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“Nonsense. I’ll have three of my best men report to you this evening. I’ll give you their information before you leave here today, and send you pictures, though they’ll have their community badges, as well. I won’t chance someone hurting you—or your livelihood. Faron would insist,” he said, a warning note in his voice. “You know he would.”
I let my shoulders slump. “All right. Thank you. I don’t know how long it will take to figure out who did it, though.”
And with that, Kyle headed off to the bathroom.
CHAPTER SEVEN
After Faron was out of surgery and we had been allowed to see him briefly, Kyle and I agreed to go home for awhile. Faron looked so vulnerable with IVs running into his arms, electrodes attached to his brain, and the other machines that monitored his vitals, but he was out of surgery and breathing on his own.
I shuddered, flashing back to the Matrix scene, where Neo woke up and was jettisoned out of the pod in which he’d been kept. But I kept that vision to myself. After Kyle promised to call me the moment Faron’s condition changed, I left with Bree. She dropped me off at home before taking off to tend to Atlas and Oscar. I promised to call her later in the evening.
As I darted through the rain toward the house, I glanced over at my shop. Every window was boarded up and it looked like an old, abandoned shed. I felt unaccountably lonely and sad, as though I’d lost something from my childhood.
Grams was there, waiting with May and Bran, as I entered the door, stopping to strip off my shoes and jacket. My hair was soaked through, and I was cold, shivering as I hung my jacket on a hook in the foyer. I’d installed tile below the coat hooks, so that when it was absolutely pouring, water wouldn’t drip from the outerwear onto the hardwoods and ruin them.
Bran was in the living room. As he saw me, he vanished into the bathroom, returning with a huge fluffy towel, and a second that was a bit smaller. “Here, for you and for your hair. You should go change and get out of those wet things.”
He was right—I was soaked to the skin. Outside, the downpour—or should I say deluge—continued. I gratefully took the towels, wrapping my hair up in one of them as I blotted my face with the larger one. But as I moved toward the woodstove, the heat and warmth barely seemed to touch the frost that had chilled my heart and body.
“I think I’ll take a hot shower. I won’t be long, and then I’ll tell you everything that happened.” I held his gaze for a moment. “Thank you for staying, for waiting for me.”
Fancypants divebombed us. “Go get yourself dried off. You’re dripping on the floor,” he said, but the smile was implied behind the light tone of voice.
“I love you too,” I said, sticking my tongue out at the dragonette. But before he could answer, I disappeared into my bedroom. As I shut the door behind me, I slowly began to unzip my jeans, slid them off and tossed them into the laundry basket. I pulled the turtleneck over my shoulders and added the sweater to the growing pile of dirty clothes. Then, before the chill air thoroughly pierced me, I turned the water to hot and stepped under the steaming flow.
The water hit me like a warm embrace, and I closed my eyes as it slowly began to flood through my body, driving away the cold. I chose a warm vanilla cream scented bath gel and lathered up, luxuriating as the heat penetrated my pores. Then, melting into the warmth and the coziness, I let go and burst into tears.
I was crying for Faron—for a strong, tall man, he looked so small and fragile against all the tubes and monitors that had been attached to his body. I cried for my shop, my beautiful shop that was now tainted and torn. I cried for my cousin Owen, dead far too soon, and my mother who used her pain as a way to gain sympathy. I cried for my aunt Ciara, who lost her son, and for Bree, facing a potential lawsuit. I cried for Bran, because I knew how he felt about me and I desperately wanted to return his affection. But what would that mean if I did, and would it hurt more in the long run?
I cried until the tears ran out, until the water cooled, and then—exhausted and no longer shivering—I stepped out of the shower and sat at the vanity, wondering what to do next.
* * *
Grams had dinner on the table by the time I emerged from my bedroom, wearing a pair of palazzo pants in a soft Jersey knit, along with a fuzzy V-neck sweater. I dried my hair, repaired my makeup, and—finally feeling presentable—headed into the living room.
Dinner was waiting. Grams had made chicken parmesan, with noodles in an alfredo sauce on the side. A bowl of green beans sauteed with bacon and an apple pie rounded out the meal.
“It smells divine,” I said, hugging Grams before I sat down next to her at the table. Bran and May joined us.
“Do you feel better?” Grams asked.
I nodded. “I think I needed time to reflect. It’s been such a long, emotional day and I’m exhausted, on all levels. I didn’t actually do a lot but…”
“Emotions can wear us out far faster than activity,” Grams said, handing me the bowl of noodles in alfredo sauce.
I spooned a hearty serving onto my plate. “Agreed.” Turning to Bran, I said, “Thank you for boarding up the windows. I don’t know what I’m going to do about the shop. I lost a lot of money today, and I also lost confidence. So much has happened in the past year. I’m beginning to feel like I should just buy a little cabin in the woods and hide out for the rest of my life. I can grow food. I’m not all that materialistic. Do I really need a job when I could sell this place and buy a smaller one outright with the proceeds?”
“Nonsense,” Grams said as May handed Fancypants his dinner. He was sitting in his high chair, waiting for his special plate.
“I’m sorry,” I said, immediately feeling remiss. “I should have served you first.”
“You don’t need to apologize,” Fancypants said, delicately wiping his mouth with his napkin. “You’ve had a hard day. May kindly fixed me a plate. What is there to worry over?”
“Yeah but…” I stopped, starting to feel that I sounded like a martyr. And if there’s one thing I couldn’t stand, it was a dramatic, self-serving actor, which I considered martyrs to be. “Thanks, May.”
“You’re welcome, my dear,” May said.
“Anyway, I don’t know what to do about the shop. I wish Daisy would call.”
