Whispered Prayers of a Girl

by Alex Grayson

  I nod. “I get it.”

  We sit in a comfortable silence for a while. The sun is actually peeking out for the first time in days, and I wonder if it’s finally over. I watch the way the sun reflects off the snow, making it look like it’s sparkling.

  After a while, I decide to go back inside. I’ve encroached on Alexander’s time alone long enough. Right as I open the screen door, he calls my name, and I look at him.

  “Snow’s letting up. They’ll probably get to the roads tomorrow.”

  I ignore the way his words make me feel.

  “Yeah. I figured so.”

  He’s quiet for a moment, and I think he’s done, so I turn to go inside, but then he shocks me.

  “It’s been nice having you and the kids here,” he says quietly.

  Again, I ignore the way his words make me feel. Except this time, it’s not sorrow, but pleasure. I’m glad to know we weren’t a complete burden to him, that he enjoyed us being here. I know I’ve enjoyed it, and from Daniel’s excited nonstop chatter, and the signs of life from Kelsey, they have too.

  I smile. “Thank you for taking us in. It’s been really nice. It’s peaceful here.”

  “Yeah,” he says, then looks out across the yard. “If the cell towers are back up I’ll call Travis tonight to get an update about the roads.”

  “Okay.”

  I go back inside, hating the fact that we could be gone tomorrow. There’s no telling when we’ll see him again, and that thought doesn’t settle well in my stomach. It actually twists it in knots. I’ve got no right to feel this way. The only reason we’re here is because we had no choice, and it’s only been three days, but I’ve gotten used to waking up and seeing him. I don’t know why, but I look forward to it.

  The kids are done eating when I walk back inside, so I wash the few dishes that are dirty. After, I roll some hamburger meat into meatballs and throw them in the crockpot for dinner along with some seasoning, the whole time silently wishing the snow would pick back up and keep us here a few more days.

  That evening, after everyone is finished with dinner and the kitchen is cleaned, we all sit in the living room watching Lilo and Stitch, one of Daniel’s favorite movies. He’s on his stomach on the floor with Gigi lying beside him. Both canine and boy have taken a strong liking to the other. Several of the puppies are curled up next to Daniel, while the rest are against their mom. I may have to talk to Alexander about getting one of the pups when they’re ready to be adopted.

  And no, I’m not using that as an excuse to see him again. Or that’s what I tell myself anyway.

  I’m sitting on one end of the couch, Alexander on the other, with Kelsey between us. I was surprised when he stopped on the movie even before Daniel had a chance to ask. I wouldn’t have pegged him for watching cartoon movies, and it brings a smile to my face because I know he’s doing it for Daniel. Every time Daniel laughs at something that happens, I catch Alexander looking at him. I think he likes knowing he’s pleased my son.

  Kelsey’s sitting cross-legged watching the movie, but she doesn’t laugh when something funny happens, instead just stares at the screen. I’d give anything to hear her giggle again.

  Once the movie is over, I get up from the couch to put the clothes from the washer into the dryer. This is the second time I’ve washed clothes since being here. I can’t stand wearing the same clothes more than one day.

  When I walk back into the living room, Kelsey has her drawing pad in her lap again and Daniel is rolling around on the floor with squirming puppies all over him. Alexander’s sitting at the bar with the same notepad he had earlier outside.

  I walk to the back of the couch. “Hey, kids. I’m going to grab a shower.”

  “Okay, Mom,” says a distracted Daniel. I get a blank stare from Kelsey.

  I turn to Alexander. “Are they okay out here?”

  “Yeah.”

  With a nod, I turn and go to Alexander’s bathroom. I’ve gotten used to using his room to sleep in, but for some reason it still feels weird using his bathroom to shower. Maybe it’s because he caught me using it without his permission yesterday. Or it might be because I smell him every time I enter the room. His smell lingers in the bedroom, but more so in the bathroom, because that’s where he puts his deodorant on, washes his body, and shampoos his hair. It reminds me of when I was looking at his cologne in the medicine cabinet and wondered what it smelled like. Now I know, and I’ll only ever admit to myself, it smells heavenly.

