Weakness

by Shelley Michaels

  ‘I bet. I meant to tell you I saw Liddy today, she looked a lot brighter,’ he announced, ‘they are hoping she’ll be home tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, that would be great,’ I turned to face him. ‘Cam and the kids need her home. He’s not doing so well without her.’

  ‘No, I know,’ he replied, seriously. ‘You need a ride home, darlin’?’

  ‘No, I have Liddy’s truck,’ I remind him.

  ‘You okay to drive?’ He asks.

  ‘I’m fine, but thank you,’ I send him a genuine smile, okay I like this Ben too, he’s thoughtful and caring. He nods, takes the bottom of the till out and makes his way to the stairs to his office.

  ********

  Chapter Four

  Settling Liddy in her bed, she appeared more like her usual self. Ben was right, she had more colour in her cheeks and was clearly pleased to be home amongst her family. The drains gone from her wounds, and the antibiotics were now being administered orally, rather than intravenously. I had assured the hospital that I was qualified to change the dressings daily and provide her with the attention that she required, and they had agreed to discharge her into my care.

  The children were overjoyed that their mum was home and even Kristen was surprisingly obedient. Once Liddy was comfortable, I left the room for her to spend some time with Cam and the kids and carried on with the household chores to give them some space. When I walked out of her bedroom, the four of them were bundled on the bed as they chatted and reconnected as a family. I felt a warming in my chest.

  I didn’t have a shift at Honour until the following Wednesday when Cam went back to day shifts, so I decided to get the house in order so that Lydia wouldn’t be tempted to get up and start doing things that needed doing. I washed and dried all the washing, cleaned the kitchen and bathroom and polished and hoovered the whole house before running a bath and relaxing in the bubbles. It was only then I allowed my mind to settle and think about the last week in Denver.

  Being close to my niece and nephew was tiring, but there was little doubt that I loved being among family, even if it was for reasons I didn’t want to dwell on. Cam loved my sister, fiercely and didn’t for a minute try to conceal it, but I knew if anything happened to her he would never recover. I sighed, dipping under the bubbles until my whole head submerged in water. I used to do this as a kid to block out the crying or ranting that was brought on by mum’s drinking. It was the only place I felt peace, the water numbing the outside noise as if I was in my very own private bubble. I’m distracted by a muffled sound calling my name and sit up out of the water wiping frantically at the soap suds on my face.

  ‘Sasha!’ Cam, called again, more urgently.

  ‘Yeah?’ I call back, alarmed that there was a problem with Lydia.

  ‘You okay, honey?’ He asks, his voice gentle. ‘We were worried about you.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m good,’ I return, relief making me lay back against the back of the bath. ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘The kids want a kiss goodnight, and Liddy is looking for you,’ he mumbles.

  ‘I’ll be out in a bit,’ I sit back up in the water and grab for the sponge and body wash.

  ‘No rush,’ he mutters.

  When I appear in Cam and Liddy’s room, dressed in my short PJ’s with my robe wrapped around me and my hair twisted up on top of my head, Liddy is alone. I had kissed the kid’s goodnight and left Cam reading them a story while I went to visit with my sister.

  ‘There you are,’ she complains, tapping the bed beside her. ‘You aren’t here to be a cleaner, Waspy,’ she frowns, ‘and you don’t have to keep leaving us alone, you are part of this family too and don’t you forget it.’

  ‘You must be feeling better if you are nagging me,’ I lay beside her and lean up on an elbow.

  She smiles and runs a hand through my damp hair, ‘you shouldn’t go to bed with wet hair.’

  I roll my eyes, ‘seriously, are you going to keep on badgering me?’

  ‘I love you, sister,’ she whispers, her eyes tearing.

  I feel my heart ache, ‘and I love you, sister. How are you feeling?’

  ‘Better than I did,’ she admits. ‘I have a desperate need to cuddle my kids hard and snuggle my husband. I can’t see either happening anytime soon,’ she complains, pointing at the bandaged area on her chest.

  ‘You’ll heal better at home,’ I tell her, ‘it won’t take long.’

  ‘I know, I shouldn’t complain. Now, tell me about the new job? How is the luscious Ben? Cam’s worried he is coming on to you?’ She grins, clearly finding the whole thing entertaining.

