We cleaned up, ate, he took out my stitches, then we fell into bed, and into each other once again.
It was lovely.
Easy.
Uncomplicated.
I never realized before how much pressure there was on relationships in the world outside our woods. That constant back and forth at the beginning, not knowing what the other one was thinking, everyone programmed not to be the first one to confess feelings, no one wanting to get hurt, or have their pride bruised, or not wanting to commit in the current hook-up culture.
And even once you did decide on exclusivity, everything had uncertain steps. When was it appropriate to spend the weekend, move in, meet the parents, confess love, get engaged, get married, have kids.
Then there was the input from family, from friends, from co-workers, the pressures of life, of work, of differing personal timelines.
Everything was wrought with pressure, so much so that you got a pearl, or everything burst apart, leaving everyone in wreckage, everything in pieces.
This was nothing like that.
This was simply natural, instinctive.
There were no games or expectations. We simply went on with life as we had before, but now there was added sweetness. An unexpected touch, a little kiss, someone to curl up with at night, to talk little things with before sleep claimed us.
No one was around to give input, to raise questions we weren't ready for. There was no outside pressure.
We just let things happen as they happened.
I decided I liked it this way infinitely better.
--
It was on the fourth day that I found it.
It had been easy to overlook before, tucked into a paper bag that first glance had shown me was bottled hair products and body wash - things I no longer wanted to use since I preferred the stuff that Ranger made. But I had been looking for a fresh razor - some things never changed, I still absolutely needed to have a close shave at all times - and had found it tucked toward the side in a ziplock bag.
A picture in a frame.
Not just any picture in a frame.
The only picture in a frame I had in my whole apartment.
My mom was sitting beside my grandfather in the aged Adirondack chairs on his beloved front porch. And a smiling, fat, young me was perched on my grandfather's lap. Everyone smiling. All of us having the exact same one. Except mine was stained red from the raspberries I was clutching in my pudgy fist.
I loved the picture.
I kept it on my kitchen island tilted sideways so I could see it while I was making coffee or cooking food, but also see it from my couch while watching TV.
My heart squeezed at seeing it again - a little bit of my old life in my brand new one.
"Finally found it, huh?" Ranger asked, coming up behind me, resting his bearded chin on top of my head, something he found he was able to do, and therefore doing it often.
"You knew he brought this?"
"No," he told me, arms closing around my belly. "But I knew he brought you something. He does that."
"Does what? Breaks into a woman's apartment?" I asked, but my tone was light, amused, seeing as that was clearly what he had done, but it was the only way he could have saved such an important part of my history.
"Well, sometimes. But only on a job. No. He gives women gifts. We don't know why. He's even more tight-lipped about his past than I am. But if he is on a job, he leaves something there for the female clients - some little token he thinks they'd appreciate, that might make the situation better."
"That's so sweet. I can't believe someone hasn't snatched him up."
"Honestly," he said, arms giving me a squeeze before moving away to sit down on the couch, patting the space beside him. I happily jumped up, knees half-over his thighs, shoulder under his arm. "I think the cleaning thing is an issue."
"Why? Because he spends so much time doing it? Or because the women might get offended when he cleans up after they clean up?" I asked, inwardly a little mad at womankind if they would be so unaccommodating of someone who clearly was dealing with traumas beyond their imagining.
"Well, maybe that would be a part of it. But no... I mean, no one knows if this is true or anything, but..."
"I won't tell anyone," I assured him when he paused. He wasn't one for gossip. And this was a good friend of his.
"I think maybe sex is... off the table for him," he said, arm closing around me, pulling me tighter.
I'd never considered that. But over the few days he spent in the cabin, he'd never gotten close enough to touch either of us. I'm sure he did. Have to touch people. In life. In work. But that didn't mean he necessarily enjoyed it. He endured it. Then likely scrubbed in bleach after. And, well, sex was messy. There was no way around that. Kissing and touching and fluids and such. There was no way to do it completely cleanly.
"He hasn't always been this way, has he?"
"No. I mean, I didn't know him back before. But Quin met him when he first joined up. Was just your average guy. Probably more prone to being dirty than a neat freak."
So he would have likely been in his twenties then, had probably already known the touch of a woman, the pleasure you found in the body of another person.
To have that suddenly stripped away, to live a life entirely without it...
"That's so sad," I told Ranger, pressing my head into his shoulder.
"He makes the best of his life."
Much like Ranger had done. Locked away in his woods, avoiding being around everyone else.
"Ranger?"
"Yeah?"
"Why did you come to the woods? I mean, I know you were dealing with the aftermath of your service, but..."
"I spent a lot of time seeing the ugliness of people. I found when I was around it, it made me ugly too. Brought back the ugly shit. It's easier here not to do that. To keep the demons at bay. I'm... I dunno..."
"Happier here," I supplied.
"Yeah," he agreed, resting his face on the top of my head.
"Me too," I told him.
