I did that
Ester
“Ester, please.” Bones’ tone was sweetly cajoling, and I laughed.
Laughed aloud, but only for a moment before I clamped my lips on the braying sound, backing away. I whirled, preparing to run and I would have, because he had just asked the impossible and I couldn’t imagine anything other than terrible things, so I needed to escape. Saliva evaporated from my mouth; dry and thick, my tongue lay mute in its fleshy cave. No sounds to drive him forwards, no arguments to bring me back. Nothing good comes of trust, I reminded myself of the hims who taught me that. All the hes that came before. The thems who tore my belief asunder. Shredded, I needed to escape. Before I could do anything, however, the tips of his fingers brushed my shoulder.
He didn’t grasp, didn’t clamp down, and didn’t do anything to feed the fear gnawing at my gut. He simply touched me.
Touched me as if he thought I was a ghost, something ethereal and gossamer, like the woman’s scarf I found once in the gutter. It was wrapped around a stick and had gotten stuck on a grate, or I’d have never noticed it. Dirty and dingy, I could still see the glorious colors embedded in the fabric when I’d picked it up.
Unwinding it carefully, gingerly, tenderly, until I held the length of it in my hands. I’d taken it with me, taken it home, and carried it with me for days, touching it lovingly. When I’d showered, I’d draped it over my body, letting the water wash over it as it washed over me, hoping the scarf would imbue me with the smallest iota of the beauty it had inside it, woven into it, always to be there, never lost because it entirely belonged in that article, that thing, the created beauty.
No matter what happened to it, how covered in gore or dirt or filth, it was always and would always be gorgeous.
“Ester, just consider it.” I was frozen, tottering between what terrified me and what was real. Real won out. “You should have better options, baby. Let me be that for you. Let me…” He trailed off, and the anchor was set adrift. “Please.”
Even with those words tugging me back, even with the grazing touch of his fingers pleading on my shoulder, I walked away. Quick time. Double time. Running time. Things were never the same after that. They were worse, and then they were worse again, and then they were better. Never the same, though, and I did that to us.
Cherished
Bones
A solitary diner, he sat at the table in his home, staring down at a plate of food, steam rising from the meat. Hot and nutritious. I did not even feed her dinner. Elbow to the table, Bones’ fingertips traced a path across his brow over and over. Thinking.
He had relived the ending to their afternoon a dozen times already, trying to find where he could have decreed a different outcome. One where she sat at the table beside him, laughing. One where she slept warm and safe in his bed tonight. One in which he did a better job of showing her how he felt about what they had.
Leaning back, he threaded his fingers together on his stomach, staring out the window into the twilight. He looked for a long time, watching as the large flakes of snow falling from the sky multiplied, accumulating into tiny drifts. Tiny growing into larger, the wind swirling the snow around, packing it into every crevice. A scene that would have been picturesque before, now filled with menace.
If she were here, I could show her.
The discarded feather lay on the table to one side, saving her place.
Prizes and givesies
Bones
Things were different between him and Ester after the day at the zoo. He saw her just as frequently, more so perhaps, as he actively sought out her hiding places. Saw her, meaning he caught glimpses, but seldom more. Because now, by the time he parked and got off the bike, instead of waiting for his approach, she regularly disappeared. Even when she did delay, she didn’t allow them the same time together as before. He could count their time together in minutes, not hours. Quick, brusque in her way, it felt as if she were punishing him for a transgression he couldn’t understand.
Then, one day when they were approaching the outer limits of the time she would now allow, he caught her looking at him. The pain in her gaze told him this was intended as a punishment for her, not him. Bones didn’t do helpless well, but without knowing what had triggered the withdrawal, without understanding, he couldn’t see a way to repair things.
Any attempts to question her, to discuss the rift always resulted in her rapid retreat, so he stopped, trying to force himself to be willing to take whatever she allowed. Never as much as he wanted, but as much as she gave him, he would take. Not contented, no, far from it, but afraid down to the soles of his boots she would drop out of his life entirely if he did aught else. So, like a beggar with an empty palm upraised, he took what he could get.
