MJ: OMG!!
MJ: Did you take a pic or video?
Me: Ugh. Nope. I was too busy swooning.
MJ: So happy for them. Tell your mom congrats for me.
MJ: Are you still coming on Sunday?
My fingers hover on the screen. I’d told her I would be driving back to school on Sunday. But as much as this week was about recovering and also checking on Sol, I need to sort out my feelings. I’m tired of being angry, tired of hating myself. I need to rearrange the pieces that make me who I am. I wish I could find someone who is not MJ or my mother to talk to. Basically, I need someone who doesn’t know me and the messed up person I am.
MJ: You still there?
Me: I’m driving back on Friday. I need time to settle and be ready for class on Monday.
Three dots appear on the screen, then disappear. Seconds later, they appear again, and a text pops up on my screen.
MJ: Of course. Call me when you get here?
Smiling at the screen, I type my answer.
Me: Will do. Night, hon. Thank you for not asking how things are going between me and Sol.
MJ: I’m here when you are ready to talk. Love you.
Me: Love you.
My phone buzzes with a text just as I’m about set it down on the nightstand. I swipe a finger on my screen.
Sol: Night, Gracie.
I smile, feeling some of the turmoil disperse. Despite the mistakes we’ve made, that sweet and caring part of him hasn’t changed.
Me: Night, Sol.
I wake up sometime in the middle of the night screaming, legs thrashing, heart beating fast, and drenched in sweat. I sit up in bed and breathe through the panic tearing through me. The door to my room bursts open, and Mom rushes in, Christopher following closely behind.
I swipe the tears on my cheeks quickly, then mutter, “Sorry. Bad dream.”
I see her move to the nightstand, and a second later, I hear the familiar click of the light being switched on. “You should really talk to someone.”
“I’m fine,” I reply. “Really.”
Her lips tighten in disapproval. “I’m worried about you.” She tucks locks of hair behind my ear. “I’ll make you some chamomile tea. It should help.”
After she leaves, Christopher sidles closer, watching me with concern. “Hey, kiddo. Want to talk about it?”
I shake my head, then change my mind and nod. “I couldn’t warn them in time. I watched it happen all over again.”
“Have you tried writing down what scares you?” I shake my head. “Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I write down what’s on my mind. Writing is a powerful tool, you know?”
“I could try it next time I have a nightmare.”
Mom returns with the tea and sets the cup on the nightstand. “Want me to stay with you until you fall asleep?”
I’m tempted to say yes. Instead, I shake my head. “Thanks for the tea, though.”
“Okay, sweetheart. You know where we are if you change your mind.” She heads for the door, and Christopher ruffles my hair and murmurs, “Night, kiddo.”
After they leave, I drink the tea, then grab the jewelry box from inside the top drawer on my nightstand. I open it and take out the rosary bracelet Sol gave me a while back, then return the box, before lying back down. I roll the smooth onyx beads between my fingers, before slipping it around my wrist and hugging my arm to my chest. My eyes shut as a sense of calmness washes over me and my breathing evens out.
I spend the better part of the morning packing my stuff and getting ready for my drive to Northford, Connecticut.
A few minutes before eleven o’clock, I stop by the diner and grab some waffles before driving to the hospital. Sol should be back from his physical therapy session by now.
When I walk into his room, I stumble to a stop, my gaze fixed on the only two people there. Finley Clarke and Sol.
A sheen of sweat covers his flushed face. His jaw is clenched tight, his brows scrunched up like he’s in pain.
Her hand moves up the spot where Sol’s hip and leg meet, her eyes on Sol as she says something in a low voice. He shakes his head. Her fingers slide up to grip his thigh above the hem of his shorts, and Sol again gives his head a slight shake. Finley’s palms flatten on his knee, and she starts kneading the muscles there. He winces at the contact, his cheeks red.
Irrational jealousy slices through my stomach. I want to rip her hands off Sol’s thigh. That thought hits me like a runaway train. I’m jealous of this woman touching him in any capacity. And I’m jealous because I want to touch him. Even though I know she’s just doing her job, and obviously Sol is not enjoying her touch, I can’t help it. I want to tell her to take her hands off him.
Instead, I clear my throat. Two sets of eyes snap in my direction. Sol’s eyes light up, and he flashes me my favorite half-smile. Finley’s lips curve up, and she says, “Hey. Could you give us a few minutes? We’re almost done.” At the same time, Sol says, “Stay.”
My gaze darts to her hands still on him. I need to look away. Why can’t I look away? “It’s alright; I’ll wait outside.” I flash him a reassuring smile, then back out of the room before I do something drastic.
Jealousy. Such a petty, all-consuming emotion, yet it’s all I feel as I lean my back on the wall and bite my cheek. I can’t remember ever feeling like this.
The door opens a few minutes later. Finley walks out and says, “All done. He’s all yours.”
Today, she’s dressed in a white T-shirt and pants; her hair’s bunched up in a ponytail that bounces with every movement. Combine that with those green eyes, tall height, and manicured nails attached to fingers that were touching Sol . . .
I swallow hard and nod, muttering, “Thanks.” I shake my head to ward off those thoughts because they’re stupid. This is stupid. I’ve no reason to be jealous.
When I walk into the room, Sol is lying on his back with his arm flung across his face. He moves it a little and peeks at me, eyes half-closed. A lazy smile takes over his face. “Guess what? The doctor finally cleared me. I’m getting discharged today. Can you believe it?”
“That’s amazing! What time?”
“Luke has a meeting at church. He’ll be here around two-ish. God, I can’t wait. First order of business . . . shower. I’m so done with sponge baths.”
I chuckle, loving his enthusiasm. “Yay to showers, right?”
“I never thought I’d ever miss something as simple as a shower.” His eyes zoom in on the bag in my hand, and they light up. “Waffles?”
“Yeah. Want some while they’re still warm?” I place the bag on the bedside table. “We need to celebrate being discharged. And showers.”
He chuckles, a tired sound, and shakes his head. “Later. I’m completely wiped after that session.” Pulling his arm away, he yawns, then reaches for the nurse call button. “The morphine’s worn off. I feel like I got run over by a Mack truck.”
Seconds later, a nurse walks into the room. After Sol requests a dose of morphine, she goes back out and then returns moments later.
Once she’s gone, Sol rests his head on the pillow and watches me through hooded eyes.
“You need to rest. Maybe I should go.”
“Don’t go yet. Stay for a few minutes.”