  I turn the shower on and strip down, leaving my folded clothes on the edge of the sink. Before stepping in the shower, I open the medicine cabinet and pull out the disposable razor and shaving cream I spotted the other day. I know I shouldn’t use it without asking first, but it’s a disposable and I’m sure he has more somewhere. I haven’t shaved in days, and I can’t stand the little pricklies on my legs any longer. I’ll tell him I used it so he knows to toss it and get another if he’s grossed out by it.

  I sigh in relief when I rub my hands up my now smooth legs, then wash my hair. My emergency bag didn’t include shampoo, conditioner, or body wash, so the kids and I have been using Alexander’s. I take a big whiff of the body soap, enjoying the smell way too much, before lathering up the washcloth.

  Five minutes later, I turn the shower off, grab a towel, and dry off. Somehow the curtain must have not closed all the way, because there’s water on the floor. Not seeing it until it’s too late, I slip, and I grab for the sink to catch myself. In doing so, I knock my clothes, then watch in slow motion as they fall from the sink and into the open toilet. When I realize what’s happening, I try to grab the clothes, and end up sliding again in the water. My hip slams into the corner of the counter, and I cry out at the pain, then fall to my knees.

  Tears spring to my eyes as my hip radiates a sharp pain. I try to push them back, but a couple manage to escape. I look down and see a deep purple mark already forming. That’s going to leave a nasty bruise.

  “Gwen!” Alexander’s deep voice calls frantically from the other side of the door. “Are you okay?”

  My eyes widen when I see the doorknob jiggle, like he’s trying to open it. With me on my knees, buck naked.

  “Yes,” I say loudly. “Don’t come in!” My voice cracks from the stupid tears that are still trying to make their way to the surface.

  “What happened?” he demands.

  “I slipped and fell and hit my hip.”

  I can’t be sure, but I think he mutters “Fuck” before he says, “I’m coming in.”

  “No!” I yell, then blurt, “I don’t have any clothes on!”

  It’s quiet, and I wonder if he’s walked away. My eyes skid to the side, and I see my clothes sitting in the toilet, which reminds me I have nothing to wear.

  “Alexander?” I ask, hoping he hasn’t left yet. I wince in pain when I slowly get to my feet.

  “Still right here.”

  “Umm… do you have any clothes I could borrow?” I ask. Even though he can’t see me, I squeeze my eyes closed in humiliation. “I… uh… sort of knocked mine in the toilet when I was trying to catch myself.” I inwardly groan. I feel so stupid right now. “And my other set are still in the dryer.”

  My eyes narrow when I hear a rusty chuckle on the other side of the door.

  “It’s not funny,” I mutter.

  “It kind of is,” he replies. “Hang tight.”

  I wrap the towel around me and tuck a corner between my breasts.

  A minute later, he calls my name, and I crack open the door just wide enough to peek around the wood. If I wasn’t so embarrassed and in pain, I’d be captivated by the beautiful smirk lifting his lips on the unscarred side of his face. Smirks aren’t supposed to be beautiful. They’re normally supposed to piss people off, not stupefy them with their gorgeousness.

  The look disappears when he sees the tears still swimming in my eyes. He steps up with a small pile of clothes in his hand, his eyes drawn down into a worried frown.

  �
��Are you okay?” he asks again.

  “It’s going to leave a nasty bruise, but I’ll manage.”

  His eyes flicker back and forth between mine several times, before he thrusts the pile of clothes at me. Holding the towel tighter to my chest, I step to the side just enough to reach out for the clothes. For a second, his eyes land on the hand holding my towel before he clears his throat and looks down at the floor, then takes a step back.

  “They’ll be big on you, but it’s the best I can do,” he mumbles, then turns on his heel and leaves the room.

  My gaze follows him until he disappears. I close the bathroom door, then lean back against it, for some reason feeling flushed. A subtle woodsy smell has me looking down at the clothes clutched in my arms. Before I know what I’m doing, I bring them to my nose and take a whiff, then cringe when the action makes me feel like a weirdo.

