The first thing she saw was Click, sound asleep in the rocking chair.
She stared at him, frozen in place. He wore work-worn jeans and a white undershirt that clung to every ridge and curve of his chest. All brawn and muscle and beauty. She smiled at the ink that peeked out from under the left sleeve.
She’d wanted to believe the doctor, wanted to believe she hadn’t done something to cause Amelia’s death. But her mother said he was being kind, to ease her guilt. And she had felt guilty, so damn guilty. Thinking of Amelia was too hard. She had no right to tears or sorrow when it was her fault. It was Toben who rescued her from their mother, dragging her with him before the crush of guilt had almost killed her. No matter how hard he tried to get through to her, Tandy refused to hear him. It hurt too much to grieve, to face what she’d done.
Click’s words cut her loose the way no one else could. Amelia had been his, too. The pain was there, but it was different now. It would take time to accept it was okay to miss her, to grieve for her, and not blame herself. That hadn’t been an option before. Whether her mother realized the damage her words had done to her, Tandy did—now.
As much as it had hurt to see Pearl, to know what it meant he’d done, she couldn’t hold it against him. He’d been just as lost as she was—searching for some way to find a purpose. And they had Pearl now. Sweet, happy Pearl.
So much pain. So much time lost.
The only hurt she couldn’t quite make peace with was the hurt she’d caused Click.
“Tandy?” His voice was a low rumble, thick with sleep.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Her stomach growled loudly, rousing Banshee from his place on the floor.
“Hungry?” Click chuckled.
“What makes you say that?” she asked, still whispering. Her stomach roared again.
He pointed at her. “When did you eat last?”
She shrugged. “I had some toast this morning.” She searched the walls for some sign of a clock. “What time is it?”
“Almost midnight,” he said, pushing out the rocking chair.
She stared up at him, his face shadowed. “You go on to bed—”
“Why are we whispering?” he asked.
She smiled. “Habit?” She looked down the hallway. “Lynnie never liked us up after she went to bed.”
He grinned. “She did not. I think she knew what we were up to.”
Tandy’s body tingled. “You do?” How many hot summer nights had she and Click slipped from their rooms—she from her uncle’s place and he from Lynnie’s. They’d meet up, toting flashlights and wearing pajamas and boots. In the beginning it had been innocent. Long walks under the starry sky and holding hands with sweaty palms. But that last summer, she and Click started a fire that burned hot for years.
“I do,” he said, so close his breath brushed her forehead. “She said we were a good match. Two broken birds that, together, flew straight.”
Tandy wished the lights were on then, so she could see his face and search his eyes. Her stomach growled again.
Click chuckled. “Let’s get something in that belly of yours before you wake Pearl up.”
She followed Click into the kitchen, blinking against the sudden light from the overhead fan.
“What did you eat?” she asked, pulling open the refrigerator and peering inside. “Is this all you have?”
“I don’t cook much. Pearl still eats mostly baby food and fruit.” He ran a hand over his face.
She pulled the basket of eggs out. “Is this ham safe?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Ham and eggs it is,” she said. She cooked, comfortable in Lynnie’s kitchen, while Click set the table. They didn’t say much, but it wasn’t awkward. It was natural. She put ham, eggs and toast on two plates and carried them to the table.
“Looks good,” he said, digging in.
She watched him, smiling as he cleaned his plate with enthusiasm. “I guess I wasn’t the only hungry one?”