“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I manage to sit up completely, though I’m still slightly dizzy. When I try to pull myself off Pat’s lap, he circles his arms around me protectively.
“Relax,” he says.
I can’t. Not with his scent invading my senses and the familiar feel of him surrounding me. It’s like I’ve been transported right back to the days where I spent as much time as I could just like this—greedy for his touch, knowing there was an expiration date on how long I’d have to rest securely in the space of his arms.
It’s that idea of an end date, remembering with painful clarity how much it hurt to let Pat go, which enables me to pull back. “I mean it. Let me go, Patrick.”
He opens his arms reluctantly, and I scoot back, careful still to avoid the hole in the stairs. I lean against the railing, putting my feet out in front of me to keep him at bay. I’ve lost a boot, which Pat retrieves from the sidewalk and slides on to my foot with an ease and intimacy that makes my breath catch. He doesn’t remove his hand right away, letting his hand brush my knee. I don’t have the physical or mental strength right now to fight him off, but he pulls back, then hands me his water bottle.
I hesitate before putting it to my lips, telling myself I am not allowed to think about his lips on this same bottle. It almost works.
“As I was saying, I came here looking for you,” Pat says. “You weren’t here, but I had a lovely visit with your mama. She told me you’d been gone a long time. She gave me a piece of pie and sent me on my way.”
Pat came here. For me. It’s what I always wanted, what I secretly hoped for. Seeing him in the diner today was a shock, but at the same time, I played through the scenario so many times in my mind that it was familiar. Like I had expected Pat to show up here someday. Which, I guess he did. Twice now.
I close my eyes. It must have been just before I had to put Mama in a home, one I can only afford because Lynn Louise, the woman who owns it, gives us a hefty discount. Jo and I were probably at the store or at the library for story time, maybe at a park. I bet Mama had no recollection of Jo even existing, or of me living here. Maybe that day, she was thinking I was in college still. I’ll never know.
“Did she … pass?” Pat asks, his brown eyes slowly moving up to meet mine.
I give him a tight smile. “No. She has early onset dementia. I had to put her in a facility, Sheet Cake Acres. It was getting dangerous to have her here. I couldn’t leave her by herself.”
Pat reaches out and squeezes my knee. When I don’t tell him to stop—even though I should—his fingers trace a path down to the edge of my boot and back up. For a big brute of a man, he’s painfully gentle. His touch sends all kinds of electric sensations up my body in ways that make me feel ashamed, given our current conversation. Nothing like getting all hot and bothered when discussing your mama’s health issues.
Plus, I know better. I let this man hurt me once before. I won’t trade my good sense for the man’s touch. I pull my legs toward me and out of reach. A group of crows—a murder, in technical terms—flies overhead and I count them again as they disappear. A lone crow stays behind to watch the drama unfold from the branches of the dead oak tree. I really need to have that tree removed when I can afford it. I’ll add it to the ever-growing list.
“I’m so sorry,” Pat says.
His eyes flick to the side of the house, where Tank disappeared with Jo a few minutes ago, then back to me. The compassion in them makes me want to cry. Though we didn’t talk much about our families （again, see the rules）， I know he lost his mama young. I could tell the few times he mentioned her how much he loved her.