Lucy and I fell back into our normal routine. In the mornings, she’d show up with her yoga mat and do her morning meditation in the sunroom, and whenever she wasn’t working a special event, she’d come over to my house at night to help take care of Talon while I worked on my novel. We ate dinner together at the dining room table almost every night, but didn’t have much to talk about other than the cold that had found its way into both Talon’s body and mine.
“Drink it,” Lucy told me, bringing me a mug of tea.
“I don’t drink tea.” I coughed into my hands. My desk was still scattered with tissues and cough syrup bottles.
“You will drink this twice a day for three days, and it will make you one hundred percent better. I have no clue how you’re even functioning with that nasty cough. So, drink,” she ordered. I smelled the tea and made a face. She laughed. “Cinnamon, ginger, fresh lemons, hot red peppers, sugar, black pepper, and peppermint extract—plus a secret ingredient I can’t tell you about.”
“It smells like hell.”
She nodded with a small smirk. “A perfect drink for the devil himself.”
For the following three days, I drank her tea. She pretty much had to force-feed it to me, but by day four, the coughing had disappeared.
I was almost positive Lucy was a witch, but at least with her tea I was able to clear my head for the first time in weeks.
The following Saturday evening, dinner sat on the table, and when I went to get Lucy to eat, I noticed her in the sunroom on her cell phone.
Instead of interrupting, I waited patiently, until the roasted chicken was cold.
Time passed quickly. She’d been standing in the sunroom on her cell phone for hours now. Her eyes were glued to the rain cascading down from the sky as she moved her lips, speaking to whoever was on the other end of the line.
I wandered past the room every now and then, watching her move her hands to express herself, watching the tears fall from her eyes. They fell heavily, like the rain. After a while, she hung up and lowered herself to the floor, sat with her legs crossed, and stared out the window.
When Talon was down, I stepped into the sunroom to check on her.
“Are you all right?” I asked, concerned about how someone as bright as Lucy could appear so dark that afternoon. It was almost as if she blended into the gray clouds herself.
“How much do I owe you?” she asked, not turning my way.
“Owe me?”
She turned around, sniffling, and allowed the tears to keep falling down her cheeks. “You bet me that my relationship would be over in a month tops, and you win. So, how much do I owe you? You win.”
“Lucille…” I started, but she shook her head.
“He, um, he said New York is the place for artists. He said it’s the place for him to grow his craft, and there are opportunities there that he wouldn’t have in the Midwest.” She sniffled some more and wiped her nose on her sleeve. “He said his friend offered him a couch in his apartment, so he’s going to stay there for a while. Then he said a long-distance relationship wasn’t something he was really interested in having, so my stupid heart tightened, thinking he was inviting me out there to be with him. I know what you’re thinking, too.” She giggled nervously then shrugged and shook her head. “Silly, immature, naïve Lucille, believing love would be enough, thinking she was worthy of being someone’s forever.”
“That’s…not what I was thinking.”
“So, how much?” she asked, standing up. “How much do I owe you? I have some money in my purse. Let me go grab it.”
“Lucille, stop.”
She walked in my direction and put on a fake smile. “No, it’s fine. A bet is a bet and you won, so let me go get the money.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“You’re good at reading people, you know. That’s probably what makes you a fantastic author. You can look at someone for five minutes and know their entire story. It’s a gift really. You saw Richard for a moment and knew he’d end up breaking me. So what’s my story, huh? I hate spoilers, but I’d love to know. What’s going to happen to me?” she asked, her body shaking as the tears kept rolling down her cheeks. “Am I always going to be the girl who feels too much and ends up alone? Because, I…I…” Her words became a blurred mess as her emotions began to overpower her. She covered her face with her hands and broke down right in the middle of the sunroom.
I didn’t know what to do.
I wasn’t made for these kinds of moments.
I wasn’t one to give comfort.
That was true, but when her knees started to tremble and her legs began to look as if they were going to collapse, I did the only thing I could think to do.
I wrapped her in my arms, giving her something to hold on to, giving her something to hold her up before gravity forced her down to the solid ground. She wrapped her fingers in my shirt and cried into me, soaking my shoulder as my hands rested against her back.
She didn’t let go, and I figured I shouldn’t ask her to pull her emotions together.
It was all right that she and I handled things in a different fashion. She wore her heart on her sleeve, and I kept my heart wrapped in steel chains deep within my soul.
