Precious and Fragile Things (14 page)

“He's not coming back,” her mother said, clear as sunlight, unmistakable.

Gilly's eyes opened, and she screamed in a breathless whistle. She was alone. She fell back against the arm of the couch, unable even to weep.

She didn't know how much time passed before cold air
caressed her. She heard the clomp of boots. The next whistle came not from her throat but the teakettle. Todd brought her a mug of tea and held it to her mouth. It burned her mouth and she winced, and the tea itself was bitter, but she sipped anyway. He slipped a couple of pills into her mouth and she washed them down.

“What else can I do?”

The warmth of the tea and blankets eased her chill; or perhaps the aspirin was helping with her fever, she didn't know. His fingers were chilly on her forehead, and that felt just fine. Gilly let her eyes close again.

“I need to sleep. Give the medicine time to work.”

She sensed him leaving, but sleep wouldn't take her. The couch was old and lumpy, and her head rested at an awkward angle. The blankets that had given her such welcome warmth now lay on her like stones. Briars had bloomed in her throat, dry and scratching.

She coughed again and he was there, helping her to sit and holding out another wad of paper towels to catch what came out of her mouth. She ought to have been embarrassed, but couldn't seem to manage.

The soft fringes of his hair brushed her cheek as he slipped a pillow behind her head to ease the awkward position. Gilly turned her face away, accepting the comfort he offered but even in her delirium unwilling to accept the man who gave it. Todd tucked the blankets tighter around her and then sat on the couch facing hers.

“You shouldn't have run out in the snow,” he said. “And the truck…I got the stuff out, but it's really gone, now. The tree broke when I closed the door. It's at the bottom of the mountain.”

Hot tears leaked from beneath Gilly's closed eyelids and
slipped down her cheeks. She didn't speak. Todd sighed. She heard the smack of his lighter and smelled the smoke.

It made her start to cough again. The few moments of clarity she'd had began to fade again. Gilly slipped back into the twilight world.

S
he thought several days passed, but she wasn't sure. Gilly left the couch only when Todd dragged her into the bathroom to use the toilet. He didn't leave her, even there. He brought her soup and tea and medicine, and he changed the cool cloths on her forehead when the fever dried them. The more he offered her, the more she took until she had given herself up to him entirely.

This was what she'd wanted, but not the way she wanted it. After having her children there'd been nurses in the hospital who'd brought her food and helped her to pee. One kind nurse had even lifted Gilly's breast with steady efficiency to help her learn to nurse Arwen, an intimacy that Todd hadn't had reason to employ. As for the rest of it, it wasn't much different than allowing him to drive away with her. Her reasons for letting him were the same. Lying on the couch, Gilly didn't have to think. She didn't have to remember that she was missing her children, that her husband must be sick with grief at losing her.
Her illness gave her detachment a legitimacy she would not otherwise have allowed herself. She'd finally been granted her wish, an illness so deep she was unable to care for herself.

The days passed, one blurring into the other, while she slept and dreamed. There were times when she truly did not know where she was, or who Todd was, times when his comforting hand on her brow became Seth's, or even her mother's.

Gilly wept in the throes of these fever dreams, because her mother had died more than twelve years ago, before she and Seth had married, before Gilly had become a mother herself and could talk about the joys and sorrows of motherhood with her.

Gilly didn't want to die. In fact, she refused. Not like this, not from a stupid, simple bout of flu. Not in a cabin with a man she couldn't trust and wouldn't like. Not away from her family.

The power of her will had been a driving force in her since childhood and the secrets she'd had to keep about her mother's illnesses. It had seen her through high school, when good grades and snack cakes had substituted for slumber parties and prom dates. And in college, when success had frightened her more than failure.

It would save her now, too.

T
here came a day when her head no longer threatened to explode every time she moved, and her throat didn't constantly scratch with the urge to cough. She was far from well, but she recognized with vivid relief that she felt better. She no longer needed him, and as he put an arm beneath her to help her up, she spoke in a dull, flat voice.

