Insult to Injury

by Gun Brooke

  Another, more important, thought makes me flinch, and of course Romi lets go instantly.

  “Too hard?” she asks worriedly.

  “No. It’s really helping. Please, go on,” I say absentmindedly. I’ve been so busy processing our mutual physical attraction that I haven’t given a single thought to the fact that said desire interrupted Romi when she was finally confiding in me. How could I let that happen? Yes, she was just as into it as I was, but her emotions should be, no, are so much more important than mine. What does she think of this situation? Is she relieved, sort of saved by the bell, or disappointed? Or did she kiss me on the neck to distract me? No. No, that goes against everything I’ve learned about Romi so far. If she didn’t want to talk anymore, she could have just left, right?

  “You’re tensing up, Gail,” Romi says, and the tender worry in her voice reassures me. “I’m moving down to your shoulder blade now. I think your shoulder’s had enough.”

  I’ll never get enough of her touch. The thought passes through my brain with certainty before I realize it. Romi warms up more ointment in her hands and caresses me as much as she massages the pain relief into my skin. “It feels good,” I say quietly. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure,” Romi says and then coughs. “No pun intended.”

  “Don’t make me laugh.” I smile at her save.

  “I’ll be boring as all hell if it keeps your pain away.” Romi maintains the rhythm, and to my surprise, I really can fully relax, even if some of my more relentless body parts insist that I pull her onto the bed with me and rip her clothes off.

  “That’s it. Good.” Romi keeps the caresses going until I’m close to drifting off to sleep. “All done.” She tugs the blanket up around me. “Take a nap.”

  “Don’t go,” I whisper as sleep begin to claim me.

  “I’ll be downstairs preparing our dinner.” Romi sounds closer, and then I feel her lips against my temple in a gentle kiss. “I promise.”

  And I trust her.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Romi

  When Gail comes down to have dinner, I can tell she has regrouped. She eats my mac and cheese politely, but clearly without much appetite. I try to understand what’s going on in her head, why she’s so distant after the intimacy we shared earlier today. Feeling subdued as well, I struggle to finish my plate, something I never would have thought possible, having been constantly hungry for so long.

  I place my utensils on my empty plate and lean back. “Do you regret it?” I ask, deciding to clear the air even if it scares me. She may just answer yes to that question, and then my world will crumble. Again.

  “What? What do you—oh.” Gail puts her fork down too. “You mean us kissing.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes and no.” Gail looks at me with even eyes as my heart begins to flake away with every single beat.

  “How do you mean?” I manage to say without allowing my voice to tremble.

  “You must know that I find you so damn attractive.” Gail sighs. “Being in your arms, and kissing you, was…wonderful.”

  That doesn’t sound too bad, but she’s still so serious. “Yes.” It’s all I can say since I’m clueless as to what she’s trying to get across.

  Rubbing her temples with her thumb and index finger for a moment, Gail then runs her hand over her face. “I didn’t invite you here to seduce you.” Now she actually squirms on her chair.

  I’m speechless. Probably gaping too. Then my words return to me, and I’m not sure if I should give in to the weird laughter that bubbles in my chest or become angry. “Seduce me? What the hell do you mean by that?” Okay, so anger it is.

  Gail flinches and looks as if I slapped her. This response stirs the all-too-familiar guilt that I thought I was ridding myself of. I was just starting to feel better for not hiding in her basement without her knowing, and now her demeanor makes me revisit my guilt and self-loathing. “I know it’s a weird way to put it,” Gail says and plays with the napkin on the table with jerky movements. “Still, it’s the truth. I had no ulterior motives.”

  “Stop it,” I say, snarling. “Have you forgotten that I started it?”

  It’s Gail’s turn to gape. Only for a second, but still. “I kissed you.”

  “I kissed you on the neck first. And touched your hair. And, damn it, I kissed you back.” How dare she minimize how I felt and somehow claim the role of the aggressor?