Christmas loomed, and he teetered on the cusp of panic. If a coat could be cause for her to pull away, and the offer of a meal and a place to stay make her feel she had to build a wall to protect herself, Bones had not the first clue of what he could get her for Christmas that wouldn’t send her into even more of a tailspin.
Seated at the bar in Jackson’s one night, he had occasion to talk to Mica, finding her an unlikely sounding board, but a wise one. He hadn’t considered her background, where she had left her entire life behind, brutally stripping herself of family and home to keep them safe. An endeavor which proved unsuccessful, and her sister’s first child the result. Still, she had knowledge of making oneself invisible, and he believed this was what he needed to understand.
“So what you are saying is I offered too much.” Frustrated, because he was too late learning some things, Bones tapped the bar, pointing to Mica’s glass and his own beer, requesting refills.
“No, the offering isn’t the problem. That’s in her head. She loved that you thought about her, how you must have imagined her in the coat. But for her, in her world, it would make her a target.” Mica shook her head, dark sheets of hair swirling with the movement. “From what you said, she’s been living on the streets for a long time. I never had to do that, but I still had to be careful so I could hide. Nothing too flashy, because it might get someone’s attention. Nothing too plain, because that would stand out, too.” She laughed. “The best presents weren’t things, though.”
Picking up his fresh beer, Bones tipped his head and arched an eyebrow, waiting.
“Jess, she knew everything about me. She’d work connections to get me things from home. Things that reminded me of home. Food, souvenir T-shirts from places around Texas, even pictures of family, as long as she could get them in a quiet way.” Mica’s mouth pulled into a sideways smile. “Always the best friend I could have asked for.”
“Mica, I feed her as often as she will allow. Her family, I do not think pictures of them would bring back pleasant memories.” At the haunted look Mica gave him, he lifted a palm towards her. “I will not say more on that, just know her childhood was unpleasant before her father passed, and afterwards became horrific. I cannot see a way through what you suggest to find a gift for my Ester.”
“I like that you call her yours, but you’re not listening to me,” Mica complained, setting her half-emptied glass down. “You heard things. It wasn’t what Jess got me, but how they made me feel. I’m talking emotions. What does she like?”
“I do not know. She does not ask for anything.” His torso jerked back when Mica slapped the bar top.
“Things are not emotions.” Pushing her hair back, she let it fall from her hand, reaching out to use one fingertip to thump his bottle. “The beer is a thing, but it’s nothing on its own. Just a puddle. Is the bottle the beer? No, the beer is inside. The bottle is just the way to hold it in, until you can take it out and enjoy it. Jeeze oh Pete you’re thick.”
“Mica, you make no sense.”
“I make complete sense. You just aren’t listening.” Sitting back on her stool, she huffed out an exasperated sigh. “When you were at the zoo, that wasn’t a thing, but she liked it, right?”
“Yes. It was a goo
d day, until I…I do not even know what I did.”
Ignoring his frustration, she pushed ahead. “The times you sat with her in the park, were those things?” Irritated at himself for telling her so much, Bones shook his head at Mica. She squinted at him, a matching annoyance clear on her face. Mica said, “Damn straight, they weren’t things. They were doing, being, feeling, not things.” She leaned forwards, elbow to the bar again. “She needs doings, you get me?”
Shaking his head slowly back and forth, Bones offered no other answer.
“Jeeze oh Pete.” Head back, Mica looked up to the smoke-stained ceiling. “You said she’s talked about classes, exhibitions, openings, and you’ve even gone with her to a few, right?”
Beginning to think he could see where she was headed, he said, “Yes, several times. We’ve gone to outdoor movies in the park, the amphitheater to hear the symphony, the butterfly exhibit—”
“Exactly!” she shouted, reaching out to grip his arm and shake him back and forth. “Doings. Not things.” Chewing on her lip, she was silent a moment, then observed, “Outside stuff, yeah?”