“Please don't touch me.”

Todd's fingers twitched briefly on her shoulder, and then he withdrew. “I was just…”

She spoke stiffly, not looking at him, her chin lifted to keep her voice from trembling. “I'm better now. You don't have to do that.”

His breath hissed from between his lips, and he sat back. “Thanks, Todd.”

“What?”

He hadn't smoked around her during the worst of her illness since it made her erupt into violent coughing, but now he
pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “Thanks, Todd. For helping me while I puked my guts out. Thanks, Todd, for taking me to the can so I didn't have to piss myself. I could've left you to choke on your own snot.”

The spot on the inside of her cheek was still sore, but she bit it anyway. “But you didn't. So…thank you.”

Todd grunted and cocked his head to peer at her. “Jee-sus. Women are all the same. Ungrateful bitches.”

Gilly set her jaw. “I said thank you.”

“Yeah, I could really tell you meant it. You know what your problem is, Gilly? You're too fucking prideful,” Todd snapped, and stalked away. He went to the kitchen and slammed some cupboard doors but didn't take anything out. He went out through the pantry and the lean-to, slamming the door behind him.

Gilly sat rigidly on the couch, her hands clenched together in her lap. He'd called her ungrateful, and he was right. He
had
helped her during the worst illness she could ever remember having. Just as he hadn't left her in the snow to freeze, just as he hadn't stabbed her through the heart. She might've died without him. Not wanting that to be fact didn't make it any less true. Pride kept her from gratitude. Still, wasn't that all she had left?

A
fter that, he left her alone. Gilly had spent so many days lying on the sofa she itched for a change. She managed to set herself up in one of the armchairs with the pile of blankets and a pillow for her head, but once seated she had no more strength to do anything else. She spent the day there, and the closest Todd came to her was when he bent to put more logs on the fire.

He ate in the kitchen, alone, without offering to bring her anything. When she hobbled to the kitchen table and had to put her head down to keep herself from fainting, he ignored her and left the room. That night she managed only a glass of water and a handful of stale saltine crackers.

Facing the steep stairs by herself was a more daunting task. She almost broke down then, but stopped herself from asking for his help. She felt his eyes on her as she put her foot on the first step, and it was only his gaze that allowed her to straighten her back and take the next step. Another step had her head
reeling. She put both hands on the railing. One more step and she had to sit to catch her breath.

Gilly nearly cried, wanting only to slip into bed and sleep. She slapped at the tears, forcing them away, and then she took another step. By the time she reached the top of the stairs, she was on her hands and knees. Crawling, she crossed the attic room and made it only halfway before she collapsed in exhaustion.

Just a little bit farther. You can do it. You can get yourself into that bed, and then you can sleep again. But you can't sleep here.

She pushed herself on her arms with a low groan, her head spinning. She'd left the pills downstairs, and at the realization let out a low groan. Her forehead again touched the dirty wooden planks. Dust made her sneeze until harsh, barking coughs replaced it. The world grayed, but she forced herself to stay conscious.

She hadn't realized Todd had followed her until he spoke. “You okay?”

“Fine,” she managed to say.

“You're dumber than I am.” Todd crouched next to her and put a gentle hand between her shoulder blades. “C'mon. Let me help you.”

She assumed he'd simply pull her upright, but Todd waited. Gilly looked at him through swollen eyes and the fringe of her hair, greasy and unkempt. She licked cracked lips. “Why?”

Why should I? Why would you want to?
Gilly wasn't sure what she meant.

Todd sat back on his heels and cocked his head at her again as though looking at her from an angle would help him understand her better. “Wouldn't you do the same for me?”

Gilly managed a hoarse noise that sounded as dusty as the
floor beneath her. Todd smiled a little. He pushed his hair out of his eyes with a quick flick of his fingers.

