Hold Me Close(89)

Heath had not returned her call, and Effie would be damned if she called him again. He’d let her down in the past, and to be fair, she’d done the same to him. But never like this.

“Mom?”

“Yeah, Wog. What?” Effie opened her eyes to see Polly in the doorway.

“Nana wants to know if you want something to eat.”

Effie held out her hand, and Polly came over to take it, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed. “No, thanks. I’m not hungry.”

“You sound funny.”

“It’s because I bit my tongue.” Effie stuck it out to show her, laughing when Polly made a face. She squeezed the girl’s fingers lightly.

“Does it hurt?”

“Yeah. It hurts.” Effie smiled, though. “But I’ll be okay. What’s Nana doing?”

Polly shrugged. “Cleaning the kitchen. She said if you don’t want any soup, she’s going to go home. Unless you need her to stay.”


“No.” Effie shifted under the blankets. “That’s okay.”

Polly hesitated. “Mom...”

Effie waited. Polly didn’t say anything. Effie sighed.

“I want to go over to Julia’s house for a sleepover tonight. She asked me.” Polly looked slightly defiant, which didn’t make much sense.

Effie shifted again to prop herself higher on the pillows. “Can Nana drive you over? I’m not up to any driving.”

“I’ll ask her. But, Mom...”

“What, Polly?” Effie’s tongue hurt too much for her to bite it, so she rubbed it against the back of her teeth to stop herself from getting irritated.

“I don’t want to leave you alone.” Polly frowned, for a moment looking as though she might cry.

Alarmed, Effie pulled her daughter close, careful not to groan at the aches and pains. “I’m fine. A little banged up, but I’m okay. You can go to Julia’s house. I’ll be okay to pick you up by tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?”

Effie stroked Polly’s hair. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

From the doorway, Effie’s mother knocked lightly. “I can take her to Julia’s house, if you’re sure. I can pick her up tomorrow, too, so you don’t have to run out.”

“Thanks, Mom. That would be great.”

“You sure you don’t want any soup?” Her mom frowned.

Effie laughed lightly. “You two, both of you, I’m fine. I promise you. Everything’s okay. I’m going to lie here and watch bad TV and take a hot shower later. Really, I’m okay.”

It took some convincing, but at last Mom and Polly both left. Effie settled into the blankets, dozing until her phone rang. She picked it up at once.

It wasn’t Heath.

“What the f*ck, Effie, what happened?” Bill’s voice cut through the distance, sharp as shattered glass. “The guys at the station said you wrecked your car.”

“I got rear-ended. I came up too hard at a red light. I’m fine. Damage to the bumper, but that’s it.” Effie clicked off the television, cradling the phone against her shoulder.

“Shit. Why didn’t you call me?”

“For what?” she said. “Would you have come over and made me tea?”

“Maybe.”

Effie laughed without humor. “Sure you would’ve. You’re a regular f*cking Mary Poppins.”

Silence. Bill sighed. Effie pressed her lips together, closing her eyes, thinking of the way that door had opened.

Who are you?

“You could come over, if you want to.” She kept her voice light. “My mom took the kid. She won’t be home until tomorrow. We could watch a movie. Order pizza.”

He wouldn’t agree to it, of course. This was Bill on the line. All at once, though, Effie could think of nothing but having him there next to her. Having someone. Anyone.

“Never mind,” she whispered, already steeling herself for the refusal.

“I’ll be over in half an hour.”

He was there in forty minutes, two frozen pizzas in one hand and a paper sack with a bottle of Bushmills in the other. “This won’t f*ck with your meds or anything, will it?”

“I’m only on ibuprofen. And I could use a drink.” Effie still wore a pair of yoga pants and a slim-fitted T-shirt with a hoodie sweatshirt. She’d brushed her teeth, but not her hair. Looking at Bill now, she thought maybe she should’ve put on some mascara, some eyeliner, something. She’d been less than glamorous in front of Bill many times before, but somehow she was now made shy by the way he stood in her front room.

In her kitchen, she sat at the table while Bill preheated the oven and slid the pizzas onto two stoneware pans. He cracked open the bottle and poured them both a glass.

“Oh, the ice maker doesn’t work,” Effie said when he tried to get some through the fridge door. “You have to get it from inside.”

Heath would’ve known that already, she thought and shoved it immediately away. Heath was not here. But Bill was.

He handed her a glass rattling with cubes and brimming with whiskey. “Here. Sip it. Don’t gulp. Pizza will be ready soon. You need to eat something, and I don’t want any bullshit about it.”

Effie managed a small nod. “Thanks.”