  Gail looks at me for several year-long seconds, and then her features soften. A faint smile appears at the corners of her mouth, and she slumps back against the chair. “Yes. You did. I do know it was entirely mutual. Of course I do.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but she holds up her hand.

  “Wait.” Gail inhales deeply. “What I was so clumsily trying to say is that we were supposed to talk about you—about something that clearly is hard for you to discuss. I really wanted to listen to you, for you to know I’m interested in what you have to say. Instead, we ended up, um…” She flushes her usual pink.

  “Making out?” I suggest, finally able to relax as well.

  “For lack of better words.” Sending her gaze up toward the ceiling, Gail snorts softly. “But yes. That. And, then you end up taking care of me instead of the other way around, with me half naked.”

  “Which I’ll do again whenever you need it.” I reach out for her hand across the kitchen table. She takes mine lingeringly. “I haven’t had so many chances to be helpful to someone before. Being homeless, I was always on the receiving end of charity, of people’s kindness.”

  “Am I to be your charity now, you mean?” Gail still smiles, but a tiny frown mars her forehead.

  “Are you kidding me?” I squeeze her hand. “You’re far too hot for that.” I crinkle my nose at her.

  “I’m hot, eh?” Gail laces her fingers with mine, and now my heart is beating twice as fast as normal.

  “Scorching,” I whisper huskily.

  Gail raises our joined hands and kisses my knuckles. “Romi…”

  “And I hear you.” I hope I don’t have to explain further since that will take us back to our heart-to-heart on the couch, and there’s no way I can continue tonight. I’ve already shared more with Gail than I’ve done with anyone.

  “Promise me you won’t worry anymore about Manon.” Gail studies me closely. “It’ll work out.”

  I’m not so sure, but that’s hardly surprising since the last six years have included a long row of things not working out. It’s not surprising that I fear going under when this thing with Gail doesn’t last. Fatalistic, I know, but…that’s how I feel.

  “Let me put this in the dishwasher, and then I have to go home.” The word “home” leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, but I need to keep up that particular part of the charade.

  “Why don’t you stay? It’s pitch-black now and—” Gail is still holding my hand. “You can have the guest room I arranged for Neill and Laurence. Please.”

  Oh, shit. No. “I can’t,” I say, forcing lightness into my voice. “And besides, you’ve spent most of today with me anyway.”

  “What if I said that’s not enough?” The tension has returned to Gail’s eyes. “I know. Odd that I should even think that, right? Considering I escaped to this house to get away from people.”

  “See? And now I’m overstaying my welcome.” I’m shaking now. Can Gail feel how frantic I am? Doesn’t she realize how much I want to stay here with her, out in the open and not like a fucking stalker in the basement?

  “If you insist on going home, I suppose I can’t make you stay. I wish you’d change your mind, though.” Gail looks at our hands. “You’re trembling. And you’re cold.” Paling, she snaps her eyes back up to meet mine. “You don’t think I’m planning to drag some information out of you that you’re not ready to volunteer? That’s not it at all.”

  I’m a horrible person. Why am I struggling against something I want more than anything and thus hurting the woman I love— “Shit.” I had no idea.
Or did I? I care about Gail. I clearly more than care. I’ve fallen in love with her, which isn’t a good thing. No way in hell is this going to end well, yet she pulls me in, inch by inch, laying claim to my heart without any effort at all.

  “Romi?” Gail stares at me.

  I realize that my “shit” must have crossed my lips. Damage control. “I don’t think that at all. I promise.” I have to get out of here.

  “It’s not a matter of charity either.” Gail looks worried now. “But I won’t force you, naturally.”

  That does it. I’m going to hell no matter how I try to figure this out. Hurting Gail in the process was never part of my plan. “Okay. Why not?”

  Blinking, no doubt taken aback by my sudden change of mind, Gail squeezes my hand again before letting go. “All right. Good. We could watch some TV before bedtime if you’d like?”

  That sounds like perfection to me. Gail and a large TV set. “I’d like that,” I say as I get up and start loading the dishwasher. When Gail doesn’t answer, I glance at her over my shoulder where she sits at the table, looking slightly shell-shocked.