“Maybe not. Okay, so you'd let me choke to death on my own snot. I get it.” He shrugged.

Gilly, still on hands and knees, blinked slowly. The truth pricked her. A thorn.

“I know you think I'm some sort of monster,” Todd said after a moment when she didn't say anything.

He didn't look at her. He shifted his weight, his boots sliding on the wood. She could count the threads hanging from the hem of his jeans. The cracks in the leather of his boots.

“Well…maybe you're right,” he continued. “Maybe I am. But I ain't going to let you just…die. You can't lay here on the floor like this. If you want to get into bed, I'll help you. But you got to tell me you want it.”

Screw you.

The words formed in her brain but not on her tongue. She'd always hated being told what to do. Gilly blinked again, knowing to fight this was useless and ridiculous and petty. She felt his touch between her shoulder blades again.

She nodded.

He put his hands under her armpits and lifted. Not gently. The room spun as he hoisted her upright and walked her to the bed where he let her fall ungracefully. Todd stood back, watching as Gilly squirmed into the blankets.

“You need anything?”

She managed a croaking reply. “No.”

He flicked his hair from his eyes again. “I'm going downstairs. If you need something, holler.”

She closed her eyes. “Okay.”

She listened to the sound of his boots, heavy on the floor, and the thud of him going down the stairs. The softness of
the bed cradled her, and there was no denying it was better than the couch had been. Better than the floor, where she'd still be if Todd hadn't come to check on her.

She wanted to think of him as a monster, but she knew the real monster here wasn't Todd.

T
he next day was better. Her vision was clearer, her head not so heavy. She woke feeling refreshed, and though her legs still wobbled when she got out of bed, Gilly could walk.

In a cabin as small as this, she couldn't avoid him forever. It seemed trivial and childish not to speak to him when they were no more than a few inches apart at the breakfast table. Especially when he pushed the sugar across to her as she stirred her tea.

“Thank you.” Gilly cleared her throat and tried again. “Thank you, Todd.”

He grunted, shoveling oatmeal into his mouth. “Whatever.”

She reached out hesitantly, hating herself for it but unable to stop herself from being decent. “I mean, thank you for…everything. You didn't have to.”

He stared at her. “Lots of things I didn't have to do.”

She nodded. “But you did.”

“Ain't life funny that way?” Todd asked her, then shot her one of his wolflike grins. He gave his next words an exaggerated Pennsylvania Dutch accent. “One great big fuckup, ain't?”

His comment almost made her laugh but, in the end, did not. “Yeah. It sure is.”

Todd shrugged, looking down. His face had started healing. The wounds she'd inflicted might not leave any scars, but Gilly would never look at him without remembering how she'd made him bleed.

Nobody would blame her. Probably not even Todd. But as she watched him get up from the table and take her plate with him to the sink, Gilly blamed herself.

“Anyway,” she said. “Thanks.”

Todd shrugged, his back to her, and put on the kettle. He brought down two mugs, two tea bags. He opened the cupboards, searching until he found a package of chocolate sandwich cookies, the chocolate chip ones they'd made long gone. He opened the package, arranged the cookies on a flowered plate and slid it across the table in front of her.

“Here,” he said gruffly.

“No, thanks. I'm not hungry.” Her stomach still hovered on the edge of nausea even as her mouth squirted saliva at the sight of the junk food.

A faint smile tugged the corner of his lips. “Why aren't women ever hungry?”

“I'm really not,” she said, but took a cookie anyway. White frosting edged her fingertip and she licked it off. The sweetness was almost too much, but after a second it settled her stomach.

“Right.” Todd leaned his rear on the counter and crossed
his arms over his chest. “How about just a salad? You want that instead?”

Gilly frowned. “No. Yuck.”

He laughed at that and turned off the gas just as the kettle began to whistle. He refilled their mugs, then sat. Today he wore a white tank top beneath an unbuttoned, snap-front Western shirt. He'd rolled the sleeves up to his elbows.

