Make You Mine

“Did you ask him if he’d ever suffered head trauma?”

She starts laughing. “No! If I tell them I’m a therapist, they start trying to get me to diagnose their exes.”

“What do you say is your occupation?”

“I say I’m a life coach. It’s easier that way.”

“Show me your profile. Maybe if we put our collective heads together, we can get you better results.”

I scoot around in the bed so we’re head to head, lying on our backs, looking at her phone. It’s a comforting feeling, like we were when we were teens, laughing and talking about boys. My life was never the same after my mom died and my dad dropped out of society. Still, Ruby was always by my side, and Mrs. Banks was right there with the maternal input, making us eat, and giving us unsolicited advice.

It’s late in the afternoon when I finally say goodbye, headed back to the dark and deteriorating mansion my dad never leaves. Mrs. Banks loaded me up with a container of dumplings and a big thermos of her warm soup for him. I wonder if he’ll even eat it.

My mind has been on Gray all day. It was hard to resist checking my phone every two minutes for a text from him. None ever came. I considered sneaking away to the restroom and texting him, but it made me feel too clingy.

He’s still holding back, and I have to do the same. I have to let him come to me now… like he did at the lake house. The lake house. Mmm…

I’m in the garage now, and I close my eyes remembering him standing outside my door in the rain, fire burning in his eyes, his chest heaving. I could see the lines of his muscles through the transparent, wet shirt he wore. He grabbed me in his arms, and he held me so tight. He was desperate, hungry, so sexy…

The memory gives me a shiver, and I can’t wait until tomorrow to make contact.

Walking quickly through the house, I check the kitchen before jogging up to the study where my dad always sits. I’m a little deflated to find him there, looking out the window. This time, at least, the empty tumbler is on the side table and not in his hand. Is it possible he drank a little less today?

“Hey, Dad. Mrs. Banks sent over some food for you. Hungry?”

He slowly turns to look at me, and when he sees the bag, he gives me the smallest smile. “Linda is one of the best cooks in town.”

My heart releases a little at his words. “She really is. You should try these sticky dumplings.”

I pull out the small container of the warm little morsels. He looks inside and takes one. It’s so good to see him eating. After my happy afternoon, thinking of him locked away in this moldering mansion makes me sad.

The only thing sadder is the thought of me trapped in here with him forever. We are like Estella and Miss Havisham. Dammit, Ralph Stern. I can’t let that happen.

“I drove the Jag to church this morning. It seems to be running fine. Just needs new tires, Gray said.”

His expression darkens a bit, but I quickly hand him a large soup spoon. “Try the soup. It’s so delicious. A little like egg drop. Yes?”

He allows me to race past the mention of Gray. I don’t know if it’s because he’s softening toward him or he’s just too tired to get all worked up. I suspect it’s the latter, but I’m not giving up hope.

As my father eats, I tell him about the sermon, how the new pastor seems a lot better to me than Pastor Stemple.

“Paul is an idiot. His sermons never made any damn sense,” my dad growls, which I take as a good sign, even if he’s talking about the preacher.

“I didn’t really get his analogies half the time myself.” I carefully take the container of soup he hands to me, replacing the lid and returning everything to the bag.

Dad exhales heavily, and his eyes go to the window. “Nothing anyone can say will bring back the dead. Nothing anyone can say will make it right. God’s plan…”

His voice is bitter, and I think about the sermon today on forgiveness. I think sometimes the person God needs to help us forgive is God.

I’m not sure how that works.

He pushes out of his chair, and I sit back on the footstool where I was serving him. “Can I get you anything else?”

I reach out to take his hand, but he moves it away. “I’m going to bed. I’ve had enough of this day.”

He slowly exits the room, and I look out the window again. At least I got him to eat something. Tomorrow, I’ll get him that prescription. Then I can only hope for the best.

In the meantime, I scoop up the leftover Korean food and make my way downstairs. My phone is hot in my hand, and my heart beats faster when I think of messaging Gray.