Feels like Home (Lake Fisher 2)
Page 8
“Sure, they’re not.” I laugh too, and I leave him sitting on the top step of my porch. I go inside and go to the kids’ room. Sam and Kerry-Anne are sharing a set of bunkbeds, so I go and pull their covers over them. Sam looks soft when she’s sleeping, and I can almost fool myself into thinking she doesn’t hate me right now.
Miles is in a portable crib in my room, so I watch him breathing, counting the rise and fall of his breaths. Lynda never could sleep until she’d watched ten rises and falls of his chest. She did it with all the kids. So I count now, satisfied when I get to ten. Then I get into bed, sliding between the cool sheets.
Chemo—and everything else—starts tomorrow. I need to be well rested. This shit is going to get real, real fast.
5
Bess
The cottage is empty when I get up and go in search of coffee. The crick in my neck from sleeping on the couch is killing me. Eli went to bed before me. He could have given me the bed, but he didn’t. He did leave room for me, I noticed, when I walked by the bedroom to go to the bathroom. He’d slept on the left, like he did when we used to sleep together. But I couldn’t force myself to get into the bed with him. Once up on a time, I’d have crawled into bed with him and wrapped my arms around him from behind. He would have grumbled and rolled over, and then pulled me against his chest. He stopped doing that a long time ago, long before I stopped getting in bed and wrapping my arms around him.
I look around the room. I have a lot to do to pack this place up. Most of the furniture will be sold with the cottage, I assume, but we have to decide what to do with all the knick-knacks and pictures. I’m guessing that we’re going to box them all up and put them in storage. I pick up the picture that rests on the mantel. It’s a picture of me and Eli on the day we got married. We got married standing beneath the arbor near the dock here at Lake Fisher. The day had been perfect. The picture almost hurts my heart to look at it, so I set it back down.
A knock sounds on the door. I walk over and open it, and I’m startled when I find Aaron standing in the doorway. He leans against the doorframe and grins at me.
“Bess,” he says. Then he rushes toward me and grabs me tightly, lifting me in the air as he spins me around. He sets me down and looks at me. “Nice jammies,” he teases, as he pulls a lock of my hair. I look down at my ratty old pajamas with the ducks on them and grin.
“Not everyone can look this sexy in duck jammies,” I reply. I give him a small curtsy.
“True,” he says. He looks around the room. “This place hasn’t changed at all.”
“No one has been here in a while.” I finally look at him. “When did you get here?”
“We got here the day before you did.” He looks everywhere but at me, like he’s trying to take in every piece of the room.
“I thought I saw your curtain move last night. I didn’t know you were here.”
“I was being a creepy stalker last night.” He shrugs. “I wanted to come and say hello, but it was late.” He grins at me. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he says quietly. “How long are you staying?”
I motion around the room. “Just long enough to pack up.”
“Pack up?”
“We’re selling the cottage. Didn’t Eli tell you?”
“Why are you selling the cottage?” He tilts his head and stares at me. It’s almost unnerving how direct his gaze is.
“No one comes here anymore.” I give him a shrug. “We have to divvy things up for the divorce.”
His brow furrows. “Divorce?”
“Yeah, it’s time…” I say slowly.
“Why?” He has a little vee between his eyebrows, and the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes crinkle a little as he frowns.
I heave a sigh. “It just is. I’m actually surprised that Eli didn’t tell you.”
“Oh, he did,” he replies. “I just wanted to hear it from you.”
“Did he tell you why?”
“No. He never did.”
He still stares at me. His gaze is unnerving, like he can see into my soul. I turn and walk to the kitchen. “You want some coffee?”
“Only if you can make it a cup to go. I have somewhere I need to be this morning.”
I reach into the cabinet and take out a mug with a lid.