Page 36 of Liquids

He’s silent for a beat or two, then he accepts the subject change with a grunt. “Too many to even think about.”

“Give me one, then.”

“Getting engaged.”

Cold tightens my ribs. I open my mouth, close it, and open it again, but he holds up a hand. All he says is, “Don’t ask.”

Okay then. Ugh. Now the pain in my chest about Charlie morphs into something else entirely. Who the hell was he engaged to? This Sadie woman? Goddamn him, now I’m wide awake. I roll onto my back again.

We lie there for a bit, and just as I’m drifting off again, he says, “You’re different from how I thought you’d be.”

I struggle to throw off the fog of sleep. “Is this when you have all your deep and meaningful conversations? 3 a.m.?”

He chuckles and curls toward me, hand under his head.

“In what way am I different?” I say.

“People are messed up for different reasons. Some people are assholes, always have been, always will be. Other people, something happens and they fall down a hole and can’t get out.”

“Are you saying you thought I was an asshole when you met me?”

“You want honesty?”

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t care; just wanted to get laid. But you’re funny and kind. Something terrible happened to you and you fell down a hole.”

“Yeah, but there’s no way out.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“How you going to get me out of my hole, Rig?”

“Don’t know yet. I haven’t worked out what type of hole it is.”

There are different types? What I don’t tell him is that I’m digging down faster than anyone can save me. And he’s not how I thought he’d be, either. I didn’t expect him to try and help me. Maybe he’s a miracle worker. Maybe he can help me find my way out of all this. Sometimes I think I went back to nursing and then looking after the little old ladies because I can look after them in a way I couldn’t look after Charlie. I know there’s something about it that warms me to my core. Keeping track of their meds and making sure they’re okay. Somehow I want to get back to where I once was, but I’ve fallen so far, where the hell would I even start?

11

EVAPORATION

When I arrive back from work the following day, Rig is shoving clothes into a bag on my bed and my stomach goes into freefall. As I stand in the doorway to the bedroom, I take in his broad shoulders and tree-trunk legs. Oh God, already? Did the strange middle-of-the-night conversations or how intense it’s been these last few days scare him off? Or does he really need to go?

His eyes flick toward me and away again. “Good offer, babe,” he says.

“Yeah? That’s great.” Because what else can I say? This was coming. I knew it. He knew it. Goddammit. Still, it was good while it lasted. I lean on the doorjamb to make sure I don’t crumple to the floor.

He stops packing and puts his hands on his hips, eyeing me like he’s expecting some shit. But apart from the fact I love having him here, why? If someone makes you a good offer, you take it. And this is teaching me another lesson about not hoping. Rig moves on. He told me. Mrs. M. told me.

Well, I got him for six days. “When you off?” I say.

“An hour. Be a relief to escape from all the hassle. Not great holing up in an apartment 24/7, though the company’s been excellent.” He winks.

I laugh at this. I like his rough guy way of being charming. Blunt with a twist, I’d call it.

“Food’s been good, too.” I pat my stomach. “It’s about time you went. I need to lose some of this weight I’ve been putting on with all this homemade bread and …”

He takes three steps across the room, lifts me bodily onto the bed, and comes down on top of me.