by Gia Riley
“Thank you,” I tell Ms. Lucia because that’s the polite thing to say in this instance. Even if I’d rather be alone.
Cash glances between the two of us, and he looks more nervous than usual. I’m not sure what to make of it, but I figure it’s probably my imagination running wild again. I’m the one who just tried to break into a closet and kicked a man in the crotch.
Ms. Lucia says, “Enjoy your visit,” and leaves us alone.
“How much time do we have?” I ask Cash.
He gives me a sad smile and says, “Can I have a hug before you start the countdown?”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
I walk into his open arms, and he wraps them around me. This is what home should feel like, but when I look into his light-blue eyes, I still wish they were darker.
His hand slides down my stomach and around my hip. Grabbing a handful of my ass, he smacks the opposite side. I gasp from the shock of the sting.
“Again,” I tell him.
Another crack follows the last in the exact same spot, and I’m sure his hand is imprinted on my skin.
He rubs away the sweet burn before grabbing my ponytail and pulling my head back.
My neck is completely exposed and at his mercy.
He stares at my red lips, inspecting them like a starving man.
“Kiss me,” he says. “Like you fucking mean it.”
The second our lips touch, he spanks me again, and I’m so wet. I beg for more. My cries are absorbed into his kisses, and I know this is only the beginning.
Like the angel wings tattooed on his arm, his mouth sends me all the way to heaven.
“Meadow, are you okay?” Cash asks.
I blink a couple of times and realize I’m breathing harder than I should be. The dream slowly fades away, and Cash comes back into focus.
What is wrong with me?
fifteen
CASH
Meadow’s still gripping my shoulders so hard, I think she might be having a panic attack.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” I ask her.
Her cheeks turn a cute shade of pink. “I’m fine.”
If she reacted to every one of my hugs the way she reacted to that one, I wouldn’t have a single doubt about us.
There’s something about this room.
Maybe it’s the fact that we’re not supposed to touch while I’m here or that we have zero privacy while inside the treatment facility, but every time I’m here, she looks at me like she used to. As badly as I want to point that out to her, I’m afraid that, if I mention it, she’ll become self-conscious and then act differently. I can’t risk that, not when things are this good between us.
“Do you want to sit down?” I ask her, nodding toward the bed.
I keep hold of her hand, so she understands that I don’t want her to stop hugging me. I just want to take my jacket off and relax.
“Sure,” she says, still slightly embarrassed about her reaction to seeing me. “Was anyone else in the hallway when you came in?”
I shrug off my coat and drape it over the desk chair. Meadow takes a seat on the bed, curling into a protective ball—a clear sign that something’s going on. Once she rests her chin on top of her knees, I take the hint that she doesn’t want me to touch her anymore. Talk about a mood swing.
“I didn’t see anyone out there, but I wasn’t really looking. Why?”
The vibe in the room suddenly turns colder, and I want to know what’s going on in that gorgeous head of hers. A few seconds ago, she was with me. And, now, she’s shying away again.
“No reason,” she says.
“Were you expecting someone?”
“You’re the only one who visits me, Cash.”
That doesn’t mean someone on the inside couldn’t stop by. Since the accident, Meadow hasn’t exactly been a people person. She could have made a friend in one of her support groups though. And it would be nice if she had someone else to lean on besides me and Ms. Lucia.
“You’re okay with me being here, right?”
I should have asked if she wanted me to come instead of assuming she’d be okay with the surprise. Just because I want to be here doesn’t mean I should be.
Meadow smirks and even gives me a little laugh. I can’t decide if it bugs me or not. Something about her is hard to read today. Yesterday, I thought I had a piece of her figured out, but now, I’m back to being clueless.
“I want you here, Cash. It’s just been a long day.”
“If you’re sure, I’d like to hear about your day.”
She unfolds her body and scoots over, so there’s room for me next to her on the bed. I wait before I assume again.
“Sit down, Cash. I’m not mad that you’re here. Stop worrying.”
“You sound like Teddi.” I realize what I said after it’s too late.
If I could take it back, I would because Meadow’s smile disappears, and she starts picking at her fingernail—her nervous tic.
“So, you’re still talking to her?” she asks, her voice timid and afraid.
I know what she thinks—that Teddi and I spend our days conspiring against her. If she only knew what we’d been doing to the house, she’d understand why I’d been spending so much time with Teddi.
I’m not sure if I should explain myself or just let it go. The last thing I want to do is upset her more or make it worse.
She hides behind her hair like it’s a protective curtain. Considering she has tears pooling in her eyes, I know that I have to tell my wife about the surprise. I can’t risk her falling apart over something as innocent as remodeling a house.
“Teddi is nothing more than a friend. She’s been helping me make some changes at the house. That’s all.”
“What kind of changes?”
I decide to leave out the details about the carpet because of her connection to the rocking chair. I don’t want her to think I’m trying to remove all of her coping mechanisms.