  I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling. ‘Cam’s a mother hen,’ I smile, ‘although Ben is sex on legs,’ I whisper, ‘Jesus, he makes my vagina weep and not in a bad way,’ I hush, and she giggles, ‘but I told him, no way, José!’

  I watch Liddy’s eye widen, ‘so he did come on to you?’

  ‘No,’ I scoff, ‘we were flirting a bit in the club, but it was harmless. Although, I can’t deny I am getting the allure,’ I turn and watch Liddy’s lips tip up. ‘But you can tell Cam it’s safe to say I wouldn’t go there, other than in my dreams.’ I sigh. ‘Jesus, that man has a body to die for,’ Liddy giggles, her eyes lighting at my admission.

  ‘Oh man, if I didn’t idolise my husband,’ she responds, agreeing.

  ‘You never told me he was as delish as he is,’ I accuse.

  ‘That’s because I have a husband that’s even more delectable,’ she boasts.

  ‘Hmmm,’ I answer non-committally, there’s no denying Cam is hot, but without a doubt, Ben is hotter. I don’t enlighten my sister to my deliberations. She’s in love with her husband, and I’d say that would cloud her judgement somewhat.

  ‘You wouldn’t go there? Not even for a holiday romance?’ She tests. ‘Might give you something to think about on those cold, dark, wet, lonely London nights?’ She teases.

  I shake my head, adamantly in response. ‘No,’ then I add, ‘you know, I am perfectly aware of his man-whore status, but I also see another side to him,’ I confide, ‘he has a vulnerability. He may have a lot of people surrounding him, but I sense that he doesn’t have anyone that would take his back.’

  I watch Liddy’s eyes regard me intently, ‘you like him,’ she states, earnestly.

  ‘Yeah, I do,’ I admit. ‘Obviously, I would like him even more if we could bump naked bits once or twice, but I’m not stupid,’ I grin. ‘I won’t go there and ruin what you guys have between you all. Besides, I think Cam would fight for my honour,’ I smile, knowing my brother-in-law took care of me as if he was my flesh and blood. ‘But, I do feel like he needs a friend.’

  ‘It’s not my story to tell, but I’m going to give you a brief insight anyway,’ she hushes her voice, and I know she doesn’t want Cam to hear. ‘Ben’s mum lives in a nursing home, she has been suffering from early onset dementia for a while now, and hasn’t recognised him for almost a year. He may not show a lot of emotion, but I do know, through Cam, that he hasn’t been the same since his Mum’s memory worsened and that he still visits most days to see her, never mind the fact she doesn’t know who he is. My guess is his Pop being critically ill has made him feel even more alone and vulnerable,’ she confides, ‘well, that’s what we think anyway.’

  ‘Oh wow, that is sad,’ I feel an ache in my gut for him. I was right to sense his loneliness. ‘He’s been brilliant letting me work at the club and offering me such flexibility.’

  ‘He’s a good guy, one that knows what you are going through,’ she announces, ‘and the kids adore him,’ Liddy announces, her voice going sleepy.

  ‘Yeah, I can see that,’ I lean over and kiss her cheek. ‘Get some rest, honey, you need any more pain meds?’

  ‘No, I’m good, just exhausted,’ she mumbles.

  I nod, ‘you call if you need me,’ I insist. Before I am out of the door, her eyelids are already drooping.

  I lay in the darkness, a while later, thinking about Ben and
the heartbreak he is facing alone and find myself forever grateful that I have my sister and her family. I squeeze my eyes shut, pushing away the negative possibilities of ever being in the same position, knowing it is too painful to contemplate. It takes some time, but before long I am slipping into an exhaustive sleep.

  It is the following day that Cam notifies me that Ben’s grandfather sadly passed away overnight.

  ********

  I press the button for the second time. I was at the address of the loft that I earlier learned from my sister belonged to Ben. I feel nerves fluttering within my gut, anxiety and panic. Just when I had almost given up and decided to go home, I hear his voice call through the entry phone.

  ‘Yeah!’ I hear him bark. He sounds angry, and I almost make a run for it.

  Shit-fuck! I feel like a fool. I shouldn’t be here. He’s going to think I am a crazy woman. He hardly knows me, and here I am turning up with tea and sympathy.

  ‘Who is this?’ He growls.

