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“Can you do that for me?”
The corners of my eyes tip up, and my lips try to follow suit but tremble instead. “Sure. How would you feel about in-home treatment? Is that an option?”
He walks straight to me, kisses my forehead, and shoots the idea down without a second thought. “I won’t put you through that. I won’t put Kyle through that. I expect this to get ugly. It could be messy. Pix, I could become mean. I won’t do that to you. Not if I can help it.”
“What about your physical therapy?”
He slides his phone from his pocket and starts a group text with the two of us and an unknown number.
Layton:Livy, meet Sarah. Sarah, meet my Livy. You have lots in common. Sarah, Livy is coordinating a PT plan for me that she won’t be able to implement in person. Can you help?
Sarah:Are you local again? Yeah, I’d be happy to. What are you looking for?
Layton:Can you come to the house the day after tomorrow? Livy can go over the plan and get you your first stipend.
Sarah:Looking forward to meeting you, Livy. When do we start?
Layton:The day after you’re on board. That work for you?
Sarah:Sure thing, Ranger. See you in a few days. If I remember correctly, you still owe me a beer over that fumble during the Cowboys game.
Layton:How the hell do you remember that? And fine.
I say nothing. I’m sure there will be enough to say the day after tomorrow.
“I want you to stay here. I hope you’ll stay here. Do what you need to make this home, okay? Get Kyle acclimated. He needs to feel at home and settled. You’ll be here when I get back?”
I nod and walk into him, planting my face in his chest. I hug him until I feel the angst of the last few weeks drain out of my body through my toes and puddle on the floor. “Let me get to work. Anything you have to have or don’t want? I’ve never shopped for one of these before.”
“Me neither. Just the three I mentioned earlier. I’ll deal on Thanksgiving, but the other two are deal breakers.”
“Let’s do this thing.”
Willa’s face visibly pales as her eyes bounce between Layton and Exton. But when they land on mine, they brim with tears. “This isn’t hormones. I promise this isn’t hormones.”
I reach out and squeeze her hand. “I know.”
Layton goes to pack, and I grab my iPad. Within an hour, I’ve found a boutique rehab facility nearly to San Antonio. A phone call and a small donation later, we have ensured that by noon tomorrow, Layton will have a bed.
Noon. Tomorrow.
I want to feel relief, but dread is more accurate.
When the arrangements are solidified, a moment of heaviness passes between the four of us.
“Will y’all stay tonight?” Layton asks his brother and sister-in-law. They look between each other and then at Layton’s retreating back. It‘s almost as if we all hold our breath wondering what’s going to happen. He returns from our bedroom holding the white-topped orange bottle and extracts one tablet, breaks it in quarters, and sets all four pieces on the island in clear view for all to see. Without a word, he hands Exton the bottle. It's barely in his brother’s hand when he yanks Layton in for a man hug.
Willa’s sniffles cover the sound of mine. For that, I’m eternally grateful.
We play cards and tell silly stories. I ask Willa about her dragon and how it came to be on her body. I ask her how bad it hurt and if she’s upset about pregnancy changing the shape of the tattooist’s work. “Nope. This baby is the greatest creation I’ll ever be a part of. I mean, look at the material I’m working with.” She gestures like Vanna White at her husband. When she holds up her arm, she continues, “This is paint. This”—she rubs her belly—“is art.”
Sometime in the wee hours, they head upstairs, and Layton and I go to bed.
As I drifted off, Layton’s bearded chin moves to my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “Tell me a secret, Pix.”
“I’m scared for you. And I’m scared for me.” I snuggle back into his warmth. “Tell me a secret, Layton.”
“I am too.”