“We painted, and we replaced some of the furniture. I hung pictures on the walls. It looks really nice.”
She stares at the floor and folds her hands in her lap. “I’m sure it looks great. I’m glad you put your house back together the way you wanted it.”
“Meadow, that house is as much yours as it is mine.”
“No, Cash. I destroyed things. That’s all I ever do.”
This is exactly what I was afraid of. That she’d see the repairs as my way of moving on without her. She couldn’t be more wrong if she tried.
“I want you to come home and start fresh. That’s why I did it—so you wouldn’t have all those reminders staring you in the face. I’m sorry if I made a bad decision.”
“It was a good decision. Thank you.”
I don’t know if she truly means it or not, but I don’t think she’d thank me if she was upset about it.
“If you get home and want me to change something, just say the word. I won’t force you to love it. It was wrong of me to do that when you came home from the hospital. You said you hated the paint in the bedroom, and I kept it.”
“Because you were hoping it would make me remember.”
“Yes,” I confess. “I’m guilty of that. But you’ve shown me that it’s more important to move forward than backward.”
“I did that?” she questions. “Or did Teddi help you come to that realization?”
“Both,” I truthfully tell her.
“I’m glad you have Teddi. She’s good for you.”
I hate the way she says that. Like I have this deep, meaningful connection with another woman.
Considering what Teddi and I have been through with Meadow, maybe, on some level, we are forever bonded, but Teddi understands how much I love my wife. Neither one of us has crossed any boundaries. Ever.
“You’re good for me, Meadow.”
“I think I used to be,” she whispers. “We were happy in the pictures.”
Without thinking, I grab her face, needing her to look at me and feel
something more than this horrible conversation. I came here to get closer to Meadow, not lose her.
Before I take another breath, she smashes her lips together, and I realize how close I was to kissing her.
She doesn’t want that.
I’m not sure she ever will. And that’s a hard pill to swallow.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “This isn’t going how I planned.”
“Plans lead to disappointment, Cash.”
She’s back to looking through me instead of at me, like she did when I first hugged her. I don’t have any idea where she keeps escaping to, but when it happens, she completely disappears.
“How much did Ms. Lucia tell you on the phone?”
“Not much. She told me you had a great day and made progress. I asked what happened, and she said she wanted me to hear it from you. I thought maybe you’d remembered something.”
“It’s nothing like that,” she says.
“Look at me, Meadow.”
She finally stops looking at the floor and lifts her head.
“Whatever happened, I just want to hear about it. It doesn’t matter if it’s about what you had for lunch or the weather. I want to know what’s going on in your life.”
“Well, I honestly can’t decide if it’s good or bad.”
“Why?”
She goes back to picking at her fingernail. I can tell she’s trying to gather her thoughts, so I sit patiently, giving her however much time she needs. The longer she takes though, the more my palms sweat.
“I’m scared,” she says as a tear leaks from the corner of her eye.
“Don’t cry, baby. Tell me why you’re scared.”
“I don’t want them to mess with my brain, Cash. I’m afraid I’ll lose the little bit that I do remember.”
I have no clue what she’s talking about, but I pull her onto my lap before another tear lands on her cheek. She doesn’t try to stop me, and she doesn’t disappear into the recesses of her mind. She’s as present as ever when she leans her head against my chest and grabs a fistful of my shirt.
I’ve seen her like this before. She’s on the verge of a breakdown. And that scares me.
When she got like this at home, I always had a bottle of vodka to help her mellow out. It was all she ever wanted and the only thing that would help.
I have nothing to give her but this—my arms wrapped around her.
So, I hush her like a child and tell her to breathe. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”
It’s a promise I shouldn’t make without having the treatment plan laid out in front of me. But, if what they have planned for tomorrow has her this upset, then I’m not sure it’s worth it anyway. She’s here to get better, not regress.
“I can’t lose Grandma, Cash.”
Her grandmother is dead. She’ll never see her again.
That’s not what Meadow means though. She wants to hold on to the memories and remember their good times. If she loses those, I’ll lose Meadow.
“You won’t forget her.”
It takes nearly ten minutes of rocking back and forth before she’s calmed down. I’m thankful she was able to get herself under control without help. If they’d needed to shove a needle in her arm or forced her to swallow a pill, I wouldn’t have been able to handle it. I’d pull her out of treatment before it came to that, and then we’d both end up in trouble.
“I’m sorry, Cash. You didn’t come here for this.”
“I came to see you. If you need to cry, then I want to be the one to hold you while you do it.”
Her lips twitch, and I think she’s trying to smile. It’s more than I was expecting.
“How late are you allowed to stay?” she asks.
When I got here, it seemed like she was counting down the minutes until I left. Now, I feel like she doesn’t want me to go at all. It’s another one of Meadow’s many mood swings that gives me whiplash.
“Probably not too late. Ms. Lucia wants you to rest.”