“Yes, she is most comfortable outside. She will endure being inside for a thing in which she has keen interest.” He shook his head again. “Mica, it is deep winter in Chicago. My options for outside entertainment as a gift are very limited.”
“Not if you do wintery stuff. Skating, tobogganing, stuff like that.” Dusting her palms together, she looked self-satisfied. “Done deal. Outside doings, no things.”
“I am unsure if you helped or not, Mica. But I thank you for your time.” Leaning towards the bar, her arm around his waist took him off guard, and he jerked around to look at her.
“I helped, trust me. You’re at least thinking instead of moping. Everybody’s been talking about it, and I’m sick of hearing about poor ol’ Bones bein’ all stressed out. I helped everybody.”
***
From his elevated perch, Bones called a command to halt when he found Ester at the first place he looked. She wanted to see me, too, he thought, knowing she had made it easy for him. Hoping. He was choking on the idea that this woman had become so important to him, and yet did not know how precious she was. Standing on the sidewalk, he watched her for a moment, conscious of how caught up she was in whatever she was looking at. He swept the area with his gaze, noticing how the light glittered on the snow that lay drifted along the edges of the baseball field. He didn’t know why she came so often to this field, a place of torment for her, but it was Tuesday, and he knew she would be here.
Crunching through the frozen crust of the snow, attention fixed on her form, he knew the moment she heard him. Saw her body twist on the cold cement of the picnic table, saw too, the quaking fright in her eyes before she recognized him. Then he saw the now-familiar pain, quickly masked by a forced smile, bright and fragile. “Bones,” she cried, lifting a hand and crooking her fingers in a mitten-encased wave. At least she’s wearing them, he thought, and recognized the coat, drawn tight around her throat over the mismatched scarf. And that. “I didn’t know it was Bones’ day. Did I miss something?”
“Bones’ day?” he questioned, carefully keeping his tone light as he climbed up to sit beside her, wincing at the chill that bit through the fabric of his pants. “I did not know I had a special day. Thank you for the gift, Ester. I love Bones’ day.”
“Dork.” She smiled brightly, apples of her pink cheeks lifting, eyes dancing. “Wednesday and Sunday. Those are Bones’ days. All day, those days. Not limited to a slice, you get the whole pie.” She sighed, turning to look out at the snow again. “I like pie. I like Bones’ day pies best. Gobble ‘em up, can’t wait for the next bite and the next, then I have to wait days before I get another piece. Pie days are the best.”
“Can’t you eat pie every day?” She wasn’t retreating, wasn’t slipping towards the edge of the table before leaving. Her words struck him, though, because Wednesday and Sunday were the only days she would usually stay. Without fail, no matter how early he showed, they would spend those days together. “Pie is good for you. Builds strong bones and teeth.”
“You’re thinking of milk. I like milk, too. I’m intolerantly tolerant.” Neck twisted, she grinned sideways at him from under a curtain of hair, eyes bright. “But pie is so yummy. Never a chance of badness when you have pie in your mouth.” Blowing out her cheeks, she mimicked bringing a full fork to her lips, pretending to talk through a mouthful of food when she said, “Tastes so good.”
“It does indeed.” Bones hesitated a moment, wondering if he should take this and no more, holding his surprise for a Bones’ day when he would be assured of her company. I can do this again, if she balks and the only reason is an imaginary boundary on the time we spend together. “I like prizes, too.”
Clasping her mitten-covered hands together, she lifted them to her lips and smiled around the tips. “Prizes are the best.” She nodded vigorously. “Especially this time of year, when everyone is excited to receive them. I love to give prizes all the time, but this is the best.” Her chin dipped as if she were apparently struck by an idea. “What kind of prizes do you like?”
“Prizes that mean something to the giver. It opens a window onto what they think about when they think of me.” He offered her honesty, and found a place to drop a guilt bubble he could use later. “That is when you know refusal is not an option, when it matters to them.”
“True dat,” she muttered, lips pushing up into a moue, her face a study in seriousness. “When the prize is a better gift than they know, because it shows a thing they can’t share. Hot dog mistakes or buttered toast and bacon with your eggs.”