Then, well, sweaty things happened.
--
"Ha-Ha, you beak-nosed bastard!" I declared, watching as Red stabbed his beak into the bottom rung of the fence I had hopped up just in time to avoid more bloodied marks.
"'Beak-nosed bastard' is an improvement," Ranger informed me, coming up to hand me the basket for the eggs. "Think I'm rubbing off on you a bit."
"Well, let's hope not too much. We don't need both of us cursing at your phone like a couple grumpy old men," I teased.
I didn't know what day this was.
Five?
Six?
Something like that.
Everything was blending together in one giant, happy blur.
Ranger brought me on long walks, showed me the wild raspberry and blackberry bushes so I could know where to find them when they finally burst into life, warning me to get there early before the birds picked them clean.
He told me we could freeze the excess to make smoothies for the winter, explaining they were a favorite of his which was why there were none left at present, giving me another itty bitty insight into him. Like he did have a bit of a sweet tooth. But only for berries.
He'd helped me pick a spot to plant the flower seeds - chamomile, roses, lavender, telling me that even the chamomile - which were annuals - would come back year after year so long as I let some of them go to seed, drop.
My heart warmed as we pulled up the dirt, planted the seeds, fully aware of the future we were planting together.
"Soon as they come up, you can try your hand at making soap," he told me.
It was such a little thing, but I was so looking forward to it.
On the morning of the fateful seventh day, he'd walked me out to the pond, showed me the bench he had made for himself many years before. For fishing. For just reflecting.
We sat there, side by side, watching bubbles pop up on the surface of the water, dragonflies dip down to touch the surface, an
d once, for a short moment, a doe move out to take a long drink before noticing us, and running off.
I'd climbed on his lap then, making another memory right there on that bench.
We'd gone to bed early, rain making work outside impossible, sapping us of our energy.
Everything had been fine.
Good, even.
Or so I thought.
Until he had shaken me awake.
Violently, I thought, from the way my heart was pounding, my skin sweaty, adrenaline shooting through my system at the unexpected interruption of sleep.
"What?" I gasped, hand slapping down over my heart, willing it to slow, trying to re-orient myself to the unexpectedly bright room.
Not morning.
The light.
He had the light on.
Which was weird seeing as Ranger never put the light on since when he was ready for sleep, he slept. And then there was no need for it.
It maybe bothered me just the teeniest bit. The complete darkness. I usually had a TV on when I slept. Or, at the very least, a nightlight. Just a little bit of light to help me find my way to the bathroom in the middle of the night without stubbing a toe or tripping over something.
But it was a small thing, so I said nothing.
And waking up to a bright room now after getting used to the dark was unsettling, made my eyes hurt immediately.
"Ranger, what?" I asked, heart slowing down a bit at finding him sitting off the side of the bed, eyes far away. Distant, even. Something they hadn't been in a long time.
The sight of it made my belly sink, made my skin grow cold enough to need to hug them to my chest, running my palms up my forearms to try to warm them.
I knew something was coming.
Something bad.
But I didn't quite anticipate how bad.
"I texted Miller," he told me as dread curled its long fingers around my organs, squeezing the life out of them.
"Why?"
"I think you need to go."
With that, the bed depressed then bounced back up as he pushed to stand, made his way to the door. While the ground opened up, threatened to pull me in.
"What?" I shrieked, throwing my body off the side of the bed, realizing Gadget was not there. "Ranger, you can't just say that and walk away," I declared, following him out into the living room, hearing the grumble of the dogs as he flicked on another light.
"She'll be here around seven a.m.," he continued as though he hadn't heard my objection, filling a pot with water to make coffee. Like everything was normal. Like he wasn't just pulling all my hopes and dreams violently away.
"Ranger, you're not making any sense," I told him, wiping the sleep out of my eyes, wondering if maybe he was sleepwalking or something. Or having some weird turn toward darkness. Like a mental episode of some sort. That would make much more sense than him suddenly deciding he was done with me. Maybe he needed some sort of gentle reminder of how things are now. "We just planted a bunch of seeds to make soap out of later this summer, remember?" I asked, watching as he moved around, getting down the coffee grounds, seemingly ignoring me.
"You might want to pack up all your things. But put on the sneakers Finn got you, not the makeshift shoes."
The makeshift shoes that he had made me. Like he didn't want me taking them. Like he wanted me to leave all traces of him behind.
This really was happening.
He really was kicking me out.
"You gave me your word, Ranger," I reminded him, my voice achingly raw even to my own ears. "You said you keep your word," I added.
"I do," he shot back, hands grabbing the edges of the counter, fingers going white. "But this is different. You have to go."
"Ranger..."
"It's settled," he cut me off.
"W... what about Gadget?" I asked, my heart starting to crack, tiny spiderwebs arching outward until every part of it was one more hard word away from shattering to pieces, crushing to dust.
"I'll feed him. And when he's old enough, he'll go back with his kind. Like the plan always was."