“Right,” she says, “so they can torture me tomorrow.”
“What are they planning?”
She swallows and then licks away a tear that landed on her lips. The urge to kiss her is still strong, especially when she stares at my mouth like she’s memorizing me again.
I wish I knew why she kept doing it.
“Let me go wash my face and blow my nose. And then I’ll tell you everything.”
She climbs off my lap, and once the bathroom door is closed, I get up and stretch. Everything looks just as it did yesterday, except for the notebook on her desk.
Her name is printed on the front in neat letters, just the way she likes it. Even after the accident, her writing stayed the same. It was one of the first things I noticed at the hospital when they checked her reflexes. Her occupational therapist made her write her name over and over to regain the strength in her injured hand, and not a single letter looked different.
It’s an invasion of her privacy, but I can’t help myself. I’m attracted to pieces of her that haven’t changed. Flipping a couple of pages in, I blink, checking to make sure the writing is still Meadow’s.
It is.
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.
In the most detailed description possible, she’s outlined a very sexual experience. Maybe it’s an exercise for her imagination or a hobby to keep her busy during quiet hours, but something tells me none of what’s written has anything to do with her treatment plan.
The graphic details cover almost half of the notebook, and I know they’re not meant for anyone’s eyes but Meadow’s.
I’m so caught up in the words and the shock of what I’m reading that I don’t hear the toilet flush or the water shut off at the sink.
Meadow opens the bathroom door and catches me with the notebook in my hands. It’s like the night I was packing her clothes all over again. Only this time, I’m not the one hiding something.
“Cash!” she yells as she rips the book out of my hands.
“What is that?” I ask her as calmly as possible even though I’m shaking inside.
She tightly holds it against her chest, like it’s her new prized possession. “This is personal. You had no right to touch it.”
I get that. I shouldn’t have opened it. But, now that I have, I need her to start talking.
What is she writing about?
What does it mean?
I’m not the man in that book. Those moments she’s writing about aren’t ours.
She backs up against the wall, her face the deepest shade of crimson I’ve ever seen.
“Please, talk to me.”
“I want you to leave.”
Leave? I just got here.
“No, baby. We still have to talk about tomorrow.”
“I don’t want to talk anymore, Cash.”
There’s no use in pushing. She’s done. I’ve seen this look on her face a million times. Once it’s there, I have a zero percent chance of changing her mind.
The last thing I wanted to do was screw this up. If Ms. Lucia finds out how much I’ve upset her, then she won’t call the next time Meadow has a breakthrough or earns extra visitation time.
“Please,” I say one more time, hoping this one will get through the iron fence around her.
She bites her lip and glances at me for a second. I think she might be reconsidering, but then she shakes her head and says, “I can’t, Cash.”
Assuming she’s as embarrassed as I felt while reading that notebook, I tell her, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched your personal things.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.”
My coat is in my hands, and I’m about to slip it on, but I wait a second, hoping she stops me.
She doesn’t.
I slowly move toward the door, giving her even more time to change her mind.
Nothing.
Before the door latches behind me, I slip the sole of my shoe in between the door and the wall. I’ve neve
r left her without saying it, and I don’t want today to be any different. “I love you, Meadow.”
“If you love me, then don’t tell Ms. Lucia about the notebook. Don’t tell her I cried or that I’m scared. Okay?”
She’s back to telling lies.
“Okay. I promise.” I’d promise her anything, even when I know I shouldn’t. I’m not okay with that notebook. Not even a little bit. But my desire to see her again is stronger than my dislike for that journal.
Once she has my word, she opens the door a little wider and looks at me, probably so that she can see if I’m lying.
She’s still scared—I see it all over her face—but she’s stubborn. Even if she wanted me to stay, she wouldn’t ask me to come back inside.
Pressing my luck, I try one more time. I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t ask her.
“Is that real?”
“Is what real?” she questions.
“The story. Is that you? Have you been with someone since you’ve been here?”
I shouldn’t have moved my foot out of the way because she slams the door in my face, and that’s the end of our visit.
If they didn’t have cameras all over this place, I’d probably bang the door down, demanding an answer. I can’t risk getting kicked out though, so I walk to the desk, sign out, and then find my car in the lot.
The half-hour drive home only takes twenty minutes, and when I turn onto our street, I take a right instead of a left, ending up in Teddi’s driveway.
Maybe she can make some sense of this because I’m officially lost.
I sent Meadow to rehab to get better, not to find someone new.
sixteen
CASH
“What’s wrong?” Teddi asks as soon as she opens the door.
She’s usually so put together, the exact opposite of Meadow, yet she’s standing in front of me in a bathrobe with her hair in a mess on top of her head, and it looks like she’s been crying.
“I should ask you the same thing.”
I catch her glancing at her reflection in the glass, and then she pulls the elastic out of her hair. Her long blonde hair still smells like shampoo as it tumbles over her shoulders.