I squeeze her hand one more time, which seems to remind her to squeeze back. “Come here.” I scooch closer and tug on her hand, pulling her nearer. I move to my back, tucking her into my side. Once she’s settled and facing me, I offer her my hand so she can keep squeezing it if she wants and then lay both across my stomach.
Her scent is stronger than ever, making those wildflowers in the sun even more visceral. And the warmth of her body engulfs me this time as she not only willingly gives it but seeks mine in return. I’m so calm, yet so excited to feel this. So full, yet so light.
Before Molly, I never shared a sleeping space with anyone. I’ve always been my own rock to lean on, taking comfort in solitude. But this new experience of someone needing me? I never knew how centering it could be while also sending a small release of gentle endorphins through me. And a niggling feeling deep inside tells me I couldn’t feel this with just anyone. It’s because it’sMollyneeding me in this medley of elements that has me feeling this way. Not that I ever want to see her scared or troubled. But the serenity that comes with holding her and being her shelter... I think I can handle it the next time it comes.
20
MOLLY
There are so many things to take note of when my eyes flutter open. So many beautifully pleasant things that I deliberately stay still, keeping my cheek pressed against the pillow.
The bed covers next to me are cast in a light blue, signifying the predawn hours of the morning but also the absence of storm clouds and heavy rain. Which leads to the next beautiful realization: I don’t remember the storm passing.
Because I slept.
That’s never happened before.
The gentle red numbers flash on the alarm clock by the bed, which means the power’s back on. I should get out of bed, but I’m incredibly comfortable. Beautifully cozy wrapped in the linens, like I’ve been tucked in. I almost don’t dare move out of fear that I’ll pop this bubble of comfort and calm. But the last thing I become aware of is that I’m alone. Wolf is no longer next to me, and I almost ache to have him back next to me again.
As if my yearning was carried to him on a cloud, I hear the living room slider open and shut downstairs. Wolf’s footsteps resound one at a time up the stairs, and when he appears at thetop, my eyes get to pick up on more grounding details, like the fact he’s still in his pajama pants and no shirt. And his cheeks look flushed, maybe from the chilly morning air. The coffee mug in one hand has me immediately craving caffeine, but the item in his other hand grabs my attention as he comes closer.
Wolf casually takes a seat next to me on the bed, sending a silent rush pluming through my upper body that feels familiar and domestic yet new and exciting. He holds a tiny blue flower I can barely make out between his thumb and forefinger and passes it to me.
“This was peeking at me from your grandmother’s garden,” he explains with no other lead in.
I feel a breath leave my lips when I realize it’s one of the blue flax she was able to pollinate and plant some time ago. “Thank you,” I manage, my voice scratchy from sleep. This is the first bloom of the season.
“You’re okay?” he asks as I twirl the dainty stem in my fingers.
I think for a moment about how I’m so much better than okay. I’ve never been this okay so soon after a storm. “Yeah.” I nod, deciding to keep it simple. “Thank you for getting me through it.”
“When you said you were afraid of thunderstorms, I thought maybe they just bothered you a little. I didn’t realize how serious you were.” Wolf looks down at his coffee mug a moment, like he’s wrestling a big decision with his mind before he asks quietly, “What happened?”
I know what he means. What happened to make a grown woman terrified of thunderstorms? The truth is… “I don’t know. I had… I guess I had kind of a rough start to my childhood,” I say calmly. “My mother wasn’t a good mother. She had me really young and expected to still get to go out and do young things. She was barely stable enough to take responsibility for herselfbut was hell bent against admitting that kind of failure.” I stop a moment to breathe because revisiting this information is always so uncomfortable. Mild nausea roils in my stomach, enough to feel ill at ease. “So, I went back and forth between living here and with her. I wasn’t even four when my grandparents put their foot down, and I came to live with them for good. Fortunately, I hardly remember much of what happened before that. But on the flipside, it also means I don’t remember what caused this outlandish phobia.” I wobble my head and roll my eyes, trying to keep the subject light.
“Nothing at all?”
I shake my head. “When I was just a couple years older, I thought I overheard my grandparents talking about something horrible happening to me.” The words rattle out on a low quake. “I heard the words ‘hurt her during a thunderstorm’, and it just, I don’t know…” I start to fidget. I didn’t mean to go this far into it, but now I feel trapped in the moment and the only way out is to spit the rest out. “I didn’t even know for sure what they were talking about but I think deep down I knew it was about me and I felt some kind of cold… sick terror.” I let out a harried breath. I look down to where Wolf’s hand sits in his lap as it curls into a fist, like he’s warding off some inner demon in his own mind. This is getting too heavy, I decide, and I clear my throat and straighten my back. “Anyway, I couldn’t hear anymore and ran to my room. I never found out more. I just know that I’ve never slept while a storm was still in progress.” I gesture a hand around the bed. “So thank you.”
Wolf releases a breath out his nose as he blinks slowly, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I possibly did to make that happen.”
I look up and address him solemnly. “It’s simple. You made me feel safe. And, somehow I didn’t have any nightmares. It’swhy I don’t normally sleep through the storms—I get terrorized by dreams.”
“What happens in the dreams?”
I shrug and shake my head, looking back down at the flower again. “I can’t see anything, so much as feel this big dark, overpowering presence…like a beast of some sort. And I can’t move and I can’t scream.” My lips pinch together as I try to recall more. “Years ago, if a storm was in the forecast, my grandad would send me to bed with Mima and he’d take my bed, knowing that’s how it would end up anyway.”
We sit in silence a moment, and when I chance a look at him, he’s shifted on the bed to rest on his elbow and is staring into his mug again.
“Wow,” I decide to break the ice, “that got really dark.” I chuckle uncomfortably and look from his mug to him. “Think I could use some of that,” I announce as I pull the covers off my bare legs and scooch out of the bed. I think I see his arm reach for me in my peripheral, but when I turn my head to fully look at him, it’s just resting on his own hip. After standing, I thoughtfully set the little flower down on my nightstand and turn for the top of the stairs.
“Moll,” he says.
The shortened version of my name induces another rush of those giddy endorphins that light me up inside. I glance up at him. He’s now sitting up fully on the bed and looking at me. I raise my eyebrows in question.
Pink tinges his cheeks. “Thanks for telling me that.”
I try to read what’s going on behind his forest green eyes when he says this. But when I’m left with no answer, I simply smile back at him softly before making my way downstairs.
