No Perfect Hero(82)

“Look at you, trying to take care of him.” Ms. Wilma pats my cheek, her palm warm and smooth. “He needs that, even if he'll never admit it. Come. Let’s enjoy our meal, even if we’re short one snarling grizzly bear.”

I only hold my smile wanly as I gather up Tara and follow Ms. Wilma to the dining room.

He needs that, she’d said. He needs someone to take care of him.

But that doesn’t necessarily mean he needs me.





*



Even with the stormclouds Warren left behind, dinner is still a warm, comfortable thing I want to hold on to for a while, maybe forever. Another memory to make up for the family memories I never had. I feel like this little sojourn in Heart’s Edge is a chance to regain lost time.

It can’t last forever, but it can help me capture a few moments worth keeping.

A still life with family, memory on neurons, painted by the strange emotions these new experiences make me feel.

I’m better by the time I wrap up a plate of steaming roast turkey drenched in gravy, pasta casserole, and mashed potatoes to take back to Warren. Tara insists on carrying it, and I just make sure she’s got a good grip on the warm plate without burning herself before we set out into the night to enjoy the stroll back to the cabin.

This weird dread hovers over me the whole way, making me feel like maybe this is the last calm I'll get for a while.

Warren almost looked betrayed, and I don’t think I have to guess what kind of reception I’ll get.

Still, I can’t help the little crush of disappointment when we walk up the steps and I realize he’s not waiting in our half of the duplex.

I’d kind of gotten used to it over the last few days, him spending more time on our side than on his, making himself part of our lives while still keeping us distant from whatever secrets he’s locked away in his half of the cabin.

But our door is locked. His side is dark through the glass, though I can see the faint light of his laptop from the bedroom.

I sigh, closing my eyes, then make myself smile for Tara as I reach for the plate. “Go wash up for bed, kit. I need to chat with Warren before I send you right back to Ms. Wilma for the night.”

Tara wrinkles her nose. “Awww. Are you always gonna work nights?”

“Only while I’m here, munchkin. I’ll find a different job when I move.”

“I don’t want you to move all the way to Chicago.” She relinquishes the plate only to fold her arms over her chest. “It’s too far. I’ll never see you.”

I want to tell her that’s not true, promise her I’ll see her all the time...but then I’d be lying. I can only stare at her softly, hating this.

I’m not ready to deal with that extra little stab of hurt on top of my chaotic feelings about Warren, but it’s right there, staring me down.

Once I move, I might not see Tara for years.

Seattle and Chicago aren't neighbors, and the flights aren't always cheap.

We’re not the kind of family who meets up for Christmas and Thanksgiving. We do phone calls on the important holidays. Sometimes there’s a rough night on the anniversary of Dad’s drunk driving death, and we’ll call and make awkward noises at each other before we sit in silence, taking the comfort we need from just not being alone with so many conflicted emotions.

When did that stop being enough?

What the hell did this little small town do to me, where suddenly I’m wanting things I’ve never even thought about before?

Jesus. I’m standing out here on the porch clutching a plate for Warren, staring at my niece like she grew a second head. I don’t know why my emotions are everywhere like this. You’d almost think I was—

No. Don’t even think it.

Even if my birth control failed, it’s way too soon for my body to start reacting to pregnancy hormones. I don’t get an excuse that easy.

There's nothing but myself to blame for this mess.

“We’ll talk about Chicago later, munchkin,” I promise and put on my big girl britches to smile for her. “Go on in and wash up. Ms. Wilma promised you could stay up to watch TCM with her tonight.”

Her eyes widen. “The King and I? Oh, wow! The dresses are so pretty.”

God, I hope I’m not doing something terrible when I say “Yes.” I’ve never seen that movie. Ms. Wilma wouldn’t show my niece anything too risqué, right?

…right?

But at least it sends Tara scampering off, disappearing into our half of the duplex. I turn back toward Warren’s door.

A second later I yelp, stumbling back and nearly dropping the plate when I find him standing there, the door open, his bulk propped in it and his hard, forbidding gaze locked on me.

Shit. He’s pissed. Or something.

I don’t know what. I can’t read him all of a sudden. I guess I wasn’t supposed to know about Jenna because he’s completely closed off.

We both say nothing, each of us waiting for the other to speak. But right when I open my mouth to find the words, he says, “You need something?”

“Dinner,” I answer lamely, offering him the plate. “You missed it. Thought you’d want some while it was still nice and hot.”

He drops his gaze to the plate, then back to me. His arms stay folded over his chest, leaving me awkwardly standing there with a plate outstretched. “Not hungry.”