The Price of Inertia (The Seven Sins #4) - Lily Zante Page 0,95
to mean so much to me, and I hate that he feels the need to leave. I’m scared that he doesn’t feel the same way. I am left alone once more and I check the time. It’s 5AM. He’s done it again. This man can’t settle. He can’t be. It’s his restlessness which takes him away.
I splay my arm out, touching where he lay, and then, foolishly, I shift over, and sleep on the side of the bed where he had been.
A few hours later, when I see him again, it’s in the kitchen and I have his breakfast ready. He looks rough, even worse than he did last night.
“Hey,” I say gently. My heart goes out to him. I want to put my arms around him and ask him what’s wrong, and then I want him to tell me so that I can fix it. But he doesn’t give much away. If anything, he’s as distant as ever and back in that faraway place.
“I can’t be disturbed for the next few days,” he informs me. “I have to get this done.”
“What about Jamie?”
“He’s still coming. Exercise helps.”
He leaves, and I try to figure out if it’s just me he wants to push away. I thought after yesterday things might be different but maybe he’s crossed the boundary and gotten too close, become too vulnerable and now he can’t handle it. He’s pushed me away again, just like that, with a click of his fingers. He’s using me, and I’m letting him.
That’s how the rest of the week goes. We’re back to staying apart, me tiptoeing around him. It’s high time I checked out of this situation.
I revert back to being just the housekeeper, hating myself for being in this position. I start looking online with renewed vigor, sending my CV off as many places as I can. And in between, I still visit my mom. She seems weaker each time I go, and her memory seems shakier, but Brenda assures me that this is to be expected. At the weekend I spend both days with her.
When I return, Ward is sitting in the kitchen. I’m on edge, wondering which side of him I’ll see this time. “I went to see my mom,” I tell him, when he remarks that he’s hardly seen me. I tell him that she’s in a nursing home.
“And you go and see her at the weekends?” he asks.
“Most weekends.” I explain about her having Alzheimer’s and how much it scares me and how this new nursing home is good for her.
“She used to live with you,” he states, as if this surprises him. I explain why I had to move her to a home when I couldn’t cope, when she became a risk to her own safety. “I couldn’t have her live by herself. I had to take care of her.”
“You’re a good daughter.”
“She’s all I have.”
“She’s lucky to have you.”
I walk over to the sink and pour myself a glass of water. “I reached my daily word count today,” he announces proudly.
I turn around, sipping my water slowly. “That’s good.”
He eyes me, as if he’s waiting for me to say more, but I won’t say more. I won’t be his sex on tap. “Goodnight, then.” I walk out, even though it takes all of my focus not to turn around and walk back to him.
WARD
Mari’s angry with me, and who can blame her? What did I expect? Her to invite me to her room just because I’ve had a good writing day?
Complications, that’s what I am contending with now.
I hate complications, and that’s what this little arrangement has become. Neither of us bargained for this. I certainly didn’t intend for this to happen.
It. Just. Did.
I’m scared of having feelings for her, scared of what it might mean. If she had agreed, if we would be having sex right now and everything would be okay.
I hate that we’re like this, not talking. I can do without the sex, but her not talking to me is harder to deal with. I’m going to fix it. I make my way upstairs, and knock on her door. There’s no way I’m going in unless she lets me in.
“Mari?” I knock again, four, maybe five times.
She comes to the door and opens it a little. “What do you want?” She sounds tired.
I have no answer because that’s not the question I was expecting. “You’re angry with me.”
“So?” She says it in the tone of a sullen teenager.