  I walk over to the toilet and fish out my soaked clothes, throwing them in the sink and thanking God there was no dirty business in the commode. After rinsing them out, just because I don’t want toilet water in them, I wring them out and set them back in the sink to grab when I leave the bathroom. Guess I’ll be washing another load tonight.

  I hang the towel on the hook on the back of the door and grab the black sweatpants Alexander gave me to wear. He’s right, they are big on me. Not just in length, but in the waist as well. I have to roll them four times, making sure to avoid resting them against my bruised hip, before they’ll stay up, and even then, they’re on the verge of slipping down.

  The dark gray V-neck T-shirt comes next. It’s huge as well and comes down to midthigh. I’m forced to wear it back further on my shoulders, or my cleavage will show. I turn to face the mirror and wrinkle my nose at the sight before me. I look ridiculous in this humongous outfit, but I can’t help but feel comfortable in it. The material is surprisingly soft against my skin.

  Grabbing my brush from the emergency bag, I start on the tangles in my hair, then haphazardly throw it into a bun on top of my head. Packing the few things I used back in the bag, I nab the wet clothes from the sink and open the door. I come to an abrupt stop when I see Alexander sitting on the end of the bed. His head lifts and he stands.

  He takes a step toward me, then stops. “I wanted to check on you.” He gestures to my hip with a tilt of his chin. “You mind if I take a look?”

  “Umm… you really don’t have to do that. I’m sure it’s—”

  “I’d prefer to be safe. You can hurt your insides and not realize it until later. It’s obviously bad enough to make you cry. I know it’s not the same, but I have a degree in veterinary medicine, and with some things human and animal bodies work the same.”

  I stand in the bathroom doorway with my wet clothes hanging from one hand and my bag clutched to my chest with the other, unsure of what to do. The concern in his eyes is apparent, but I wonder why he’s so concerned. More than likely after tomorrow we won’t be his burden anymore. I’ve learned over the last few days that Alexander can be a very compassionate man; the expression on his face when he looks at Kelsey sometimes proves it. I’m sure it’s just that soft side he rarely lets show that’s allowing him to worry, and I’m sure it’s nothing personal.

  The slight frown on his face is what makes my decision. Taking a step back, I drop the wet clothes on the tiled bathroom floor and set the bag down beside them, then make my way over to him.

  We both stand there awkwardly for a moment before he says, “You want to… ah….” He gestures down to my waistband.

  “Oh.” I laugh awkwardly, feeling my cheeks heat. I grab the rolled-up waistband and bring the material down to just below my hip, making sure to keep my pubic area covered. The shirt falls in its place, so I grab that as well and lift it, exposing a small portion of my lower stomach. Stretch marks from having two kids come into view, and I force myself to not cover myself again.

  Unexpectedly, Alexander drops to his knees in front of me and my eyes follow him down. He looks up and our gazes lock. For some reason, looking down at him as he gazes up at me from his knees seems strangely erotic. The hand holding my shirt up starts trembling, and I tighten my fingers around the material.

  He finally breaks our stare and looks to the purple skin on my hip. I suck in a sharp breath when his fingers graze the skin. I tell myself it’s because the touch hurts, and not because it sends butterflies to my stomach. His eyes briefly flicker back to mine before he gently starts prodding the sensitive area. I close my eyes when the area he touches turns warm. I haven’t felt desire since Will died, and I wonder if what I’m feeling now is the same. It scares me, but his hand on me feels too good to care right now. Goose bumps appear on my skin, and I know Alexander has to see them, but he doesn’t react. For that, I’m grateful. I try to push the feeling away, but it stays and grows.

  At my grunt of pain, he pulls his hand away, and I miss the warmth it caused. “Shit,” he mumbles. “Sorry.”

  He keeps his hands to himself as he examines it for a few more moments.

  “It seems to have the typical bruising, showing no signs of internal damage that I can tell.” He stands. “You’ll be sore as shit tomorrow. After you leave here, keep an eye on it, and if a large part of the injured area turns purple, swells, or if you become dizzy, call the doctor.”

  I nod and release the waistband and shirt, letting them fall back into place. Stepping back, I tell him, “Thank you.” His chin comes up in acknowledgement, and I clarify, “For the concern. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he grunts.

