by Jo Michaels
Everything went as planned, and Tristan had practically moved in at Simone’s house by the time she was scheduled to start reading the following Monday. He was on summer break at school, and his parents didn’t need him right then at the diner. She didn’t ask further questions about that or the legal papers; she trusted he’d handled it.
Once Yvette left for work, the couple put on their disguises and drove to the Jones’s house.
“Remember, our names are Tony and Hannah,” Tristan whispered.
“Got it.”
Mrs. Jones answered the door, greeted them, and then led the couple to her daughter’s room.
A huge, pink, four-poster bed dwarfed the child curled up under the comforter. Out of her head sprouted fine, white hair, and her cheeks were sunken, her skin sallow. Two chairs were by the window, close to the bed, but not so close anyone could reach out and touch her easily. When the door opened, she whimpered.
“Sh… It’s okay, Kelly. These are the nice people I told you about.”
“But what are they gonna do, Mama?”
“I told you, I don’t know, but they promised me they wouldn’t touch you, so whatever it is, it won’t hurt, and it’s supposed to make you better.” Mrs. Jones looked up at Simone. “Right?”
She smiled. “Right. It won’t hurt at all.” As she moved toward the chair, she never broke eye contact.
“Okay then. I’ll leave y’all to it. Is there anything you need?”
“If you have a glass of water, that would be amazing,” she answered.
“I can do that.” Mrs. Jones kissed her daughter on the forehead, told her to holler if she needed anything, or if anyone touched her, and then left.
Tristan sat in the chair nearest the end of the bed, crossed his hands over his stomach, and stuck his feet out.
Once the water was brought and Simone said her thanks, she got comfortable in the other seat and lifted her eyes to Kelly’s. They were inquisitive and wide, betraying her fear, but she also had a seriousness about her that Simone knew could only have come from enduring terrible things at a young age. She had first-hand experience. Trying to be as soft and non-threatening as possible, she rested her hands on the top of the book in her lap and asked, “What kind of stories do you like, Kelly?”
That question sparked something in the child, and she sat up, grabbed a large teddy bear by the neck, and squeezed, her eyes alight with excitement.
Most kids loved stories, and it seemed she was no exception.
“I like all the stories. My mama reads to me all the time. Is that what you’re gonna do? Read to me?”
“Yes, I am. I just need to know what kind of story is your favorite,” Simone answered.
Tristan watched, his head bobbing back and forth like it was a tennis match.
“What’s he doing here?” Kelly pointed at him, stuck out her lip, and scrunched her face up.
“He’s my helper. If I need something, he gets it for me.”
“Oh.” She nodded as if that made complete sense. “Okay. Well, I like fairy tales with princesses and knights on white horses with swords, and ogres, and bad men, and maybe not a princess to start with, but a girl like me who gets to be a princess in the end or something. You got any of those?”
“I believe I do.” Simone closed her eyes and opened the cover of the book, letting it fall against her free hand, but holding it at an angle so only Tristan could see. It took a few minutes, but the familiar pull at her sternum told her something was happening. Silvery words flowed over the page when she opened her eyes, and she smiled.
Kelly would get her cure.
Hazarding a glance at Tristan, Simone chuckled under her breath. His mouth was hanging open as he stared at the book. He looked from the page, to her, and back again several times.
“What are you waitin’ for?” Kelly asked.
“Oops! Sorry! Here we go.” In a soft voice, Simone read. “Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there was a common girl with a common father who was a miller.”
Kelly curled on her side, teddy bear still in a strangle hold, and fixed her wide, blue eyes on Simone’s face.
She read for about five hours, only pausing to take sips of water from the cup Tristan dutifully refilled when it got low. Finally, she closed the book and leaned her head back, her lids sliding down like electric shutters on a track.
“Hannah? Can you hear me, sweetheart?” Tristan’s whispers pushed through the fog; he sounded miles away, yet his breath was tickly.
A smile bloomed on her face, and slowly, she forced her way up and out of the quagmire of the prison her mind had formed around her consciousness. “I can.” It came out broken, so she cleared her throat and stated it again.
“Thank God. You had me worried.”
One by one, she opened her eyes and pulled the surroundings into focus. She was still in Kelly’s room, obvious by the bears in pink tutus frolicking on the curtains above Simone’s head. Alarm slapped her, and she jerked upright, clenching the book. “How long was I out?” she whisper-yelled.
“Just a few minutes, but you were out, out—totally unresponsive.” He sat back and ran a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t even sure you were breathing.”
“Sorry.” She groaned. “I feel like I’ve been run over by a semi.” Her stomach churned, and she swallowed bile, but she bolted upright and clasped his hands. “How do you feel? Are you okay?”
“I’m great. Stop worrying about me.”
“Okay.” Again, vomit threatened. “We need to go.”
Kelly was snoring lightly, her hands together and tucked under her face, so the couple snuck out. When they got to the living room, Mrs. Jones rocketed to her feet, her eyes wide, hands clenched at her sternum. “Well?”
“Everything went splendidly. It should only take a few more days,” Simone said. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Same time.”
“Will I see a difference? What did y’all do in there all day?”
