Oh wait. They had. So why wasn’t I upset?
“He needs you, too, Hannah. He just wants to retain his dignity.” I paused. “And for what it’s worth, he should have talked to you before I showed up unannounced on your doorstep,” I added for good measure.
Her mouth curved ever so slightly. Even that little bit transformed her whole face. “You’re pretty smart for a sergeant,” she said softly.
She was teasing me now? It was such a tiny jab, but damn, I liked it. “Got something against sergeants, do you?”
“Well, they’re not colonels.” Her mouth curved a little more, but her eyes were probing, serious. In that moment, I felt like she was seeing a lot more than I wanted her to. Her next words drove that point home. “How badly were you hurt?”
I thought about blowing her off, but she’d already seen the scars. There was no sense pretending it hadn’t happened. And besides, maybe if I showed a little trust, she would, too. When I was a kid, I used to coax squirrels to feed from my hand. It took time and patience, but I was successful more often than not. This felt a lot like that.
I shrugged. “Bad enough to make me reevaluate my career choices.”
“Does it still hurt?”
Warning bells began to toll. Was she concerned, curious, or fishing for some excuse to send me packing? I would do well to remember not to underestimate her; she was both smart and clever. “Sometimes,” I admitted slowly.
“You hide it well.” She turned her gaze back to the tea. “But sometimes, I can tell.” She drained what was left in her mug, then rose. “It’s in the way you hold yourself. Every movement is controlled and precise, as if you’re bracing for pain.” She tugged the soggy bag out of the mug and dropped it in the trash, then rinsed the mug and turned it upside down in the drainer.
Damn. She was even more perceptive than I gave her credit for. I was doing pretty well, but sometimes I forgot myself and one wrong move could result in agony.
“Do you take anything for it?”
“Not anymore,” I answered truthfully.
She went up on her tiptoes and reached into one of the cupboards, extracting a mason jar. She walked over to me, close enough that I caught a whiff of something light and slightly sweet, like honeysuckle before it fully blooms. I’d caught hints of it before, too, when we’d crossed paths. Was it her shampoo? Her perfume? Just like that, my train of thought went AWOL again and the Private between my legs was gearing up for a mission in-country.
“Try this,” she said, placing the jar in front of me. “It’s a homemade balm that helps my dad sometimes. Lavender to draw blood to the surface, ginger as an anti-inflammatory, and wintergreen to stimulate the muscles.”
“Hannah,” I said, wanting to reassure her (but also wanting to pull her down onto my lap and find the source of that intoxicating scent), “I’m more than capable of doing this job.”
It must have come out more harshly than I intended because her eyes widened just a fraction before she stepped back suddenly. “Don’t get defensive. I’m not insinuating otherwise.”
“Aren’t you?” I asked quietly.
“Yeah, that’s me. Casting the first stone.” Hannah shook her head, then laughed softly to herself. She picked up a small receiver I hadn’t noticed before and put it on the table before me, next to the jar. “I guess I should give you this in case he needs you again tonight. It’s connected to a transmitter on his medical alert bracelet. Goodnight, Ethan.”
Hannah padded out of the kitchen on those tiny fairy feet, leaving me more confused than ever.
Hannah
I didn’t think I’d be able to fall asleep, but I guess when you’re tired enough, your mind and body just take over and shut you down. I managed a couple of hours, deep and uninterrupted. Giving that receiver to Ethan had been difficult, but cathartic. On some level, I think, relinquishing control had allowed me to get the rest I needed, knowing that someone else was keeping watch.
Someone I trusted.
I know he thought I was questioning his ability to care for my dad last night, but I honestly wasn’t. Maybe it was a good thing he did, though, because for Ethan to think, even for a moment, that I was starting to care about him could be a very, very bad thing.
I’d gotten a shower before I went to bed, so this morning I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and took care of business in the span of a few minutes. I donned a loose-fitting T and some lightweight cotton shorts, frowning somewhat when I had to pull the drawstring tighter than usual. I knew I wasn’t eating much these days, but I just couldn’t see forcing myself to eat when I wasn’t hungry. I made a silent promise to eat at least three times today, even if it was only something small. I sure wouldn’t be doing myself or anyone else a favor by allowing myself to get weak or sick.
