I walk over to Amelia and put my arm around her as she looks at me. “She is not going to some fucking motel."
"I know,” I say, rubbing her arm. I also know that if she thinks I’m going to take her, she will be disappointed once again, and this time, it’s going to be me who hurts her, and the thought alone kills me.
Chapter 18
Willow
The soft knock on the door makes me look up. My hair is in a French braid, thanks to Amelia, who came in, and in a matter of minutes, it was tied up, and it felt great. "Come in,” I say softly, sitting on the toilet seat. Holding my elbow in my hand, I’m waiting to put the sling on.
The door opens, and Chelsea comes in slowly with the black bag in her hands. "Hi." She smiles at me, and I just look at her. She is so beautiful, and her eyes are so kind. She quickly closes the door behind her. "I brought you choices,” she says, and I just look down at the black bag.
My own black bag sits by the door in a low heap since all I had in there were two pairs of jeans that were almost bare from wearing and two semi-clean shirts. There is only so much you can clean while living in a car. "Um," I start, “I have a couple of things in my bag, but with everything that happened …"
She smiles at me. “I know," she says softly. “But the good news is I have some things here." She puts the big bag on the floor in front of me and unzips the bag, squatting down. “Now, what were you thinking?”
My mouth opens as she opens the bag and shows me all the clothes inside it. I’ve never seen so many clothes in my whole life. I also have never owned more than five things at a time. “We didn’t know if you would want to wear jeans or if you wanted to wear shorts.”
I look down at my legs, seeing that the bruising is still there, fading slowly. “Jeans,” I tell her. “Always jeans,” I say, and she takes out a white pair and a blue pair.
"Do you want to wear blue or white?" she asks, and I just look down at the two in her hands.
"I’ve never had white jeans,” I say, and I want to kick myself. I should just take the blue jeans and a T-shirt and thank her.
"Then white jeans it is,” she says, holding the pair out to me. “And how about a shirt?”
"Just a regular T-shirt is okay,” I say, and she smiles and gives me a black one. "Thank you,” I say, holding the T-shirt in my hand and touching the softness of it.
"Here you go,” she says, handing me a white bra with matching panties.
"Um." I look down, and my legs shake with nervousness. “I don’t know what to say."
"Can I speak freely?" Chelsea looks at me, and I just stare at her. “I don’t want to step on any toes." She looks down and then up again. “I never want to disrespect you or insult you." She wipes away a tear with her thumb. “Quinn didn’t handle any of this right," she says, and my finger taps the clothes on my lap. “He’s a horse’s ass for sure."
"We can agree on that one,” I say softly. “I told him to leave," I admit, “every single day, but he never did."
"Oh, that is one battle you aren’t going to win,” she says, shaking her head and laughing.
"But," I start to say, and she holds up her hand.
"I know it’s overwhelming for you," she says. “But this is the only way we know how to thank you for everything you did."
I shake my head, the burning in my stomach coming up as the tears fight to get out. “I didn’t do anything.” I talk low, so no one can hear our conversation.
"I know you don’t know us,” she says. “And I know it’s hard to wrap your head around, but you’re family now."
"How?" I whisper.
"If it wasn’t Quinn here sitting by your side, it would have been Mayson.” She looks at me. “You both share a bond,” she says, and she blinks away her tears. “I’m not going to talk to him, and eventually, he is going to come and sit with you."
"I don’t know what to say,” I say.
"Let us take you home." She reaches out and puts her hand on mine.
"I haven’t had a home since I was seven." The words come out before I can stop and take them back. I regret them as soon as the words echo in my ears. I look down, not sure I can see pity in her eyes. I refuse to let anyone feel sorry for me. It is what it is, and what was dealt to me, and I’ll be fine. "I’ll get dressed,” I say, and she nods her head at me and gets up.
"Do you need any help?" she asks, standing. I shake my head, and she smiles at me and walks out of the door, clicking it shut.