  I have no idea what’s going through her head but keep working until the kitchen is restored to its usual pristine order. The chores help me center myself and find my bearings as I’m about to end up on the living-room couch with Gail again.

  Gail

  I don’t regret asking Romi to spend the night, but I keep waking up, startled by perceived sounds. Why am I this jittery? Of course, I know part of the answer to that question. I’m still rattled for, in my opinion, taking it too far with Romi, even if she clearly doesn’t regard it that way. In fact, when I attempted to apologize, she seemed offended in a way I’m still trying to figure out.

  Groaning, I sit up and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. I carefully slip on my robe and head out into the hallway. The door to the guest room is slightly ajar, and I tiptoe over and peer through the crack. I can see the top third of the queen-size guest bed. Romi’s dark hair contrasts sharply against the white pillowcase. She’s deeply burrowed under the duvet and is holding on to another pillow with her right arm.

  I stand there, listening to the even breaths that show she’s asleep. Every now and then she jerks, or the arm around the pillow moves restlessly. So, yes, she sleeps, but it feels as if her rest is a bit uneasy.

  I walk to the bathroom and contemplate filling the tub. A bath is my go-to remedy on nights like these, but the old pipes in the farmhouse make a lot of noise. I don’t want to wake Romi up. Ha. That’s half a lie. The selfish part of me wants to crawl into bed with Romi, snuggle close to her, and have some warmth restored to my body. My other half, the unselfish part of me, somehow feels that she has trouble sleeping similar to mine. What a careless bitch I’d be if I acted on my own insignificant urges.

  I turn on the warm-water tap to my left and keep the faucet on a mere trickle to not make the pipes go clonk in the night. When the warm water has marginally helped me feel more human, I dry my hand and exit the bathroom. I pass the guest room, and of course I can’t stop myself from peering inside again. Romi has shifted and curled up into a tight fetal position. I can tell she’s shivering, and I can’t merely pass her by. I walk up to the bed, careful not to startle her out of a potential nightmare, if that’s what this is. The cold light of the moon relentlessly illuminates her face. Damp streaks glisten on her cheeks, her lips tremble, and I can see her eyes dart back and forth in a mad tempo under her thin, bluish eyelids. Yes, a nightmare.

  I sit down on the side of the bed and place my left hand on her trembling shoulder. If I can nudge her out of her nightmare without waking her up, that would preferable.

  “Shh,” I say in a low voice. “Just a dream, Romi. Just a dream.”

  Romi keens and squirms, ending up with her head on my thigh. I cradle her as best I can, moving my hand up and down her back. She’s wearing one of my flannel sleep shirts, and it’s entirely too big for her. Ignoring that I’m growing increasingly cold sitting here on her bed, I keep caressing her, keep murmuring terms of endearment. Eventually she relaxes and shifts again, slipping off my leg. I feel our separation acutely, but knowing she’s calm now and hopefully over what plagued her in the night makes it all right.

  I pull the covers up over her, giving her back the pillow she’s knocked onto the floor. She tugs it close, and just as I’m about to round the bed and go back to my room, I hear her whisper.

  “Sorry, Gail. Forgive me.”

  For a moment I think she’s awake and somehow apologizing for some perceived idea that she’s disturbed me. Then I see that her eyes are closed and her breathing even. Was I in her dream before? Or merely now? The previous possibility worries me, as I would never want to be part of her nightmares. The idea of causing this woman pain, something she’s clearly lived through enough as it is, makes my stomach clench.

  Back in my bedroom, I crawl into my, by now, cold bed. I’ll probably end up like my old aunt with a bed full of heating pads one day. Closing my eyes, I can see the worrisome image of Romi in the torment of a night terror, and I feel the sensation of her thin body under flannel against my palm. I press my good hand against my chest as a way of holding her closer, and unfathomably, I drift off to sleep.

