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He handed me the fabric. It was a green scrubs top. I put it on while he walked to a biohazard bag, opened the top and shoved my shirt in. He grabbed some gauze on the way back, shoved it under the tap, wet the gauze and turned back to me.
“You’re fuckin’ covered,” he muttered, wiping at my neck, eyes on his task, face set like it was carved from stone.
I looked down. He was right. The shirt was gone but there was blood all over my arms, neck and jeans.
“Bobby…” I said, and my voice broke on his name.
His eyes came to me.
“Don’t. Don’t do it, Jet. You’re hangin’ in there. Don’t break now.”
I nodded and swallowed.
Bobby’s eyes dropped to my neck and he started wiping, the door opened and Eddie was there.
I looked at him. Bobby looked at him. Eddie looked at us.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Eddie whispered but I could hear it from across the room.
“It’s not my blood,” I told him.
He came forward. Bobby gave him the gauze and vanished.
Eddie didn’t hesitate and he didn’t look at me, he just started wiping.
Then he tossed the bloody gauze in the sink and went to get more.
When he’d wiped off all the blood, I said, “There was a lot of blood.”
His eyes came to mine. “I could see.”
“No, I mean on Dad.”
His hand came to my jaw. “I know what you mean.”
I stared at him. “I want to cry.”
His eyes went from carefully blank to warm. “Have at it,chiquita.”
“Bobby told me not to break.”
“Bobby’s a macho idiot.”
His hand moved from my jaw, slid into my hair and he pulled my head to his chest. I wrapped my arms around his middle and he moved his arm around my waist. The other hand stayed in my hair.
I took a deep breath. It broke in the middle a couple of times, but I didn’t cry.
We stood there, holding on to each other for a good long while.
Then I realized something. Something tremendously good and something frighteningly bad.
Eddie was my anchor. I was a boat, tossed on the seas in an ugly storm that wanted to engulf me and Eddie was keeping me tethered and safe.
How didthathappen?
I’d been tossing on the seas for twenty-eight years. I was used to flipping around on the waves by myself, bailing out the water like a mad fool.
How did I get used to an anchor?