I let out a huge breath that I was holding in as well as the tears. I let the tears fall as I get up and slip the panties on, and I look down at myself. I’ve never had something so soft and pretty. I slip the bra on, putting my arm through the arm strap, trying not to move it too much, the pain getting less and less every day. Shirley showed me ways to do things when I’m changing so as not to move it.
I slip the jeans on and then button them before slipping on the black T-shirt. Then I tie the sling around me. I look at myself in the mirror, and anyone else would think I was just another girl. No one would tell that I lived in hell. No one would know that this is the nicest outfit I’ve ever had on. No one would know that I didn’t even have a bra because all I could afford were bathing suit tops on the liquidation racks. No one would know that looking at me today.
I look over at the hospital gown that lies on the floor and bend down to pick it up and put it in my black bag, zipping it up and then turning to look at the other black bag that is bursting with clothes. I’m about to bend down and zip it up when there is a knock on the door.
I stand and open the door, seeing Amelia there. “Are you okay?" she asks softly, and I look around the room, seeing that it’s just her and Chelsea. I look around to see if Quinn is inside the room. “He went to get the truck. I’ll get the bag,” she says, coming into the bathroom with me to grab the big bag. I bend, taking my backpack in my hand.
"You look so pretty,” Shirley says, coming into the room, pushing an empty wheelchair. “Not that you weren’t pretty before, but"—she smiles—“this suits you."
"Thank you,” I say, slipping the flip-flops on and avoiding looking at her. I don’t know how I’m going to do it without her.
"You ready to blow this popsicle stand?” Chelsea says, and I just look at Shirley.
"I can walk,” I say.
"It’s hospital policy, I’m afraid,” she says, so I walk over to the wheelchair and sit down in it.
"We’ll wait for you outside," Amelia says, looking at Chelsea, who just smiles and nods at me.
“Are you ready?" Shirley asks, and I look up at her.
"I’ve never been more scared in my whole life,” I say, my hand shaking on top of my legs. "I’ve been in my share of situations in my life," I start to say, and my voice cracks. “But I’ve never been in this one."
"Oh, honey," she says, sitting on the bed next to the wheelchair.
"Hatred, I can handle. Hateful words just roll off my back. But this?" I point at the door where Amelia and Chelsea just walked out of. “That, I don’t know what to do with that."
"You embrace it,” she says softly. “The universe has turned now,” she says, sniffling. “And it is time for you to see all the good there is out there in the world." The lump in my throat is so big I don’t even think I can swallow. “You, my beautiful girl, are going to soar."
"I’m going to," I start to say and stop talking, not sure I should tell her.
"I’m going to miss you." She finishes for me, and I nod at her, and the tears come. She gets up and comes to me, hugging me. “I’ll come and visit you, and you have to come back here in three days anyway."
"What if”—I wipe my face with the back of my hand—“I need you?”
"Then you call me,” she says. “Quinn has all my information."
"What?" I ask her, confused.
"He asked me for my phone number right before he left,” she says and smiles. “He might be a jackass, but we agree on something."
"Yeah,” I say when she gets up and tu
rns the wheelchair around. “What’s that?"
"You,” she says, beaming.
The black bag sits on my lap as she pushes me down the same hall she did when taking me for X-rays. The nerves are still there, but a different fear fills me. She pushes me into the elevator, and we descend to the lobby.
The hustle and bustle of people are all around us as she pushes me across the shiny cream-colored floor. People call out to her and say hello as we approach the big glass doors. She presses a button, and the two glass doors open, and the heat hits me right away.
I tilt my head, looking up at the sun, and the heat goes right through me. "Hey." I hear his voice, and I have to put my hand over my eyes to open them without seeing stars. "I was wondering what was taking you so long.”
"Just saying goodbye," Shirley says. I get up and his arm wraps around me to make sure I don’t fall.
