing overtly sexual. My memories are enough for that. More torture.
I would give anything to experience what it’s like to have a family and cuddle them close at night. To belong with them.Tothem. But I can’t change the past, and there’s not much future for me either. If I hadn’t already known thatbeforeBirdie, I certainly know that nowafterBirdie, since there is noafterfor me.
“Sorry I took so long.”
“Fucking hell.” I suck in a strangled breath after being shocked out of my spiraling thoughts, having been taken by surprise for once by Birdie appearing out of thin air, as I’m accustomed to doing to other people. It’s a taste of my own medicine, and I can’t say I like it all that much. I owe quite a few people an apology.
“You should go back inside. It’s too cold out here,” I tell Birdie, pocketing my phone, hoping she didn’t see what I’d been scrolling through. I loop my hands together on my lap so I won’t be tempted to pull her down on it instead.
“You should take your own advice,” she says in response.
“Yeah, in a little bit.” When she moves closer, hiking one of the throw blankets from my couch around her shoulders, I ask, “How did you know I was out here?”
She nods to the window over my shoulder. If she saw me through the window, that means she must have gone into my room.
“Were you looking for me?” I ask with warmth unfurling in my chest.
“Yeah…” she answers slowly. “I heard you come into my room.” The moonlight behind her leaves her face in shadow. “Sorry I fell asleep.”
“Why are you sorry?”
“Because…” she waves to my lap. “Don’t you want to have sex?”
Her frankness elicits a full-bellied laugh out of me. “Of course I do. But you need your sleep.”