Without thought, I held her closer as her body continued to shake. The woman who felt everything leaned in closer to the man who felt nothing at all.
For a split second in time, I felt a little of her pain while she encountered my coldness, and neither one of us seemed to mind.
“You can’t go home,” I told her, glancing at my watch, seeing that it was almost midnight. “It’s pouring rain, and you rode your bike to my house.”
“It’s fine. I’ll be okay,” she told me, trying to grab her jacket from the front closet.
“It’s not safe. I’ll drive you.”
“No way,” she argued. “Talon has a cold. She shouldn’t be leaving the house, especially in the pouring rain. Plus, you’re a bit sick yourself,” she told me.
“I can handle a cold,” I stated.
“Yes, but your daughter cannot. I’ll be okay. Plus, there’s whisky back home,” she joked, her eyes still swollen from her emotional breakdown over Dick.
I slightly shook my head, disagreeing. “Stay here for a moment.” I hurried into my office, picked up three of the five whisky bottles that sat on my desk, and took them back to the foyer where Lucy stood. “Yours for the choosing. You can have all the whisky you want, and one of the spare rooms for the night.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re not going to let me ride my bike home tonight, are you?”
“No, definitely not.”
She bit her bottom lip and narrowed her eyes. “Fine, but you cannot judge me for the intense romance Johnnie and I are about to have,” she said, taking the bottle of Johnnie Walker whisky from my hand.
“Deal. If you need anything, you can knock on my office door. I’ll be up and can assist you.”
“Thank you, Graham.”
“For what?”
“Catching me before I hit the ground.”
Knock, knock, knock.
I glanced over at my closed office door and raised an eyebrow as I typed the final few sentences in chapter twenty of my manuscript. My desk was covered in tissues, and a half bottle of cough syrup sat beside me. My eyes burned a bit from exhaustion, but I knew I still needed another five thousand words before I could call it a night. Plus, Talon would be awake in a few hours for a bottle, therefore it seemed pointless to even consider going to bed.
Knock, knock, knock.
Standing up, I stretched a bit before opening the door. Lucy stood there with a glass of whisky in her hand and a remarkably wide smile on her lips.
“Hi, Graham Cracker,” she said, stumbling a bit as she swayed back and forth.
“Do you need something?” I asked, completely aware and alert. “Are you all right?”
“Are you a psychic?” she asked, placing her glass to her lips and taking a sip. “Or a wizard?”
I cocked an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”
“I mean, it has to be one of those,” she said, dancing down the hallway, back and forth, swirling, twirling, humming. “Because how did you know that Richard—er, Dick would break up with me? I’ve been thinking about that repeatedly with Johnnie tonight, and I’ve concluded that the only way you could’ve known is if you are a psychic.” She came closer to me and tapped my nose once with her pointer finger. “Or a wizard.”
“You’re drunk.”
“I’m happy.”
“No, you’re drunk. You’re simply covering your sadness with a blanket of whisky.”
“Que sera, sera.” She giggled before trying to peer into my office. “So, is that where the magic happens?” She giggled again then covered her mouth for a second before leaning in closer and whispering, “I mean, magic as in your stories, not your sex life.”
“Yes, I figured, Lucille.” I closed my office door, leaving us standing in the hallway. “Would you like some water?”
“Yes, please, the kind that tastes like wine.”
We walked past the living room, and I told her to wait on the couch for me to grab the drink.
“Hey, Graham Cracker,” she called. “What’s your greatest hope?”
“I already told you,” I yelled back. “I don’t hope.”
When I walked back, she was sitting straight up on the couch with a smile on her face.
“Here you go,” I said, handing her the glass.
She took a sip of the water and her eyes widened, stunned. “Oh my gosh, I know who you are now. You aren’t a psychic, you aren’t a wizard—you’re Reverse Jesus!” she exclaimed, her doe eyes wide with wonderment.
“Reverse Jesus?”
She nodded quickly. “You turned wine into water.” Even I couldn’t hold in my smile at that one, and she was quick to notice. “You did it, Graham Cracker. You smiled.”
“A mistake.”
She tilted her head, studying me. “My favorite mistake thus far. Can I tell you a secret?”
“Sure.”
“You may not be a psychic, but sometimes I think I am, and I have this psychic feeling that one day I’m going to grow on you.”