He stands over me, blocking the sun, so I open my eyes. "You text me and tell me how she is doing,” Shirley says to Quinn, who just nods as he helps me get into the red truck.
It smells brand new, and I look down to see that the leather seats shine in the sun. The dashboard doesn’t have a speck of dust on it. "I will,” he says, and I look over to see Shirley standing there waving at me as Quinn closes the door.
The black bag sits on my lap as the door opens again, with Quinn laughing. “I forgot to buckle you in,” he says, and suddenly, he’s all over me. His face is right in front of me as he leans his body over me to fasten the seat belt. His woodsy smell makes me close my eyes. “Are you okay?" he asks softly, and when I open my eyes, he is right in front of my face. I don’t say anything to him. Instead, I just nod.
He smiles, and when he closes the door again, I let go of the breath I’m holding. I watch him walk around the front of the truck and get in, then he starts the truck while putting on his seat belt. “Are you hungry?" he asks.
"Not really,” I say. My nerves have stopped me from even thinking about food.
He pulls away from the hospital, and I take the time to look out the window. I look at all the trees, wondering if I would recognize anything, but the trees all look the same as we drive toward wherever he is taking me. I make notes in my head of how many times he’s turned, and then when we get to the town, I make a note of the diner. Then we turn into what looks like an opening of trees.
The trees cover the sun for a second, and then it’s like the doors have opened, and we are on a road with a white fence on both sides. The green grass is pristine looking as it curves to an opening, to one of the prettiest houses I’ve ever seen in my life.
The white house with a black roof shines under the sun. Wooden columns line the covered patio that wraps around the front of the house. Two Adirondack chairs sit at one end, while a wooden swing at the other end slowly sways in the wind. "Where are we?" I turn to look at him and then back at the house.
"My house,” he says, getting out of the truck before I can say a word.
Chapter 19
Quinn
"This is my house,” I say, and she turns and looks back at the house. I get out of the truck and walk over to her side, opening the passenger door. “Do you need me to help you out?" I ask, and she shakes her head.
She looks even more beautiful outside with the sun on her face than she has before. She struggles to get out of the truck, the black bag in her hand the whole time. "Welcome to my home,” I say, stepping back once I know she is going to be okay.
"Is this really your house?" she asks, and I nod.
"It was my parents’ first house,” I say. “Then I made it mine. Let me show you inside." I put my hand on her lower back as she walks up the gravel driveway.
"But …” she says, looking up at the house and then back to me. “But …"
I walk with her slowly up the two steps toward the thick brown doors. Her eyes go to the swing. “There is another swing in the back,” I say when I get to the door. “I added it when I moved in. It’s my favorite spot to sit out at night." I smile at her, unlocking the door. "Welcome,” I say. My heart beats so fast in my chest that I almost stutter the last sentence. I hold out my hand for her to step in. She takes two steps in and stops, her eyes roaming the whole entryway. There is a wooden table against the wall with a vase full of fresh flowers. "My mother said you couldn’t come home without having flowers." I step in next to her and close the door, just in case she decides to make a run for it. Which, at this point, would not surprise me in the least.
"Your mother?" She turns and looks at me.
"I held them off as much as I could, but now that you’re home,” I say, putting my hand on her lower back again. “I can’t promise that they won’t drop by."
We take five more steps into the house and come up to a small hallway on my left. “Right down here." I point and lead her down to the closed door at the end. “This is the spare bedroom." I open it, and I have never been more scared or nervous to show my house. I also have never had a woman come into my house before. This is my oasis, and I’ve always kept it private. "This is where you’ll be staying."
I open the door, and the sunshine shines right into the room. She steps in, and her feet sink into the plush beige carpet that my mother chose. “I can’t take any credit for this room."
"This is …” she says, the bag in her hand being held so tight that her knuckles are turning white. “I don’t think …"
The king-size bed in the middle of the room has a white and lilac comforter and a gray knitted blanket on top of it. I point at the wall where the bed is pressed up against. “That wall is the wood from my very first barn," I tell her, then point at the bench in front of the bed with the big beige cushions. “And that bench is the wood used in my grandfather’s barn."
