to explain away the craziness that just happened between us. I feel heat running over my face and neck, a blush of arousal and mortification.
It's why I need to be warier so that this whole situation doesn't become one big bundle of mistakes. I give John a small smile that I hope he reads as apologetic. "Shall we move on to the bathroom? I don't think it'll be so hard." When I pull my hand away, John doesn't resist.
"Sure. That sounds like a good idea." Neither of us says anything as we rise to continue the job at hand. I follow John into my dad's adjoining bathroom, clutching the trash bag like it's a lifeline. The room is small, with just a shower, vanity, and toilet. I don’t remember Dad taking a bath, so I guess that it must have suited him.
On the vanity, there is a toothbrush and a mostly empty tube of paste, which go straight into the bag. The shaving items do too. There is a bottle of cologne that I reach to pick up. I know it's the one he used to wear because I remember the unusual shape of the bottle and the tan-colored liquid inside. If John wasn't here, maybe I'd have the confidence to bring it to my nose and risk the tears that feel on the brink of emerging, but with John here I have to keep myself together. As I hesitate to drop it into the trash bag, John gently takes it from my hand. He does smell it and then braces himself on the tiled vanity top. "It feels strange that a smell that used to bring me comfort and familiarity now makes me feel so sad."
Again, I rest my hand over his before I can care about the consequences. Our eyes meet in the white framed mirror, his soft brown and mine as black as midnight. He adjusts our hands, so mine are tucked beneath his palm, making it harder for me to break away.
"You look like him," John says. "Not in an obvious way. I've seen pictures of your mom, and you guys are peas in a pod, but there's something about you that's the same as him. The darkness in your eyes… this bit of your brow where you frown. You have the same serious expression. It's like seeing pieces of him hiding under your skin."
He has no idea how much of my dad is under my skin, or rather the absence of my dad. The baby inside my belly grows because of the argument we had in the past and how it's made me feel. Maybe it'll be a boy who looks just like his grandfather. Stranger things have happened.
"Why did you get stuck doing this with me?"
"When there are eleven of you in a family, you each get known for a certain characteristic. I'm the one who's good with people. I seem to have an ability to see them and understand what's going on under the surface. Dad said it was my super strength."
"So, what do you think is going on under my surface?"
A flicker of a smile ghosts over his lips. "I don't think I need to tell you, Maggie. I think you know already."
"You're probably right."
"We know all our own secrets," John says. "Some we just choose not to accept."
"That's deep."
"And that's why I'm here." John squeezes my hand, and then he does something that I'm really not expecting. He tugs me toward him, holding me gently against his warm, hard body. "It's going to be alright, you know."
And in the comfort of his arms, I believe it for a second. He's so tall that my face is pressed against his heart that beats with slow intense thuds, his smell a soft fragrance of fresh linen that soothes my jangled nerves. This should feel weird and uncomfortable, but surrounded by the scent of my father, it just feels safe.
We work for an hour, sorting trash and placing Dad's precious things into keepsake boxes.
When my phone rings, I decide that it will be best for me to take a break. Danna's calling, and I'm pretty sure it'll be best for our conversation to remain private.
10
"Maggie!" Danna squeals when I answer the call. I close the door to my borrowed bedroom.
"Danna."
"I'm so sorry about your dad," she says. "It must be a difficult time for you. I wasn't sure if I should call."
Why does everyone state the obvious? I guess it's hard to find things