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And I couldn’t comprehend it because I didn’t think we were this close to the edge. But we must have been. I dove straight in, determined to save her.
20
Erica
Now
I set my quilt on the back of the couch, fingering the flannel square of Riley’s shirt before I turn my attention to putting the perishable food into the nearly empty refrigerator.
All that’s in the fridge are some bottles of water, a few jars of condiments, along with three large cans of peaches. There’s a box of food on the counter, so I add in the milk, cream, a half-full carton of eggs, some deli meat, and a wrapped brick of cheese along with a box of half-melted popsicles to the freezer. The box of groceries also has half a loaf of bread as well as a jar of peanut butter. I put in the fruit, yogurt, and milk from my cooler.
This is an old but tidy little cabin with a compact kitchen, a round kitchen table and chair set, and a small living area that’s dominated by a wood stove. In front of the stove are a ratty old Archie Bunker type armchair, and twenty-odd year old large and comfortable-looking three-seater couch and scratched circa 1970s wood coffee table. I see a small alcove with three doorways leading to other rooms behind the couch, which faces a big picture window, the wood stove kitty-cornered beside it.
He comes in with my suitcase and stack of dresses and walks by, not looking at me, taking them in one of the rooms.
When he passes me on his way out, I’m leaned against the wall, hands behind my back, gripping my left wrist with my right hand while I watch him go and come back with his bags, which he takes into a different room, again with zero eye contact.
He goes out one more time and comes back with the bottle of booze and bags of snacks, which he sets on the table in front of the wood stove.
He turns to me, looks me over and says, “I’m not gonna murder you.”
I swallow.
He’s staring at my feet.
“No shoes.”
My belly dips. “I lost one when that… guy took me. Lincoln has the other. He said he’ll find it for me.”
He growls.
I startle. And my underpants go damp. Or I should say damper. Strange to have such contradictory responses at the exact same time.
He shakes his head and runs one of his hands through his hair.
He’s angry. Looks almost wild. He hasn’t shaved in a while and his hair is a mess of dark curls. He looks almost unhinged. I mean, clearly it’s been quite a night. His green eyes are hard on me. Digging deep into me.
His nostrils flare and I’m sure it’s because he can smell what his growl did to my underpants.
His jaw clenches.
Is he ready to hear what I need to say?
“Riley, I…”
He lifts a hand to halt me.
I clamp my mouth shut.
“Not tonight, witch.”
My eyes close and it takes work to swallow.
He goes into what I can see is a bathroom, between the two bedrooms.
I stay rooted as I hear the shower turn on.
I let out a sigh and my eyes land on the booze bottle Cicely contributed.
I find a clean glass in the dish drainer on the countertop and pour myself a shot. Okay, a double. I drink it back and once I recover from the burn, I sit down on the couch, empty my lungs, and plead with my heart to please slow down.
I wait, taking deep breath after deep breath. Then, hearing noise outside, I peer out the window and my heart kicks back up again because I see a giant wolf with something in his mouth approaching the cabin.
He drops something on the wooden steps and meets my eyes, jerks his chin up in greeting, then turns and runs away.
I squint and realize it’s my shoes he’s dropped for me.
Thanks, Lincoln.
I open the door and go outside to get the sandals.
When I’m back in, I see Riley, in just a towel, looking tweaked.
I hold my shoes up in explanation. His expression relaxes just slightly. I open my mouth to speak, but he turns and goes into the room he dropped his bags in and slams the door.
Was he tweaked because he thought I was leaving?
I’m still a lightweight with alcohol and I’d had a double before we got here, so I feel a little wobbly when I go into the bedroom carrying a bottle of cold water I’d grabbed from the fridge. After setting it on the little table beside the bed, I open the doors to a large wall cupboard. As I’d hoped, it’s filled with linens, so I make the bed up, then think about the little kitty-cornered fireplace and how nice it would be to sleep by a fire. With Riley beside me. Spooning me. Pressing his lips to my bare shoulder. Rubbing my stomach. A big, round stomach. Wedding rings on our fingers.