  Chapter Twenty

  Romi

  Manon’s office at the Belmont Center seems like the only calm place in a roaring sea. The elegant woman, so poised and classy, sits at her desk, reading from her laptop when I stop just on the threshold. I tentatively rap my fingers on the doorframe.

  Manon looks up and smiles when she sees me. “Romi. Just the person I want to talk to.”

  I cringe but force a smile as I take a few steps closer. “Hello, Manon.”

  “Take a seat.” Manon points toward the visitor’s chair at the short end of her desk. Sitting down, I get a horrible déjà vu from when I sat down at the policewoman’s desk after being wrongly arrested. I can’t stop a shudder, which of course Manon doesn’t miss. “Are you all right?” she asks, her expression turning serious.

  “I’m fine, thank you.” I paste on my best broad smile.

  “Hmm. All right.” Manon gives me a doubtful look but then pulls out a folder. “I have the evaluation slips the choir members filled out anonymously last week.” She looks pleased, which is a huge relief. “I have to say you are a big hit among them. I’m so grateful that you’ve managed to shoulder most of Carrie’s assignments.”

  “I’m just sorry she’s not doing so well.” I truly am.

  “Yes. It’s sad that both she and her husband are having health problems. At least she’s insured via us, which covers her husband as well.” Manon shakes her head. “That’s part of what I want to talk to you about. As we’re tasking you with increasingly more to do and longer hours, we need to look into insurance, etcetera for you as well.”

  I merely stare at her. No, this can’t be happening. Not yet. “I’m doing okay like this,” I say, trying to sound casual, but my hands are unsteady enough for me to hide them between my knees.

  “Excuse me?” Manon blinks. She then leans back in her chair and crosses her legs. “You must have figured out that you’re working more than thirty hours per week by now. All the administrative work around the choir and the kids alone adds up.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “We have rules and regulations regarding this type of situation. As the head of the Belmont Foundation, I’m obligated to make sure my employees are taken care of. Clearly, as the foundation employs several thousand people, I normally don’t micromanage, but you and I have a personal connection, as you were more or less cajoled into taking this job. And we both know I don’t have all the information about you that I need—don’t we?”

  “Yes,” I whisper. “I just wish you wouldn’t push this point. I know I could do the same job in less time, and that way you wouldn’t have to worry that I work more than thirty hours.” I’m being pathetic and reasoning like an idiot, I know that, but my panic button is pressed so h
ard, it’s stuck. I was supposed to discuss some of this with Gail, but during the two weeks since I spent the night at her house, we’ve both taken a step back somehow. We’ve talked, mostly on the phone, but our interaction has been stilted, with undercurrents I can’t decipher.

  She’s been busy attending physio- and occupational therapy three times a week, and Manon’s right. I’ve been working longer and longer days. Who knew that being a choir director employed by a foundation meant more than rehearsing songs a few afternoons every week? I’m expected to take part in meetings and keep records of the kids and their progress, not only vocally, but in our special social setting. And then there are the parents, guardians, and foster parents that need updates, schedules, and general information.

  “What happened to you, Romi?” Manon asks, pushing her chair closer to mine. She gently pulls my hands free from where I try to hide them and holds them between hers. “And before you answer, don’t forget that there isn’t much I haven’t heard yet. People on my staff, people who apply for grants or scholarships, and the participants in any of the classes we teach or group sessions we hold, they all have their story. Not much shocks me these days.”

  I’m torn between running out of the building and finally coming clean about my past. If I run, that means running from Gail, the kids, and my new friends. If I tell the truth, I could face the same outcome. All right. What do I have to lose?

  “I was arrested in New York for a crime I didn’t commit,” I say, speaking so fast I trip over the words.

  “All right.” Manon pulls a legal pad closer and picks up a fancy-looking pen. “When was this?”

  “Early August.” I want to howl at the moon.

  “And what happened after your arrest?” Manon jots down more notes.

  “I…I ran,” I whisper. “I panicked and ran.” I can envision the worn-down precinct, hear the shouts, and see the drug-happy guy who cheered me on when I walked out the door.