  ‘Hi, err…Ben, it’s Sasha,’ I stutter, feeling my cheeks flame with the comprehension of my stupidity. When I am met with silence I know, I really should start to think things through. ‘I just passed by to see if you were okay?’ I squeeze my eyes tightly together as I inwardly cringe, of course, he wasn’t okay, the man that helped bring him up was dead, how is he going to be okay? The seconds pass by without him replying and just when I resolve to cut and run; I am buzzed in from upstairs.

  The front door is ajar as if he has opened it and then couldn’t be bothered to greet me. At least he let me up. I knock and enter slowly. As the door opens, I notice the vastness of the area. I knew it was an affluent area as I drove up, but the size of it was beyond anything I could have imagined. Typically, it was wooden floored and bare bricked walls in between the large windows that opened out onto the back of the building with views of the mountains sitting proudly in the background. The kitchen has brushed silver appliances and what looked like bespoke oak cabinets that matched the floor, topped with grey marbled granite. Sitting on the shiny countertops was an expensive looking coffee machine that would look more at home in a coffee shop and a toaster. That was it. The rest was bare. I glance to the right to see him standing by the window to the far end of the living area staring out at the view.

  He doesn’t turn when I approach, and I know it’s because he is suffering. Naturally, I step up and curl my hand through his elbow pushing the side of my body against his in a comforting gesture.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper, directing my view to where he appears to be looking, although I don’t think he sees anything other than his misery. I see our reflection in the window, my small body resting against his large frame in support. His face expresses an expression of impassiveness. I can’t see clearly enough to assess his eyes and his emotional state, but I don’t have to, he has checked out of the real world deciding instead to remain in his bubble of devastation.

  ‘Can I get you anything?’ I turn to walk in front of him, laying my hands on his chest and glancing up to catch his attention.

  He looks down, and I see it, the pain that is screaming out of the now intense blue of his expressive eyes. I feel his pain in my gut, I step forward and hug him tight. I am a nurse, I am of a caring nature and used to providing comfort to grieving relatives on a regular basis, although maybe not to this extent. I feel him stiffen and wonder whether I have overstepped the mark, but eventually, I hear and feel him exhale a deep breath and wrap his bear-like arms of steel around me.

  Although I am here for him, I have never felt so protected as I do at that moment, ‘I’m so sorry, Ben,’ I repeat against his toned chest. He says nothing, but I feel his chin drop to rest on the top of my head as he accepts the solace I am offering.

  It’s quite sometime later that I murmur, ‘you eaten?’

  ‘Not hungry,’ his voice sounds gravelly, the emotion evidently stuck in his throat.

  ‘Drink?' I offer.

  ‘Could do with a Bourbon,’ he clears his voice, and his arms loosen from around me, suggesting he has had enough of hugging.

  I take the hint and step back looking softly up into his rugged features, ‘you got any?’

  He shakes his head, ‘drank it last night.’

  ‘I’ll get some,’ I offer, moving my glance over his tired features. He looks as if he hasn’t slept in days and his chin is a little scruffy with beard growth rather than the usually groomed stubble that he wears so well.

  ‘Listen darlin’, I appreciate you coming around and all, but I’m not great company right now,’ he mumbles, quietly, ‘maybe we can do this another time?’

  ‘I’m not here for entertainment,’ I update him, ‘I’ll just be here for support, you don’t have to speak to me. Now, do you want me to get you some Bourbon or not?’ I tip my chin up stubbornly, knowing I would be the same, denying my want for companionship at a time of need. It’s what us people who have very few special someone’s in our life do, to protect ourselves. I hold his blue gaze, not wavering when something flickers deep within them.

  ‘Why you are doing this?’ He asks, ‘you don’t even know me.’

  ‘You were the one that told me we were almost family,’ I announce snootily, ‘and you very kindly gave me employment when I needed it, no questions asked,’ I remind him. ‘Therefore, I am repaying the kindness, now do you want this drink or not?’

  ‘Jesus, that accent is adorable,’ he exhales a long breath as he runs a hand tiredly over his face, ‘you sound like the fucking queen!’

  ‘I do not!’ I frown. ‘I come from a working-class family. I have no airs or graces!’ I contest.

  ‘Okay Queenie, get some liquor if it makes you feel better,’ he turns away from me and moves down a corridor, that I guess leads to the bedrooms and bathroom, leaving me standing there scowling at him.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ I mutter to myself.