For the first time, Gilly noticed the tattoo on the inside of his left arm, halfway between his wrist and his elbow. Black ink, stylized numbers. At first she assumed it was a piece of Japanese calligraphy of the sort that had become so trendy over the past few years, people getting inked with words they didn't know how to read. Or maybe it was tribal ink, another trend she'd never understood unless it was by someone with Native American heritage. Jews weren't supposed to get tattoos, anyway, but if she'd ever considered getting something permanently embedded in her skin, it would be something that made sense to her personally, not something everyone got just because it was popular.

She saw it more clearly when he stretched his arm to grab a couple of cookies from the plate. Not calligraphy and not tribal markings, though the numbers had been drawn in a highly stylized form that made them almost indecipherable.

1 of 6

It took her a few seconds to puzzle out what it meant, sort of like trying to read a custom license plate, or that funky cross-stitch piece that said Jesus when you looked at it one way and looked like nonsensical blocks the other. As with those things, once she'd figured it out there was no way to not see it, of course. Gilly snorted lightly, feeling stupid.

“One of six,” she said aloud.

Todd jumped. His hand hit his mug, sending it to the floor
where it shattered. Hot tea splattered. Gilly jumped, too, at the sound, and the sudden motion sent a wave of dizziness through her.

Todd stood. “Shit. Look at that.”

He sounded too distressed for a simple accident—even though the mug had broken, the cupboard was stocked with at least a dozen more. It bore the name of a bank and she didn't see how it could possibly have any sentimental value. Todd kicked at a shard of porcelain, sending it skittering across the floor as he went to the sink for a dish cloth.

“Be careful,” Gilly said automatically when he bent to wipe at the spill. “Use the broom, first.”

He paused, head down, shoulders hunched. “I can clean up a broken mug.”

“I'm not saying you can't. I just meant…”

“I know what you meant.” He stood and tossed the towel into the sink while Gilly watched, helpless to understand.

Todd went through the pantry, out to the lean-to, and came back with an ancient, straggly straw broom. The handle had been painted with whimsical designs and looked utterly out of place here in this cabin that didn't look like it had seen a woman's touch in a long time, if ever. In his other hand he gripped a red metal dustpan that looked as old as the chairs on the front porch. He put it on the floor and held it with his boot as he swept up the mug. The straw broom left dirt marks on the floor she'd scrubbed not so long ago, and Gilly made an inadvertent noise of protest.

Todd looked up at her, brow furrowed. She opened her mouth to complain about the mess he'd made of what had been a relatively clean floor, but stopped herself. He wasn't hers to scold.

He finished with the mug while she sipped at her tea and
nibbled the cookie his scorn had forced her to take. Sitting while someone else cleaned was such a novelty she had to enjoy it, at least a little, even though she didn't want to. But when he left again to return the broom and dustpan, Gilly couldn't stay in her seat.

She took the dish towel, dampened it, and swiped at the smudges he'd left behind. She looked up at the sound of his boots and discovered him staring down at her. She got up to rinse out the towel, though the water from the tap was too cold to make it easy to clean it.

“Thanks,” Todd said.

“You're welcome.”

She wrung out the cloth and let it hang over the edge of the sink. “I can make you another cup, if you want. The water's probably still pretty hot.”

“Nah.” Todd hovered between her and the table. “I'm good.”

He'd pulled his sleeves down, a fact Gilly noticed but didn't comment upon. They stared at each other until he straightened up. He was always taller than she thought he was, probably because he slouched a lot. Taller and with broader shoulders. He took up a lot of space but just now Gilly didn't feel threatened.

“Going out for a smoke,” Todd said, though he'd never bothered to either warn her or ask permission in the past.

She watched him go out the front door. Then she got the broom again and made sure nothing remained on the floor to cut their feet. He'd returned by the time she was rehanging the broom, but if he minded her cleaning up after him, Todd didn't say.