She stayed on her stomach, her arms folded beneath her chin, while I gently cleaned her up. “Thank you.”
It was insane that she was thanking me. “Believe me, it’s my pleasure.” When I was finished, I kissed her shoulder. “There. All clean.”
She smiled at me over one shoulder. “For now, anyway. Here, give me that.” Sitting up, she took the wet towel from me. “I’ll put it in the laundry.”
Going over to her closet, she slipped into a fluffy floor-length white robe with her initials embroidered on the chest. I laughed as I tugged on my jeans. “That thing is huge.”
“I know, I love it. It’s like being inside a cloud.” She snuggled inside it. “It was a gift from my friend Margot.”
“The one who lives on the farm?” She’d told me about her two closest girlfriends last night. I’d never had friendships like that. I was close to Aaron, but that was different—our bond was in blood, and we’d been born to it. The bond between friends was different. You chose each other.
“Yes. And the one getting married in February.”
“Should I book the date? I could offer you a frequent flier discount or something.” As soon as I said it, I was sorry. One, I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, and two, I had no idea if I would actually be around to take her. February was more than a month away. I’d learned not to make promises like that.
But Claire got the joke. “Asshole,” she muttered, punching me on the arm as she passed me on the way to the stairs. “I’m never hiring a Hottie again. You can’t get rid of them!”
I smiled as she disappeared down the steps, then looked around for my underwear and shirt. I’d thrown my jeans on before going down to grab a towel, but nothing else. As I dressed, I wondered what I should do today. Go to Aaron and apologize? Did I owe him that? I considered it. Maybe I’d been wrong to lash out. Maybe my anger at him was less about his inability to commit to sobriety and more about his inability to commit to staying with his family. Maybe I was taking out my anger at our parents on him.
Fuck…was that it?
Frowning, I sat on the edge of her bed and pulled on my socks. The truth was, I was much better at perceiving how other people felt than I was at self-reflection. Looking too hard at myself made me uncomfortable, and I was an expert at sweeping shit under the rug.
As I was lacing up my boots, Claire came up the steps. “Hey, are you hungry? I need to keep going on the project list today, but I’m in the mood for some pancakes or something. Want to get breakfast?”
“Sure.” Eating pancakes with Claire sounded a lot better than eating crow with my brother. And his family didn’t need me today—they had him back. Claire, on the other hand, needed my help. “Maybe after that, we could hit the tile store.”
“I’d love that!”
“What are you thinking for the counters? Replacing the Formica?”
Claire went to her closet, slipped off her robe, and hung it on a hook. “I want something natural, like stone. I’m not sure which kind yet, but I’m leaning toward slate.”
“Good choice. We could check out some options at a stoneworks place where I used to work. It’s not far from the tile store.”
“Really?” she squealed, going over to a small dresser. She pulled out something tiny and white. “That would be amazing.”
I watched her pull on her underwear, slip into her bra, shimmy into her jeans, and throw a sweater over her head. I’d never watched a woman dress this way before, in her own bedroom, morning sunlight coming in the windows, her movements graceful and feminine. So different from furtive, awkward, post-sex yanking on of clothing in a dark hotel room. It felt personal, like she was letting me in on a secret.
Because she trusts you.
I fucking loved that.
One more day with her. That’s all I needed.
* * *
“Tell me why your day was so rough yesterday.” Claire sipped her coffee, which she’d doctored with so much cream and sugar it was almost as light as her skin.
I brought my cup to my lips and tipped it up slowly, giving myself time to consider how to handle this. I supposed talking about my family was OK. Better to clue her in on Aaron’s shortcomings than my own. “My brother came home.”
Her eyes widened. “But that’s great! Isn’t it?”
“Yes and no.” I took one more sip and set the cup down. “He does this—comes home, claims he’s going to stay sober and find a job. Fills his wife and kids with hope. But it never sticks.”
“Maybe this time will be different,” she said hopefully. “Give him a chance.”
“He’s had so many chances, though. And I know his alcoholism is a disease and I shouldn’t blame him for it, but at what point do you stop putting the pillows under him when he falls down?”
She shook her head. “God, I don’t know. I can see both sides. You love someone, so you don’t want them to feel pain. But if he doesn’t feel pain, he won’t stop.”
“Exactly. And the thing is, he does feel pain. He feels horrible—but the only escape he knows is the bottle.”
Claire was silent a moment, setting down her cup and looking at me intently. “What’s he escaping?”
I exhaled. “Fuck. A lot of shit.” History. Genetics. Abuse.
“How’s his marriage?”
“Josie idolizes him and he adores her. They’ve always been crazy about each other. It’s not that.”