“Hot dog mistakes?”
“Yeah.” She sighed, the tip of her tongue darting out to wet her top lip. “When you have change for a dog alone, and it comes with cheese and chili and onions and peppers and all the best things because ‘oh look, Ester, I made a mistake’ and you know it’s not a mistake, it’s a—” She leaned close, whispering, “—prize.”
“That is indeed a prize.” He watched her, glad she wasn’t discomfited by his study, knowing the hot dog vendor and the waitress hadn’t made mistakes, but had taken it upon themselves to feed his Ester. “So you cannot give prizes back. You have to take them, correct?”
“Oh, yes.” Nodding quickly, she had a childlike excitement that made him smile. “Takesies only, no givesies.”
“And if I had a prize for you, what would you say to that? Would you accept?” He held his breath, waiting, and he wasn’t disappointed.
“Have to.” She twitched her nose, uncomfortable with this answer, but trapped into it by their conversation and her sense of rightness. Staring at him, dread shining from her eyes, she whispered, “What have you done, Bones?”
“You do not like things.” Scrunching her brows together, she narrowed her eyes, and he felt something brush his hand on the table, glancing down to see she’d placed her hand beside his. Mica’s words sounded right, and he let the feeling resonate through him, praying they left no room for rejection. “You like doings.”
“True dat.” She repeated her earlier words, eyes now open wide, and he felt her hand creep closer, her little finger draping over his, the mitten warm against his skin.
“Doings which let you see.” She nodded. “Ester, have you ever been around horses?” Another quick nod. “Do you fear them?” A quicker head shake. “Then turn around, baby, and see.”
She stared at him, all seriousness and he watched her jaw work as she swallowed. “It’s not a Bones’ day. Not anymore.”
Trying to infuse confidence and certainty in his words, he assured her, “You may have pie today, Ester.” She swallowed again, and her hand moved to cover his entirely, the touch making his heart leap. “Any day you want, you may have pie. But today, you get a prize.” He worked to fit his mouth around her words, wanting no mistakes. “Only takesies, no givesies. Turn around and look. See what doings we are about to do.”
She closed her eyes,
sealing the brightness behind her lids, and it almost looked as if she were praying as her hand tightened around his, clasping to him. Then, eyes still closed, she twisted towards the edge of the trees, where he had flattened a path through the snow from the carriage, the horse half-asleep at the wait. A moment later she flung herself at him, and his arms came up to capture and hold, as he had wanted to do for so long, while she squealed in his ear about pumpkin being the best pie ever in the world of pie.
He agreed, wholeheartedly.
***
Halfway through the planned four-hour ride, Bones’ phone vibrated with an incoming text. He had learned enough about Ester to know to silence it before approaching her, and to understand not to take it out in her presence. She appeared to be entirely terrified of them, still, and he was enjoying himself too much to want to risk her taking flight if he even looked at the display. A single text, not repeated, so likely of nonurgent nature.
Delighted as he had ever seen her, she had crawled out of his lap to clamber across the table, nearly dragging him off with sharp tugs at his hand and shouted commands to, “Come on! He’s gonna leave! We’ll be late!” With a good-natured impatience, she had suffered through him swinging off the table on the side where she waited, bouncing from foot to foot. “Come on, Bonesy.” He sucked in a breath at that, the sharp cold stinging his throat. She had never called him anything but Bones, and as she often said of his words to her, this was a gift.
At the carriage, the driver waited with a grin as she spoke quietly to the horse, thanking him for his work and hoping she wouldn’t be too large a burden. She pulled a granola bar from her pocket, and at the driver’s nod, she unwrapped it, offering a third of it to the horse at a time, nimbly avoiding his smacking teeth and giving him a good scratching along his cheeks while he chewed. “Are you ready now, Ester?” Bones held out his hand, and she put her empty mitten into it, laughing when he pretended to scowl at her.
Rebel Wayfarers MC Boxset 4 Page 10
