Page 92 of Otto: The Hawthornes

“It was fine.”

Her smile wobbled a little.

“Worked on a Honda, not my favorite but it’s not exactly hard either,” I continued, trying to get my wits about me. She was still there, and she was fine and she didn’t even seem pissed that I’d left her while she was asleep that morning with no way to leave or contact anyone.

“I deep cleaned the bathrooms,” she informed me as I took off my jacket and laid it on the counter. “They were pretty clean already, but I went over them again. I was going to make dinner, but we don’t really, um, have anything.”

“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, my stomach sinking. “Have you eaten anything?”

What the hell was wrong with me? I’d left my pregnant wife with no food in the house and no way to get any more. I wasn’t just an asshole. I was a complete waste of space.

“I had some instant oatmeal,” she replied easily, moving toward me. “And you had some soup in the cupboard, so I ate that too. Oh, and some cheesy crackers.”

Her arms wrapped around my waist and her cheek hit my sternum and I felt like the worst person on the entire planet. Why wasn’t she pissed? It was like she hadn’t even noticed how badly I’d fucked up.

“I’m so sorry, sugar,” I murmured, kissing the top of her head. “Get some shoes on, yeah? I’ll take you into town to get some groceries.”

“Right now?” she asked, tipping her head up to look at me.

“Right fuckin’ now.”

“But you just got home,” she argued. “Don’t you want to relax for a few minutes?”

“I’ll relax when you’ve got a phone and enough groceries in the house to cook yourself a decent meal.”

“Oh, I’m getting a phone, too?” she asked teasingly.

“You need one.”

“Who am I going to call?” Her hands roamed over my back, sliding under my cut and my brain short circuited.

“Anyone you want—” I snapped my mouth shut. That wasn’t exactly true. “Call me,” I corrected. “Or my mom, or my sisters, or whatever.”

“But I still can’t call my parents,” she said, leaning against me.

“Not yet, baby. Give us a little more time, yeah?”

“We’re married now,” she pointed out. “What would it hurt?”

“We might be married, but there’s still a whole lot of shit goin’ on. Just a little more time, alright?”

“Okay,” she replied, trying and failing to smile. “They probably think I’m still at the cabin anyway. It’s not like they’re missing me. I’ll go grab my shoes.”

“And a coat,” I reminded her as she pulled away.

I tried not to focus on the fact that she thought her family still believed she was at the cabin or the fact that it hurt her knowing that they probably hadn’t even noticed her missing. The thought of telling her that we’d blown up the cabin and her family thought she was dead made my guts twist. I was still getting to know Esther, and we were still feeling each other out, but I did know that if she had all of the information, she’d be on the phone with her family faster than I could stop her. She’d never let them believe she was dead, even if it kept her safe. I wasn’t willing to risk it.

“All set,” she announced, coming back into the kitchen a few moments later. She’d untwisted her hair so it fell in a long ponytail down her back. “I’m incognito.”

“You’re what now?” I asked in confusion.

“New clothes, new hair,” she explained. “Hiding in plain sight until we’re ready to let my parents know.”

“Esther, no one who knows you would ever be fooled by a different hairstyle.”

“Obviously,” she said with a scoff. “But anyone who doesn’t know me wouldn’t think I’m a fundamentalist Christian who’s run away from home, right?”

“There’s a lot to unpack in that last sentence,” I muttered, putting my boots back on. “But let’s do that in the car.”

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