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“Yeah, of course,” I reply, slowly stepping away and walking back into the house, turning the song off as I enter.
9
RIVER
Storm clouds really are quite beautiful. Such a dark blue contrasts with the light green grass and yellow wildflowers that run scattered along the field beyond the courtyard.
The sunset is a brilliant brushstroke of orange and yellow with some deep purple as it blends into the clouds. I want more than anything to run towards them, letting them rain on me as I feel the cold rain wash over my hot, sticky skin.
I linger outside a little while longer, just to take in the smell of the air before the thunder starts in the distance.
Adas must have been reading my mind from inside the house because he slips through the door and quietly approaches me again from behind. “Hey, the weather’s supposed to get really shitty. I think you should go inside,” he says, trying not to sound overly parental and succeeding somewhat.
I sigh heavily. “I know, but it’s so cool to look at from here. It’s another couple of miles away. Can’t I stay out a little longer?”
“No, I really don’t think it’s a good idea. Aside from that, one of my warehouses is out that way, and the storm is already hitting that area pretty hard. I might have to go out there. If that happens, I can’t have you sitting out here by yourself,” he replies.
Without speaking, I lift my hands up for him to help me back into my wheelchair. I truly do hate sitting in this damn thing all day. Even though I don’t remember what it felt like to stand or walk around, seeing everyone else doing it makes me feel the hot sting of jealousy.
I try to steady myself into the chair with his help, and finally, I’m resting comfortably enough to wheel myself back into the house.
“How bad is the storm supposed to get?” I ask, looking back out at the clouds as they approach.
“They’re saying it could turn into a tornado. We don’t usually get those around here, but the weather’s been really weird the last few summers,” he replies, insisting on pushing me through the house to the main living room.
The room is exactly what any introvert or bookworm would obsess over. It’s cozy without being too small, and there’s a whole wall of books lined up across from a huge bay window with cushions for sitting. I can see the storm perfectly from here, and the idea of curling up next to Adas with my book as the storm passes fills me with warmth all over.
“You know, it’s one thing to not remember you as my husband, but it feels really strange to not know anything about you at all,” I say as I park my wheelchair against the couch.
He lifts me from the chair to the couch, sitting me up so that I can look out the window. “What do you want to know? You can ask me anything you want to. You know that.”
Feeling a little bit sheepish and embarrassed, I take a deep breath.
“I don’t know. Tell me why you came here from Russia. You never talk about Russia, but you and all of your assistants are from there,” I reply.
He stares out the window with me, seemingly lost in thought as he grasps for an answer. “We escaped Russia because theBratvawas being overtaken by somebody who was going to get us all killed very easily. He was the son of a disgracedBratvaboss who believed that he was owed that same position.”
“Why didn’t you just kill him?” I ask, immediately regretting my choice of words.
He laughs a bit, turning towards me. “He had twice as many men as we did. Even if we thought it would be a good idea to kill him, we would have suffered three times over by the hand of his men. We came here to escape that possibility, and it’s worked out.”
He pauses, hesitant to say more. “Do you want some tea or something?”
“Um, yes, that sounds really nice, actually. I didn’t know we had tea,” I reply.
“I’m not sure if we do either, but I can check for you,” he admits, getting up from the couch to venture over to the kitchen on a quest to find some tea.
I’m smiling ear to ear, which I immediately stop doing as soon as I recognize it. I don’t want him to think I’m insane or something, smiling like an idiot for no reason.
To be fair, offering tea to me feels like such a simple gesture of love. How can thatnotmake me feel something?
“We’ve got Earl Grey, but I’m not sure where it came from or what it tastes like. It might be something that Leo bought,” he says as he hands me the box of tea.
I smell it, and the smell fills me with the same joy I would get from the smell of an old book or the feeling of a hot bath with lavender oil in it.
“Yes, this is perfect. I’ll take some.”
He shrugs and walks back into the kitchen. No matter how he makes it, whether it’s too weak or too strong, or he microwaves the water, I’ll still be more than grateful for this simple moment between us.