That small resolution strengthened me. The sun was shining; the dew was still a heavy coating on the grass in the coolness of the early morning. I loved this time of day, when everything felt fresh and new and filled with potential.
When I lived in California, I used to run along the beach to a specific spot where, if I turned a certain way, the ocean and the sky fused together and I couldn’t tell where one left off and the other began. I would stop and do yoga there, feeling connected to the world around me.
Corny, I know, but you have to understand that except for those few stolen moments each day, I never felt connected to anything. I missed that.
I opened my bedroom door and listened. The house was quiet; there was no sign of anyone else up and about. I padded across the hall to the guest room where Ethan was staying and pressed my ear up against the door. Closing my eyes and focusing, I could hear Dad’s soft, dissonant snores coming through the monitor I’d slipped into Ethan’s room. Between that and the medic alert receiver I’d given him, I knew my dad was in good hands.
Concentrating further, I heard Ethan’s deep, rhythmic breaths, too. I refused to think about what Ethan looked like at that moment, lying there in bed. Okay, maybe I thought about it. But just a little. Did he sleep in his underwear or go commando? I didn’t even consider pajamas, because if there was one thing I was pretty sure about, it was that Ethan O’Malley was not a PJ kind of guy.
Other things, I had to guess. Was he a front or a back sleeper? If I opened the door and took a peek, would I be greeted by the image of that glorious chest again? Or might I be lucky enough to see if that behind was really as tight and firm and perfect as it looked in a pair of well-worn Levi’s?
Enough of that. I shook my head to dispel the images and slammed down a wall of three-foot thick, reinforced concrete on those thoughts.
Satisfied that all was well, I decided to take advantage of my renewed energy and went for a run. If memory served, there were some amazing trails in the nearby woods. After my mom died, I spent a lot of time here with my grandparents, but I hadn’t allowed myself the luxury of exploring since I’d been back, afraid to venture too far out of earshot in case Dad needed me. With Ethan around, I didn’t have to worry so much. I could chance a few stolen minutes.
It came back to me as if it had been weeks instead of years. I followed the narrow paths made by wild animals -—deer and bear and coyote -—breathing in the life-affirming scents of damp earth, rotting leaves, and pine. Before long I heard the familiar sound of the creek, fueled by age-old springs and mountain run-off. My steps quickened, anxious and hopeful that my sanctuary was still intact.
It was. I used tree roots and natural ledges to climb down the steep embankment, a bit out of practice but thankfully my hands and feet retained enough tactile memory that I didn’t break my neck. I skipped gracefully from one slippery stone to the next, feeling -—as I always did when I came here -—like some kind of nature sprite until I came to the one spot where I felt completely, totally, at peace.
The waterfall was not big, the tiny secret landing behind it far from impressive. But it was the most perfect place in the world to me. Here I could recline against the damp, cool stones, hidden from
the rest of the world for as long as I needed. Inhaling the mist and the scent of wet stone and moss, I felt as if I’d truly come home. I couldn’t believe it had taken me this long to come back here.
This was where I’d worked through my grief over my mother’s death. This was where I’d cried for hours, wondering why my dad didn’t want me with him anymore. Where I sorted through my options and picked which college scholarship I would accept. Where I decided that I would let Jake Schaeffer take my virginity, if he asked (he never did). Where I made up my mind to leave Muskrat Falls the summer after high-school graduation and never look back.
Now that I was here again, I vowed to come as often as I could. This is where I would face my demons (including one particular blue-eyed devil), start charting a new course for my future, and mourn for my father when the time came.
I stayed as long as I dared, afraid that if I lingered much longer, someone might be tempted to come looking for me. No one knew about my secret place and I wanted to keep it that way. Next time I would remember to leave a note or something, claiming some bogus task or errand to explain my absence.
Already looking forward to my next visit, I crawled out of my little haven and climbed back up to the trail above. With any luck I’d make it back before anyone realized I’d been gone.