“I’m not sure because it’s so early in the process. There’s no way I can tell you what we did, but your daughter is fine. She fell asleep a little while ago. I need rest. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Tristan moved toward the door, pulling her along by the hand.
Mrs. Jones shifted a gaze full of hope and worry to her daughter’s door and stared.
Simone’s world tilted a little, and she clenched Tristan’s arm for support. She knew she needed to lie down soon or she’d fall over. He seemed to understand because he helped her into the car and then held her hand, not saying a word the whole way back to the apartment. During the ride, her mind whirled with possible scenarios the family might encounter as Kelly improved. Both corners of Simone’s mouth lifted as she played everything through her head. She sighed and squeezed Tristan’s hand. They leapt out of the car, made their way inside, and she barely got close to the bed before collapsing.
It was dark when her eyes shot open, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure what was happening, but Tristan’s snores were nearly rattling the windows. That brought the whole day rushing back in a wave of feel-good memories and nausea. She threw off the covers and bolted for the bathroom. As she hung over the side of the toilet afterward, she noticed how cold the floor was under her knees and looked down. Somehow, she’d gotten into a nightgown, and mortification at Tristan possibly seeing her naked—or getting a glimpse of her sensible underwear—while she was unconscious, trickled down her spine. Another wave of sickness had her sticking her head back in the bowl, so there was no time to dwell on the other feelings.
Footsteps on the carpet grew closer, and he was rubbing her back a moment later and grabbing a hair-tie off the vanity. He pulled her locks into a ponytail and secured them, and then sat on the floor nearby, elbows on knees, running his hands through his hair. “Is it always this bad?”
She hit the handle to flush, spit into the bowl one more time, and tipped her head to one side, resting her face on the seat. “No. Last time it was exhaustion. It seems to
be getting harder on me. I had no effects with Mom.”
His eyebrows knotted, and he shook his head. “I can’t watch this.”
“You don’t have to come with me later, but I started this, and I’m not stopping until it’s done.” There was no energy left in her body for anger or argument.
“Is it like this every day?”
“No. Usually only the first couple, and until now, I never threw up, just slept. Well, I mean, it was like that last time, anyway.”
“So, you could get even sicker?” He turned the corners of his mouth down.
“I dunno.” She shrugged and puked again. That felt like the last of it, so she flushed, stood up, and proceeded to wash her face and brush her teeth.
Tristan got to his feet, too, and he stood in the doorway, arms crossed, as he watched.
It was awesome how transparent his feelings were, flitting over his face one after the other, and she wanted nothing more than to reassure him—but she didn’t know what would happen next, so she couldn’t. All she could do was throw her arms around his neck and hold on like her life depended on it. So that was what she did.
He held her, swaying back and forth, gently, his breath on the tender skin of her neck. “I’m coming with you.” After a sigh, he said, “Wild horses couldn’t keep me from your side right now.”
Warmth passed between them, and she breathed him in, wishing she had more energy, wanting more than anything to experience lovemaking with the man who cared so very deeply for her.
“Let’s get you back to bed.” Without asking, he scooped her up and carried her to her bedroom, tucking her firmly under the covers, and returning to the chair in the corner where he’d been snoozing.
“Come lay with me?” she asked.
“Are you sure?” He was already reclined and was pulling the tiny blanket over himself.
“Yes. I’d like to be close to you.” She scooted back and lifted the duvet and sheet.
Once he was underneath, she rolled over and allowed him to wrap his arms around her from behind. His warmth permeated her skin, and he pulled her closer, nuzzling his face into her neck. “I love you, Simone.”
“I love you, too,” she whispered.
It wasn’t long until his chest rises and falls evened out, but she lay awake a long time, listening to his breath, enjoying the dampness of it on the back of her neck, and wondering what she did to deserve a man like Tristan in her life. Eventually, she let her eyelids drop, and she passed into a much more restful sleep than she’d ever had.
Just like the day before, they waited until her mother left the apartment to get ready. They’d been fortunate not to run into her until then, but she asked no questions about what they had planned for the day or what they’d been doing. Simone was worried the plan would be discovered, and her mother would open a can of Hellfire on them, but Kelly’s health was the number one priority.
As Simone and Tristan drove to the Jones residence, she stared out the window, wondering what he’d say about the new plan for the money she’d come up with. It felt wrong to her to get paid for something she didn’t have to shell out any cash on her end for, and she’d started doubting her ability to take anything as a reward the day before—when she saw Kelly lying in the bed, looking like Yvette had when the doctors said she had only a few weeks left.
Anything possible would’ve been done to get her a cure at that point, and the power of a good deed was immense. Gretchen’s Kitchen was close to closing their doors. Simone had the power to help them continue to do right by the community once she got the money from the Joneses. But she wasn’t sure how to broach the subject with Tristan. His eyes had lit up when he saw how much there was in the funding account. She figured that would probably pay his full tuition, keeping his parents from going into too much debt for his education.
Trees whizzed past the window, and she took a deep breath, about to say something, when he pulled up to the house and put the truck in park. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why he’d suddenly decided to drive there rather than catch a ride like they did that first day. His license plate was still the same, and it would only take a little digging to find out his name wasn’t really Tony.