  I turn and grab the clothes and bag from the bathroom door. When I turn back around, he’s already gone, leaving me with an odd feeling in my stomach.

  Later that night, I lie in bed and listen to the soft words coming from Kelsey, my heart splintering into two, then three, then into a thousand pieces.

  “Please, God, let my daddy come back home. I miss him so much. I just want him to come home. That’s all I’ll ever ask you, if you just let him come back to us. And please tell him I’m sorry.” She sniffles, then finishes, “In Jesus’ name, amen.”

  The last part I can barely hear. I know why she’s apologizing. She feels like it’s her fault that her father is gone. He was in her room getting her bear for her when he collapsed. Both her psychiatrist and I have told her multiple times that it wasn’t her fault, that his heart wasn’t working properly, but I know she didn’t believe us. I don’t know what else to do to make her believe it. She’s only eight years old, but she carries around the guilt that weighs a ton. A week after the funeral, I found the bear ripped to shreds in her closet.

  I want to reach out to her. I want to pull her into my arms and soothe her cries away. To tell her nothing is her fault and that I love her. That her daddy loves her even if he’s not here anymore to show it. But I worry if I do that, she’ll pull further away from me. She only whispers her prayers because she thinks no one else can hear them. This is her private time, her safe time to talk to the only person she feels like she can right now. I don’t want to take that away from her, and I’m scared if she knows I hear her every night, that I relish hearing her voice, even if her words tear me apart, she’ll stop. She needs this. I want her to come to me with her voice when she’s ready for me to hear it.

  So instead of comforting my daughter like I’m dying to, I silently cry into my pillow and wait for her to drift off to sleep. It’s only then I turn around and wrap my arms around her, giving her in sleep what she won’t allow me to give to her when she’s awake.

  Chapter 8

  Alexander

  Just like last night, I walk silently down the hallway until I make out the murmured whispers from a girl begging God to bring her father back. I gently lay my hand on the door and listen as she slowly melts my heart until it’s a puddle at my feet. My chest aches with the need to walk in there and take away her pain. I’ve never heard such tortured words before. The pain that comes from them is overwhelming and unbearable. Even my own immense pain
from losing the ones I loved can’t compare to this. This girl’s pain is so much more.

  My head falls forward, and I pull in a deep breath to steady my heartbeat. It’s been quiet for several moments, and I know she’s finished. I let my hand fall from the door, and I walk down the hallway back to the living room. I drop to the cushion and let my head fall in my hands.

  They’re leaving tomorrow. The sun is coming out and the temperatures are supposed to be in the lower fifties, much higher than it’s been in days. The snow won’t melt in one day, but it’ll be enough to let the road crew get to the fallen tree and her truck. My call earlier tonight to Travis confirmed they’ll be working on the roads tomorrow.

  I’m not ready. It’s unreasonable and irrational, but I don’t want them to leave yet. I’m not ready to give up Daniel’s buoyant behavior or Kelsey’s quiet and depressed mannerisms. I’m not ready to give up Gwen’s giving and resilient personality. I want to keep them here. With me. They’ve brought so much light into my life since they’ve been here, and I want to keep it for a while longer. Which means they need to leave as soon as possible, before my dark world rubs off on them. I want to be selfish and harbor that light, but I won’t.

  What hurts the most was the dejected look on Daniel’s face when Gwen informed him and Kelsey they’ll be leaving tomorrow. What surprised me was the morose look on Kelsey’s. That girl and her sad eyes have me wrapped around her little finger. And the boy…. Everyone should have a Daniel in their lives. Gwen tried cheering the two up with promised visits to all their friends once the roads were clear enough for it, but I could tell it didn’t work. I could also tell it wasn’t working for Gwen herself. She tried to hide it, I’m not sure if it was just from the kids or from me too, but I know she doesn’t want to leave either. The four of us, in a matter of days, have become close, formed a bond of a sort. And that right there is another reason they need to leave. I can’t let that continue. It’s not something I deserve. It’s something they need to form with a man who’s worthy. A man who will be there for them always. A whole man, not one who’s only half of himself.