Ethan
Hannah was in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on a breakfast tray. She hadn’t noticed me yet, so I leaned against the doorway and took a moment to observe her, unguarded, just being herself.
She moved fluidly, like a woman confident in her own skin. I took in her loose shorts, surprisingly curvy legs, oversized T, and ratty-looking sneakers. Her hair was once again pulled back away from her face in a ponytail, her skin slightly flushed and dewy, as if she’d just returned from a morning run.
Something stirred deep inside me, and I wasn’t sure I really wanted to know what it was. I had mixed feelings about trying to decipher them without the benefit of a good strong cup of coffee and food in my belly. We’d made some progress last night, I think, but it was still too early to tell.
I must have made some kind of noise, because I saw her suddenly tense as if preparing for battle. She barely glanced at me as she opened a few prescription bottles and put her father’s meds into a tiny cup. “Your breakfast is over there.”
I entered the room and followed the direction of her head tilt to find a prepared plate in an electric, rectangular warming tray. Lifting the cover, I inhaled the heavenly scents of pancakes and thick, slab bacon with home fries on the side. An empty mug sat ready and waiting by the coffee maker, along with a glass of what looked like freshly squeezed orange juice.
My stomach rumbled loudly in eager anticipation. If it tasted half as good as it smelled, I was going to enjoy it. The fact that she made it for me improved my mood dramatically. The only thing that would make it better was if she was planning on joining me.
“Have you eaten?” I asked.
She pointed at the half-eaten chocolate protein bar and glass of orange juice.
“Is that all you’re going to eat? How are you ever going to grow up to be big and strong if you eat like that?” I gave her my best charming smile, dimples and everything. My hopes surged when I saw a slight quirk of the lips, a glimmer of amusement.
“My father is your concern, not me.”
“Who takes care of you?” I wondered aloud.
The question surprised her. Her smile faded. Something flashed in her eyes, and I recognized it for what it was: pain. “I do.”
Clearing her throat, she shifted as though she’d said too much. “I’m going to take this in to Dad, then grab a shower. Are you still okay with doing his physical therapy this morning?”
Shit. The walls were back up, and she was in full retreat. “Yeah, of course. Hannah—”
“Thanks, Ethan,” she said, cutting me off as she backed out of the doorway. The moment she cleared the frame she turned and high-tailed it down the hallway.
Angus
I could tell by the flummoxed look on the boy’s face that Hannah was proving to be a tougher nut to crack than he’d thought. That wasn’t a bad thing, but like I said, I didn’t have a whole lot of time. The ‘fall’ I’d had the night before got the ball rolling, but not nearly fast enough for my liking.
“Well?”
Ethan shifted those blue eyes back to mine. It was strange, seeing Cal’s eyes looking at me from a totally different face.
“Well what?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, boy.”
He worked my left leg, pushing and pulling to keep the blood flowing and the joints lubricated. Spending most of my time in a wheelchair these days meant they didn’t get enough exercise on their own. Hannah tried her best, but I needed Ethan’s greater strength for the exercises to be effective.
“She smiled at me and made me breakfast.”
I nodded in approval. “That’s a good start, but it’s not enough. Where is she now?”
“She said she was going to take a shower.”
A plan started to form in my mind. “Do you know your way around a well pump and a water heater?”
He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Well enough.”
“Okay, here’s what I want you to do...”
Chapter 8
Hannah
“AaaaaahhhHHH!” I screamed. My hot, steamy water turned ice cold just as I was starting to rinse the shampoo from my hair. I flattened myself against the back wall of the shower stall, but not before my skin cooled and my nipples hardened to diamond tips (damn D-cups!). I tried to keep my body out of the icy spray as I did a little dance on my toes and reached out blindly for the knob. My eyes were shut tight against the suds dripping down my face. Which one was hot – the left or the right? And why didn’t I know? Shouldn’t I know that?