“Oh, I doubt that. You’re pretty annoying,” I joked, making her laugh.
“Yes, but still. I’m like an ingrown toenail. Once someone lets me in, I dig my claws in.”
“What a disgusting thing to compare yourself to.” I grimaced. “I mean, that’s literally the worst comparison I’ve ever heard before.”
She poked me in the chest. “If you end up using that in one of your novels, I want royalties.”
“I’ll have my lawyer talk to your lawyer.” I smirked.
“Oh, you did it again,” she said, leaning in toward me in awe. “Smiling looks good on you. I have no clue why you avoid doing it.”
“You just think it looks good on me because you’re intoxicated.”
“I’m not intoxicated,” she insisted, slurring her words a bit in the process. “I’m perfectly sober.”
“You couldn’t walk a straight line if your life depended on it,” I told her.
She took it as a challenge and leaped up from the sofa. As she began walking, she stretched out her arms as if she were walking an invisible tight rope. “See!” she said a second before stumbling over, forcing me to lunge to catch her. She lay in my arms, looked up into my eyes, and smiled. “I totally had it.”
“I know,” I told her.
“This is the second time you’ve caught me in one day.”
“Third time’s a charm.”
Her hand rested on my cheek and she stared into my eyes, making my heart stop for a few moments. “Sometimes you scare me,” she said candidly. “But most of the time your eyes just make me sad.”
“I’m sorry, for anything I’ve done to scare you. It’s the last thing I’d want to do.”
“It’s okay. Every time I walk in on you playing peekaboo with Talon, I see your true aura.”
“My aura?”
She nodded once. “To the rest of the world, you seem so dark and grim, but when you look at your daughter, everything shifts. Everything in your energy changes. You become lighter.”
“You’re drunk,” I told her.
“I can walk a straight line!” she argued again, trying to stand but failing. “Oh wait, I couldn’t, could I?”
I shook my head. “You definitely couldn’t.”
She kept touching my face, feeling my beard in her hands. “Talon is very lucky to have you as her father. You’re a really shitty human, but a pretty awesome dad.” Her voice was soaked in kindness and misplaced trust, which made my heart beat in a way I was certain would kill me.
“Thank you for that,” I said, fully accepting both of her comments.
“Of course.” She giggled before clearing her throat once. “Graham Cracker?”
“Yes, Lucille?”
“I’m going to vomit.”
I scooped her up into my arms and rushed her to the bathroom. The moment I placed her on the floor, she wrapped her arms around the toilet, and I wrapped her wild hair in my hands, holding it out of the way as Lucy appeared to lose everything she’d ever put into her stomach.
“Better?” I asked after she finished.
She sat back a bit and shook her head. “No. Johnnie Walker was supposed to make me feel better, but he lied. He made me feel worse. I hate boys who lie like that and break hearts.”
“We should get you to bed.”
She nodded and went to stand up, but almost tumbled over.
“I got you,” I told her, and she nodded once before allowing me to lift her into my arms.
“Third time’s a charm,” she whispered. She closed her eyes as she laid her head against my chest, and she kept them shut the whole time I pulled the covers back, laid her down, and pulled the blanket over her small body.
“Thank you,” she whispered as I shut off the light.
I doubted she’d remember any of the night’s events come morning, which was probably for the best.
“Of course.”
“I’m sorry my sister left you,” she said, yawning with her eyes still closed. “Because even though you’re cold, you’re still very warm.”
“I’m sorry Dick left you,” I replied. “Because even when you’re upset, you’re still very kind.”
“It hurts,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around a pillow and pulling it closer to her chest. Her eyes stayed closed, and I watched a few tears slip out. “Being left behind hurts.”
Yes.
It did.
I stood still for a few moments, unable to leave her side. As someone who’d been left behind before, I didn’t want her to fall asleep being alone. Perhaps she wouldn’t remember me standing there in the morning, and maybe she wouldn’t have even cared. But I knew what it felt like going to bed alone. I knew the cold chill that loneliness left drifting through a darkened room, and I didn’t want her to suffer from that same feeling. Therefore, I stayed. It didn’t take long for her to fall asleep. Her breaths were gentle, her tears stopped, and I shut the door. I couldn’t for the life of me understand why a person would leave someone as gentle as her behind—with or without her weird sage stick and crystals.