  I sigh and turn to grab my purse, which I had tossed on the coffee table set in front of a large stuffed sofa and exit the loft in search of a drugstore.

  When I return, I press the call button and this time Ben doesn’t bother asking who it is. I just hear the buzz that suggests I am welcome. I walk in to see by his damp hair he has showered and is now sporting a pair of low slung jogging bottoms and a tight white t-shirt that stretches across the broad expanse of his chest. He smells of masculine body wash and looks a lot more human than when I left not an hour ago.

  ‘I told you I wasn’t hungry,’ he mumbles, as I drop a take-out bag on the countertop.

  ‘Who says it’s for you?’ I scoff, pulling the bottle of Bourbon out of the brown paper bag and placing it next to the food. Ben walks around the breakfast bar that separates the kitchen from the living area and opens a cupboard, bringing out two short glasses and pouring two fingers of amber liquid in each. I lift out the two polystyrene containers that hold cheeseburger and fries in each and taking one, pull it in front of the bar stool and sit, ignoring Ben standing with his backside leaning against the kitchen cabinet. I bite a big piece of the cheeseburger and chew, avidly, avoiding eye contact with him, but I know from my peripheral vision he is watching me as he lifts the glass to his lips. After the third bite and fourth fry, I test a glance up.

  ‘That good?’ He asks a slight tinge of humour in his tone.

  ‘Delish,’ I wipe my mouth with a napkin. ‘I don’t mind sharing,’ I indicate to the other container, aiming my gaze back to my food. I pull out a bottle of water from the bag and take a glug to wash down my meal and still nothing. I can play the long game. I continue eating for another couple of mouthfuls before I watch him again in my peripheral vision step forward and open the takeout container. Neither of us talks, throughout our meal and by the time I have finished mine, Ben has caught up and demolished the lot.

  I move my gaze up and hold his empty blue stare. ‘You want to talk?’ He shakes his head, and I nod, in confirmation. ‘Want to watch a game, or a film, or something?’

  He shrugs, ‘co
nsider our scales level,’ he was dismissing me.

  ‘Ben, if I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t,’ I pack up the packaging of our meal and dispose of it in the rubbish bin set in the corner of the kitchen, before collecting the glass of bourbon, meant for me, and turn to the sofa area. Bourbon isn’t my choice of alcohol. In fact, I usually cough and splutter my guts up if I drink it, but I somehow manage to take a small sip and feel it in the burn of my throat. I locate the TV remote and switch on the flat screen set in the entertainment centre against the exposed brick wall. I kick off my boots and sit with my feet tucked underneath me as I settle on the sports channel. I hate sports, but figure Ben is probably a sports fan and may be tempted to come and watch it and clear his mind of his recent loss.

  It isn’t long before he sits right next to me on the sofa, not at the other end, but close enough for our thighs to brush. I guess it’s because he craves comfort. Wordlessly, he lifts his left arm, and I naturally turn to him and wrap my arm around his waist.

  ‘Thank you,’ he whispers, against my hair.

  I squeeze my arm that surrounds his toned middle, ‘it’s okay,’ I whisper back. I feel him relax back against the sofa, his eyes set on the screen.

  ‘He was the only father I had ever known,’ he mumbles, not taking his eyes from the basketball game playing before us.

  I squeeze the arm around him again, encouragingly, ‘tell me about him.’

  ********

  Before I leave, I look down and admire the beauty that is Ben. I had held him tight as he told me about how his father had never appeared in his life, leaving his mum when she found out she was pregnant and how his grandfather had stepped up and been the strong father-figure any young boy needs. I discovered that his Pop, as he called him, had handed Honour down to Ben five years ago when he left the military. He had since handed down another three establishments that Ben now owned, another club and two bars in the Colorado area that had managers in, which is where he disappeared to when he wasn’t in Honour.

  He also confided how devastated he was that he was losing his Ma, bit by bit, to early onset Dementia and that there were no other family members that featured in his life. I spoke comforting words where necessary, but mainly I let him talk, knowing he needed to share his story to release some of the grief. When he stopped talking, we had stayed in the same position, pretending to watch the flickering of the TV screen that I had muted when Ben had started to share his story.