"You made it?" she asks, looking at me.
"I sanded it and painted it, but my mother did the rest,” I say, walking to the door at the end of the other wall. “This is your bathroom,” I say, and she follows me, her eyes taking everything in. “It’s not big." I look at the white bathroom. “That is the tub my father had put in there when he built this house,” I say, and she looks at me. “Built it with his own two hands. I can’t even imagine changing anything. So my mother comes in every couple of years and decorates it. Hence the basket of towels." I point at the wicker basket she put in there.
"It’s beautiful,” she says softly, and then she walks back out toward the door. “But I don’t know if I can stay here."
"Let me show you the rest of the house, and then you can decide,” I say, and she just follows me. I want to tell her to leave the bag in the bedroom, but I don’t want to push her. We walk back out to the hallway, and she looks at the stairs leading to the second floor. “There are a couple of bedrooms upstairs and a movie room,” I say, and she stops before we enter the massive family room, where I have writing on the pillars leading into the room.
The most important work you will ever do will be within the walls of your own home.
"This is where I spend most of my time." I smile at her, walking into the room. The massive off-white L-shaped couch faces the fireplace with a television on top. "This is where I usually fall asleep." I point at one side of the couch, where a pillow and a folded blanket sits. "This is my second favorite place,” I say, walking into the kitchen. “I redid it all when I moved in. My mother had it all in white, and I hated it."
She looks around, gazing out the bay window into the backyard at the pool I put in last year. She walks past the island and goes straight to the windows. "Is that all yours?" She points all the way to the back of the fence way in the distance.
"It is,” I say, and I don’t tell her that the land all around it is also mine.
"Do you want anything to drink?" I ask her, walking over to the fridge and pulling it open. Her head turns to watch everything I’m doing. "There is sweet tea or lemonade."
"Quinn.” I turn and look at her. She is wearing white jeans that are just a touch too big for her, but if my family has anything to
do with it, she’ll be filling them out in no time. "I can’t stay here."
I close the fridge and walk over to the island. Putting my hands down on it, I try to rein in the anger I feel when I think about her leaving. “And why not?" I ask her.
"I can’t stay in this house alone with you,” she says, and my heart sinks. Her words slice through my heart.
"Do you not trust me?" I ask. “I would never ever hurt you." The thought that she would think I would hurt her is just too much to bear. I shake my head and look at her, walking to her. Standing in front of her, I reach my hand up to push her hair away from her face. “I would never ever hurt you," I whisper, my fingers touching the side of her face ever so lightly.
"I know,” she says softly. “It’s just …"
She doesn’t have a chance to say anything when we hear the front door open, and I see the fear creep over her. She steps forward, and her eyes go to the back door.
“Hello!" we hear Amelia shout out.
I take a step away from her as my heart hammers in my chest, my fingers still feeling her. “In here,” I say, hearing her walking close to the family room.
"Hi," she says, smiling. “I put my bag in the first bedroom." She walks in and goes straight to the fridge and opens it. She looks over her shoulder at us. “You can tell your mother was here."
"Don’t listen to her,” I lean forward and whisper.
"Don’t listen to him. He hasn’t had a fridge this full since I don’t know when. He usually doesn’t even eat here."
"Oh, come on." I cross my arms and roll my eyes. “I cook my own breakfast."
"When?" Amelia turns and looks at me.
"I don’t remember,” I say, and then I hear her laugh. It’s more of a giggle, but it’s better than anything I’ve ever heard in my life. I turn and see her with her hand holding the bag pressed against her stomach. “I can cook."
"I’m sure you can,” she says between laughing.
"Did you show her all the stuff you bought her?" Amelia asks, and I can see the look in her eyes change in the blink of an eye and if I wasn’t looking right at her you would never know.
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