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“I noticed,” he said dryly. “I was ready to confess every sin I ever committed when your parents called earlier, looking for you, and your dad put her on the phone. She was kind and polite and didn’t raise her voice once, but she still managed to put the fear of God into me. Then, when she drove over your dad’s foot on purpose as soon as she entered the apartment, I knew she was not a woman to cross. And I’m still trying to figure out how she made it up those steps and to the front door without any help.”
Glowing with pride, I brought my clasped hands to my chest and preened. “It’s because she’s a miracle,” I said. “She’s a gift from heaven itself.”
He nodded as if to agree, then sent me a questioning glance. “So, why was I supposed to ask what was wrong with her, again?”
“Well.” I shrugged. “People always do because of…you know.”
He nodded and guessed, “Parkinson’s?”
“Cerebral palsy,” I corrected.
“Ah.” After another nod, he frowned. “I don’t… Sorry, I don’t know anything about cerebral palsy.”
“It’s a muscle and motor function disorder,” I explained. “Her brain will tell her body how to move, but her body doesn’t always receive the message. And you’d be surprised how many things rely on movement, like chewing and swallowing and even blinking our eyes. If she’s not paying attention, she can choke on her own saliva.”
“Damn.” He shook his head slowly. “That sounds
exhausting, always trying to concentrate and think about every little move you make.”
His empathetic reaction made me smile. “She handles it with so much poise and grace it’s easy to forget how much extra work she goes through for even the simplest tasks.” Shaking my head, I admitted softly, “I take her for granted way more than I should.”
When Wick murmured, “I doubt she minds,” I tipped my head in question. He met my gaze. “Seems like a mom thing. I underappreciate mine all the time too, and she doesn’t mention it either.”
I didn’t answer, just studied him thoughtfully. I must’ve stared too long, though, because he suddenly shifted as if uncomfortable before he asked, “What?”
“Nothing.” Shaking my head, I apologized. “Sorry, I just…” I shook my head some more, still squinting curiously at him. “You’re a lot different than I thought you’d be.”
“Oh.” He pulled back and seemed discombobulated by that. “Well, you probably only ever saw me through your boyfriend’s eyes, and since he and I never got along…” He let the sentiment trail off as if letting me make my own excuses for myself.
“But that makes me feel cruddy,” I lamented. “I should make up my own mind about a person.”
“Not necessarily,” Wick argued in a rational, even voice. “There are a lot of people I’ve never met who I’ve formed opinions about because someone I trust and am loyal to feels a certain way toward them.”
“Well, then I’m ashamed I put any trust and loyalty into such an unreliable, lying, cheating source,” I muttered bitterly.
“You didn’t know,” he said softly.
“I should have,” I snapped, making his eyebrows rise at my tone. Immediately relaxing my tightened muscles, I cringed. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I swore to myself I wasn’t going to think about that tonight.”
Blowing out a long forced breath, I watched Wick watch me. He seemed guilty as if he thought he’d caused my emotions to plummet, even though everything I was feeling at the moment was my own making.
Thinking I should let him off the hook so he didn’t have to experience every swing of my mood with me, I patted the couch cushions on either side of me before I pushed myself to my feet. “Well, I’m going to go check on those sheets.”
His eyes flickered as if he wanted to say something, but he ended up remaining mute and simply nodded to let me know he’d heard me.
9
Haven
The moment I stepped outside, it seemed extra dark and spooky without Wick with me. I held my breath as I approached the steps that led down to the basement, thinking this would be an ideal place for a stalker to hang out while waiting for his next victim to pass by.
Great. That vision calmed me down so much.
I peeked into the lightened stairwell and blew out a breath when I only found a cat at the bottom, drinking from its bowl. So I clambered down the steps, which scared the shit out of poor Mr. Whiskers, and he darted back into the basement through his swinging cat door.
By the time I reached the door myself and pulled it open, the cat was long gone. But I felt a little better, stepping inside the basement and knowing the animal was in there with me. Somewhere. Sometimes, just having another soul around—whether they interacted with you or not—made all the difference in the world.
As luck would have it, the spin cycle on my sheets was just slowing to an end when I entered the laundry room. So, I rushed through transferring them to the dryer, and I’m proud to announce I only checked over my shoulder six times to make sure a man with a raised bloody knife wasn’t looming behind me.
