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I find home videos in the DVD player, and so begins an hour of personal torture, with Mom and Rett exposing all my most embarrassing moments. At the end of the video, there’s static, followed by a view of a pink room—wait, a white room. Just looks pink to me. A hospital room.
My stomach nosedives.
“Mom,” I whisper.
The room goes silent as the TV beeps the sound of monitors and puffs the awful ventilator noise and Barrett’s eyes cling to the screen, where I lie swollen, bruised, and stained. Even as he holds the camera, Dad’s breathing is heavy and emotional.
I watch the blood drain out of Barrett’s cheeks and feel my own head spin.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…” Mom jumps up.
I stalk out of the room, fly out the back door, and dash around to the side of my mom’s sculpting shed. I wrap my arms around myself and lean my head against the wall. A few seconds later, I hear Barrett coming through the grass and feel his hands on my back.
“Gwen.” He clasps my shoulders and turns me toward him, enfolding me against his hard chest.
One arm wraps around my head as if he’s trying to protect my mind from its own lousy memories. I feel his body stiffen, then he lets a long breath out. He just breathes for a minute, and my eyes sting.
I can hear his heart pound through his chest. I think I feel a little twitch of his muscles, but—
“Bear?” I rub his shoulder. I don’t know if it’s his rigid posture or some other nonverbal SOS he’s sending out, but I can feel his distress. I realize: his nightmares. If he dreams of me being hurt, I wonder if the video was triggering. God, it must have been.
“Baby. Hey…” I wrap my arms around him, stroke his sides and arms, and still he doesn’t move.
“Bear.” I touch his neck. “Are you okay?”
He lifts his head. His face is pale. His eyes are red.
“What’s wrong?”
He stares at the wall behind me. “Nothing,” he rasps.
“C’mon now… We can’t go with that: nothing.” I smile a little, trying to tease.
His face grows even more anguished. His mouth goes soft and fluid. “Seeing you like that…” He shakes his head. He rubs his forehead. He lets go of me and turns away, facing the fence-line at the back of my mom’s yard. I can see one hand is raised to his face.
I stand there frozen, not sure what to do or say. Thank goodness, he turns back around a second later.
“Sorry.” He shakes his head, rubbing his hand over his eyes. “You want to go back in?” He tries to smile, and it’s a total smile fail.
“Sure.” I step to him and wrap my arms around his waist. My sweet Bear. “You know I’m okay now, yeah? And so are you? And we’re together?”
He hugs me tightly against him. “Yeah.” The words are soft. “It’s just…hard to see you like that.” His hand strokes my hair.
“It wasn’t easy for me to see that, either. And if I had seen you like that, I would feel the same way, too.”
We stand there hugging for a few more breaths, and then, hands clasped, we head into the house.
My mom is pouring wine. She looks from me to Barrett, back to me. “I’m so sorry, both of you.”
“It’s okay, Mom. No big deal.”
Bear and I both take a glass of pinot. Several hours and a bunch of card games later, we head home. I fall asleep with his big jacket tucked around me like a blanket, his scent sweet in my nose, and a vision of him skiing with the president in my dreams, which turn to nightmares as the snow falls.
Beep…beep….BEEEEPPPPPPPPP.
THIRTEEN
BARRETT