Rather than ask, because she was still exhausted for a reason she couldn’t fathom, she got out, clutching her backpack, and headed for the door, her hand firmly in his.
He knocked, and they waited.
Mrs. Jones answered, her eyebrows sporting little wrinkles in between. “Come on in.”
“Is everything okay?” Simone asked.
“She had a rough night. Lots of tossing and turning in her bed. At first, I thought it was something one of you had done, but she assured me neither of you ever touched her. I’m chalking it up to the drugs in her system.”
“After this week, she won’t need them anymore. That, I can promise you.” Simone smiled and put one hand on Mrs. Jones’s arm lightly. “Have some faith, please.”
“Faith is all I got to go on anymore. If y’all are just sitting there, and not touching her or messing with her meds or anything, there’s not much I can complain about except strangers bein’ in my house.”
“I understand. We don’t want to cause you stress. I’m only trying to help.”
“Well, git on in there. She’s plumb excited to see y’all today. Said you’re reading her a book.” Mrs. Jones shook her head. “Not sure how that’s gonna work, exactly, but I ain’t complaining.”
Again, Simone smiled. She pushed through Kelly’s door. “Hey there! How are you feeling today?”
“I’m great! I didn’t sleep good, but I’m excited about the story! I can’t wait to find out if the girl gets to marry the Prince.” Once again, Kelly’s poor teddy bear took the brunt of the abuse. It dangled and bounced in her arms as she hopped up and down on the bed. She pulled its head close and put her cheek on it. “So romantwick!”
“Romantic,” Simone said.
“That’s what I said.” Kelly’s eyes grew round and wide.
“Okay, okay. Let’s get started.” Sitting in the same chair as the day before, Simone was pleased to find a glass of water on the nightstand waiting for her.
Tristan made himself comfortable nearby. Simone no longer worried about him being in the room while she read, and she pulled out the book, put it on her lap, opened the cover, and waited. After a beat, silvery words appeared, and she read.
It was only a few hours until Kelly passed out, and Simone flipped the cover closed, stood, and shook Tristan’s shoulder. “Hey there, sleepy boy. Time to go,” she whispered.
He looked around and yawned, stretching his arms to either side and then scrubbing his hands over his face. “I’m up. What time is it?”
“It’s not long past one. She fell asleep pretty fast today. Besides, the book quit producing words. I guess it told me it’s time to quit.”
“Okay.” After another scrubbing of the face, he stood up and headed out, pausing in the living room to say goodbye.
“Y’all done already?” Mrs. Jones worried her apron.
“We are. She fell asleep already,” Simone answered.
“Oh, okay.” Just like the previous day, the mother’s eyes wandered to her daughter’s bedroom door.
“She’s fine. Remember, faith.”
“I’ll do my very best.”
“See you tomorrow.” With a wink, Simone turned and strode out.
“You seem better today, not as drained.” Tristan stuck the key in the door of the truck and turned.
“I feel better. It wasn’t as hard on me today for some reason, maybe because it wasn’t as long. I don’t know.”
“Does it always progress like this? Sick as a dog the first day and then fine the next?”
It took her a moment, but she scanned backward through what she could remember in detail and shook her head. “No. Last time, like I said, I just got really tired on day two.”
As he turned the key in the ignition, he slumped toward the steering wheel.
She would’ve had to have been an idiot to miss how concerned he was, but she put a hand on his back and asked, “Is something wrong?” Then, she held her breath, knowing what was coming, but hating that he was going to say it again.
Rather than answer, he shook his head, put the truck in gear, and drove back to the apartment.
They spent the afternoon watching TV and lounging on the couch, her nerves on end, waiting for the dam of his concern to break, him not saying a word, just flipping channels, his mouth drawn down, a look of intense concentration on his face as though the characters of Here Comes Honey Boo Boo were divulging first-world secrets rather than trading barbs about a beauty contest dress for their darling daughter.
Close to time for Yvette to get home, the couple got off the couch and cooked a meatloaf dinner with mashed potatoes. Again, neither of them spoke.
As Simone mashed the garlic butter with the potatoes, the intense strain of waiting got the best of her. “Would you say whatever it is you’re going to say, please?”
Spoon in hand, Tristan turned and gazed at her a long time before he crossed the kitchen and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, resting his chin on top of her head.
Drops of ketchup glaze fell from the whisk and splattered on the floor, reminding her of blood and how many times she’d seen something like that over the previous couple of years.
“I know I’m making it harder than it needs to be, but I have to process everything in my own way. If I talk now, I’m afraid I’ll say something I don’t mean, and if there’s one thing I don’t want to ever do again, it’s hurt you.”
“You’re hurting me by staying so damned quiet. Can’t we talk about something? Anything? This not knowing when or if you’re going to explode on me is making me anxious as hell.”
He chuckled, making his chest shake under her ear. “I’m sorry. Really. Yes, we can talk about something else.”
At her sigh of relief, he pulled back and kissed her lightly, holding her chin between his thumb and forefinger.