God.
Oh, God.
My hand rose to my chest, rubbing over the skin, trying to ease the ache, trying to fend off the pain.
But there was no use.
Even as I noticed it in my chest, it was spreading outward, overtaking me completely.
Ranger was making me leave.
I was losing him, losing what we had been building.
And on top of that, I was losing my sanctuary, my new home, my new life.
Captain.
Gadget.
Everything.
I was losing everything.
And it hurt more than I could have known.
I moved on numb feet, dropping down onto the couch, throwing my arms around Captain when he came to sit beside me.
The tears didn't come.
Couldn't, maybe, while Ranger just kept moving around me, pressing the coffee, chopping up something on the counter, then - when I proved incapable of doing it myself - packing up all my things into the backpack Miller had brought and one of the bags Finn had.
Finished, he set it beside the door with my pair of shoes.
The other ones were suddenly missing.
With that, he stormed outside, the dogs following him.
And, what was worse, he forced Captain to come too.
Leaving me utterly alone.
Falling back against the couch, I curled onto my side, forcing my face so deep in the cushions that it was hard to breathe.
I don't know how long I stayed like that, my brain racing around in endless circles, with a hollow place in my chest that once held my heart.
But the next thing I knew, I felt a hand on my shoulder.
I knew it wasn't him.
I knew he wasn't coming back.
His goodbye was no goodbye.
I guess maybe that was his way.
And right then I thought, well, his way freaking sucked.
It was bad enough that he was making me go. He should have had the balls to watch me leave, at least.
"Honey..." Miller's voice called, sounding sad for me as I took a deep breath and turned from the cushions to find her standing there in the bright sunlight from the open door.
Bright sunlight.
You always pictured heartache on rainy days or in the dark of night.
But here it was, in the brilliant yellow of early morning.
"I don't know if you want to hear this or not right now," she said, storming around the room, collecting things up. "But he is the biggest mother fucker," she declared, voice rising with anger. For me. This woman who I barely knew. "I mean, what the hell was he even thinking? You must have fucking whiplash right about now," she added, dropping her butt down on the coffee table as I moved to sit up, finding she had collected a little pile of things in her lap. One of Ranger's flannels, some soap, a baggie of something that had been left on the counter. Some kind of food, I imagined.
"I have to go home," I said, voice nothing like my own. At least to my own ears.
"Yeah."
"If I still have a home."
"You have a home. Your apartment is just as you left it," Miller told me, giving me a reassuring nod. "I know this sucks. I won't pretend to know how you're feeling right now. But I think that the sooner we get moving, the better, right? It's a long walk. And then, once you're away from this all, you can give in to whatever you're feeling."
I was barely aware of standing, of slipping on the pants she handed me, then the shoes.
I didn't feel the warm sun on my cold skin. I didn't feel the ache in my muscles as we trudged through the woods on the way to her car.
Apparently, when faced with something my body, my brain, didn't want to process, it simply shut down.
Which made the walk, then the ride much easier.
Maybe not for Miller, whose gaze I felt on the side of my face often during those hours up the coast, then in, further up, until everything starte
d to become familiar in an oddly distant way. Like revisiting your childhood town as an adult, seeing it through different eyes.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Miller asked for about the tenth time, this time as she stood before me on the stoop to my building after I had taken my things from her.
"I'll be fine," I told her. Even sounding convincing of it. Even though I had no such certainty inside me as I turned, let myself in, rode the elevator up, and found myself outside my door.
Like hundreds of times before.
Like absolutely everything hadn't changed since I had last seen it.
But this was my life now.
Whether I wanted it or not.
And with it, all the pressures, all the stresses, all the everything that I had been protected from in the woods.
A heavy feeling settled on my chest as I unlocked my door, as I moved inside.
My apartment had never been big. I was only me. I didn't need a ton of space. So I opted for smaller because it was the smartest investment of my money, not to spend more than I needed to. Like my mother taught me.
It was well-loved, though, filled with things I had given careful thought to, pieces I had saved up for so I could invest in nice things, not just what was cheapest.
The walls, which I wasn't supposed to paint at all, were the lightest shade of gray, a warm, yet also - at least to my new eyes - sterile color.
My couch was a sectional - a deeper gray with a long chaise at the end where I spent most of my time, as evidenced by the way all the throw pillows in creams and robin's egg blue were piled there along with the king-sized cream blanket folded over the top.
My TV was ostentatiously large, or so it seemed now, taking up the whole wall across from the sectional.
To the side of the living room was the kitchen, separated by the island.
The kitchen had always been something I wasn't hugely fond of, but didn't have any right to change anything. The appliances were black, the cabinets a dark wood, the door pulls a fake brass, the counters, backsplash, and floor a cream color. The overhead light was fluorescent, overly bright to the eyes.
I set down the bags, immediately fetching the picture out of the bag, setting it in its old place as I looked around the space, finding everything in place.
The Babysitter Page 16