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Chapter Fourteen
Lena
Iawoke to the sound of birds chirping frantically outside the window by the small kitchen. Jackson must have left it slightly open before he’d left because the room had smelled a bit musty when he first brought me up here. It had grown a bit chilly, so I got up and slowly walked over to the window to shut it, when I saw the nest with three babies in it. The tiny birds sat nestled in the corner of the ledge to my left under the eaves of the roof. It was a little before dusk, and the three chicks chirped as though they’d been left alone all day long and were famished. I knew the feeling.
Once, my mother had left me all day. I’d been starving, too, by the time she finally came home just before midnight. I think I’d been around eight years old or close to that. We couldn’t afford a babysitter, and she trusted me to stay at home alone for short periods after school so she could work a full eight-hour shift at the grocery store. When she came home that night, she’d apologized and said it had been out of her control. She said that the people at work needed her. She’d had a black eye, and when I questioned her about it, she simply said it was an accident and that I shouldn’t worry about it. She’d promised never to leave me that long again but taught me how to make a scrambled egg and toast in case she was ever delayed like that again.
By the time I was nine, I had dinner cooked for her almost every night. I was happy to do it. She worked hard, and I knew she did it for me. She’d had a tough time of things most of her life and told me she wanted me to be able to have the things she never had the chance to have.
Things changed, though, once she married Carl. Then, she was home all the time. Except … she wasn’t the same. She still loved me. I know she did, but she didn’t have time for me anymore. Instead, she spent all her time catering to Carl. Whatever Carl said, she did. Or else she’d get another one of those black eyes like the one she’d gotten when I was eight, and several times since, after she’d married Carl.
I loved my mother. I didn’t want to be like her, though. Unfortunately, soon after marrying Troy, I realized too late that I’d fallen down the same path that took my mother’s life. I didn’t believe in fate or destiny, and I certainly didn’t believe in the theory that growing up in a battered home led to a battered life as an adult. With any luck and a new view outside this window, I was on my way to changing my so-called destiny.
After closing the window, I turned to walk away and stubbed my toe on something. I looked down to see a metal hammer lying on the floor. I picked it up and glanced around the room, wondering why Jackson had left it on the floor. There didn’t appear to be any projects that he’d been working on in the room, but I guess he could have been working on just about anything that needed a hammer. I took it over to the daybed with me and placed it under the pillow before sitting down again.
No sooner had I settled back down when I heard a knock. I looked up and saw Jackson’s smile through the glass window at the top of the door. I thought Jackson had a key, but I was pleased that he didn’t just walk in. My nerves were jumpy since earlier that morning, and I’m sure I would have freaked out if he’d walked in with knocking.
“Come in,” I said, but the door didn’t open.
Instead, he said, “I can’t. I’m out of hands.”
I got up to open the door to find him standing there, a broad smile gracing his beautiful jaw as the smell of chicken soup wafted through the air. He balanced a tray with a bowl of soup and crackers, a sandwich with something that looked like meatloaf inside it, and a tall glass of milk on one palm. In the other, he held a couple of books.
“Hi.” He stood stiffly in the doorway.
“Hi. Is that dinner?”
“Oh. Yeah.” He chuckled, sounding a bit nervous as he entered the room. Then, he set the tray down on the table and simply stared at me. We stood in silence a moment before either one of us spoke.
“I thought you might be hungry. I’m a pretty good cook … usually, but I … I didn’t have much time to go to the store today … I mean, considering. That meatloaf is from last night. I hope you like meat … I mean, I hope you eat it. I mean, the meat.”
He placed his hand over his forehead, shaking his head, then he glanced at me and added, “Meatloaf. I hope you like meatloaf.”
“I do. Thanks.” Jackson seemed a little different all of a sudden. Almost shy. I didn’t think of him as a shy man considering how he’d helped me so far, and I wondered what had brought on the change. But when I looked down at myself, I realized the thermal shirt I wore adhered to my breasts as though it was molded to them, revealing my nipples. I quickly crossed my arms over my chest and headed to the sofa. I didn’t own a bra any longer, so I didn’t know exactly how to fix the problem.
“I have a friend who is about your size,” Jackson said. “Maybe she can lend you some clothes until we can get you some of your own. In the meantime, I’ll … uh, be right back.”
The quick sound of his footsteps on the stairs indicated he was running, and I guessed I was right when he came back up, huffing out of breath, holding a terry robe out for me to put on.
“Thank you,” I said, quickly shrugging into the soft blue material that not only hid my breasts but also covered my hands since the sleeves fell two inches below them.
“Here, let me help,” he said, taking one of the sleeves and rolling up the cuffs so that my hand appeared again. Then he did the same with the other one.
I smiled and sat, crossing my arms back over my chest. I felt very self-conscious now. I guess neither one of us had noticed before since I’d been sitting down the entire time. Plus, my back had been to him while he’d been brushing my hair.
“This all looks amazing. Thank you.” I picked up the sandwich and took a bite. “Mmmm, this is delicious,” I said with my mouth full and covering my lips with my fingers while I chewed, then swallowed. “Have you eaten?”
“Yeah. I have. I, uh, need to get down to the house. I’ll be back up later to check on you.”
“Check on me?”
“Yeah, you know, no more than two hours’ sleep at a time—for tonight. After that, I think you’ll be fine.”
“Oh,” I said, sounding a bit too disappointed, I thought. As much as I liked Jackson, I was glad he was leaving. Not that I didn’t want his company, but I needed some time to get over the embarrassment of him seeing my breasts sticking to my shirt as if I’d been a contestant in a wet T-shirt contest.