“Goddamn it!” I spat, opening one eye into a half-squint, and was immediately rewarded with a painful burning as my all-natural, organic shampoo lather felt more like battery acid. I turned both knobs frantically to the left and the right to no avail. I finally managed to get a sufficient-enough grip with my slippery hands to shut both off entirely, leaving me wet, naked, and shaking until I could catch my breath. One thing about mountain-spring-fed well water -—it was freaking cold!
“Shit! Piss! Fuck! ...” I made use of the entire list of George Carlin’s original “Seven Words You Can’t Say on TV”.
“Hannah, is everything all right?” Ethan’s deep voice sounded through the door. Oh, double shit, piss, fuck.... you get the idea. He must have heard me screaming.
“Yeah,” I called out between chatters. “Just peachy.”
“Were you screaming?”
“Yeah.” There was no sense denying it; he was neither deaf nor stupid. “Just having an issue with the hot water.”
“Want me to take a look?”
Oh, hell no. “No, I’m good, thanks.”
“You sure?”
“Yep. Got it covered.” Or not covered, as the case was. I’d been naked in the shower countless times in my three decades, but I had never felt quite as exposed as I did then. It definitely had something to do with the big Ranger only a couple of feet away with nothing but a flimsy shower curtain and a hundred-year old door between us. I needed to rinse the shampoo out of my hair and eyes and get the hell out.
Clenching my jaw, I summoned my will and braced myself. After all, people had been taking cold showers forever before the invention of heated, indoor plumbing. Hell, when this house was originally built, it hadn’t even had bathrooms. The outhouse still stood out back as a testament to this. My grandparents, who had loved to regale me with stories of their childhoods when they felt I was one wrong step away from being spoiled, told me that in the summertime, they used to take a bar of homemade lye soap down to the creek or river when they needed a wash.
Well, bully for them. I don’t know if you’ve ever been treated to a bar of homemade lye soap, but let’s just say I kind of liked my skin and had
no desire whatsoever to participate in a group bathing activity, especially not in the same pools that held catfish and water moccasins and God knew what else. Tomboyish I might be, but I had my limits.
With some discipline and effort, I could convince myself that this wasn’t an indoor shower, but a waterfall. It could be my waterfall. I could take my inner nature sprite to a new level by placing my wet, naked body beneath its purity and goodness.
That’s what I told myself, anyway. Turns out I was full of shit. No amount of imagination was going to turn the anemic spray of my water-saving showerhead into a glorious waterfall. And it was still effing cold.
Several minutes (an eternity) later, I emerged from the shower stall sputtering, shaking, and sporting a very unattractive blue tint to my skin. My hair was a wild mass of tangled curls, because I wasn’t stupid enough to attempt conditioner. On the plus side, my teeth were chattering so much that all I had to do was hold my toothbrush against them and it was like having one of those fancy, expensive electric jobbies.
I opened the door a crack and sneaked a peek out into my bedroom. There was no sign of Ethan, but his scent, a light mixture of shaving cream, clean-smelling deodorant, and male, lingered in the air. I inhaled deeply, groaning when a burgeoning heat from deep within my core began to thaw me from the inside out. I recognized it for the Ranger-inspired lust it was.
Ah, what the hell, I thought. I sprinted over to the bedroom door and locked it with a good, old-fashioned metal key, then propped a chair up under the knob for good measure. Then I turned on my am/fm clock radio (background noise was key), dug out my trusty BOB (that’s Battery Operated Boyfriend for those of you not lonely enough to need one), and slipped between the inexpensive cotton blend sheets.
Now, I am, by nature, a practical person with simple needs, but I’ll admit I splurged on this particular indulgence. Had I lived alone, I would have kept it on my nightstand on display -—it was that pretty. It had a shiny gold base with a control panel of light-up buttons that looked like it had been designed by NASA. The, uh, male part was a transparent soft/hard gel-like substance that was supposedly larger than the average human equivalent (I didn’t have enough personal experience to know if this was total bullshit or not). It rotated -—clockwise and counterclockwise -—as did the thick ring of pearly beads at the base for additional stimulation.
Letting Go: A Contemporary Romance of Snark and Feels Page 7
