The Caretaker (Infidelity #3), page 9
His fingers were so soft and calming as they combed through my hair again, and I wondered how he could focus on me in any way as he recounted what had to be the most painful, and life-altering experience of his life. I hadn’t gotten to meet my unborn child. The accident had robbed me of that. But the pain of losing someone who I hadn’t gotten to meet, but who was still a part of me, left me riddled with pain every time I thought about it. I couldn’t even begin to comprehend the magnitude of Solace’s pain.
“It wasn’t—”
He pressed a single digit to my lips, silencing me. “Don’t,” he said. “I didn’t tell you so you could make me feel better. I’m okay. I’ve already made peace with it.”
“So why did you tell me?” I wiped the wet corners of his eyes with my thumb.
“There are things I didn’t think I could survive, didn’t think I could live through, but I did—” He shook his head, starting over again. “I can’t watch you fight to regain your life and not try to help. I’d like to believe that every time I share something with you, it’s helping, or will help, in some way. That’s my way of fighting in return. Now, sleep,” he said, the calming effects of his hands in my hair resuming.
For the first time, I didn’t try to understand what he meant, didn’t search my mind for the deeper meaning, for the familiarity of it. I surrendered to living in the moment, to believing that my hardships had inspired him in some way, even if I didn’t understand how.
I brought one of his hands to my chest, keeping it there as I drifted to sleep.
That night I dreamt of vinyl records and dancing in the snow. I dreamt of “Tears in Heaven.” And in between those dreams, Solace’s warm breath tickled against my ear as I imagined he whispered, “You once took care of me, now it’s my turn to take care of you.”
Solace
Then
I’D JUST ZIPPED up my coat when Noon crossed the tree line onto the front yard.
“I was about to come looking for you,” I said as he stomped through the front door. He’d been here over a week now, and without fail, he went for a stroll through the woods every day at dawn. I’d had to find him twice after more than an hour passed and he hadn’t returned.
“These came in handy.” He held up the strips of torn sheets I’d given him yesterday with the suggestion to tie them around tree trunks and branches as he went. “Thanks.”
“Glad I could help,” I said with a grin as I rehung our coats. The storm ended days ago, and almost all traces of it had melted under the now abnormally warmer temperatures. Noon hadn’t gone home, and neither of us had pointed it out.
He tried to smile for my benefit, always for my benefit, but I knew him by now. Enough to know when his smiles were real or faked. They were always insincere after his walks. His bad moods returned with him.
I wished he didn’t try so hard to appear better for me, but that was how he operated, I was beginning to learn. It wasn’t that he didn’t let me witness his pain, but he’d express it and then shake it off just as fast, as though he thought that only one of us could break down at a time, and that pleasure often fell upon me.
I couldn’t fight it, couldn’t insist I’d be okay for a while if he wanted a break from being strong. I was too damaged to pretend otherwise, even for a brief moment. But I tried to help him in any way I could.
“You need to break something,” I said. “Staring at nothing doesn’t work for you, not like it does for me. You need an outlet for your emotions.”
“I’ll be fine. The walks help.”
“Is that why you were snarling to yourself and kicking up dead grass on the way to the porch?”
He dropped onto the couch in the same suit he’d arrived in. He needed more things, but he’d have to leave to get them, and I was scared that if he left he wouldn’t come back.
“I’m not going to break anything, Solace.”
“Okay.” I shrugged. “Then we’ll settle for burning it.”
Noon raised a brow as I headed for the staircase, my steps purposeful. I returned with a handful of Patrick’s things, striding for the kitchen and then through the patio door. I dumped the expensive suits into the large fire pit, making several more trips through the house until every article of clothing he owned filled it.
“How can I help?” Noon eventually said. I hid my smirk and told him to start with the awards and framed degrees in Patrick’s office. He snapped the trophies in half before tossing them in.
“I guess you’re breaking something after all,” I said, passing him the guitar signed by every member of Patrick’s favorite band. It was worth a lot. Noon cracked it over his knee before adding it to the raging flames. As items burned, creating more space, we added more, until the only thing that remained of my lying, cheating husband were the memories lingering in the house. I thought about razing that to the ground too, but Noon talked me out of it.
“Thank you,” he said later on as we sat by the fire pit sharing a drink. He opted for beer, and I returned to my usual: red wine. “I needed that.”
“Was the exhilaration only temporary for you too?”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “But just because our problems were waiting to greet us once the high wore off, doesn’t mean that it wasn’t needed. I no longer feel like I’m about to explode.”
The destruction of Patrick’s things had only been a fleeting distraction. Now that the rush was gone, we were back to the truth, back to figuring out how to pick up the pieces of our shattered lives.
“What’s that?” Noon asked, looking over at the photobooth picture I held of my brother and Gavin. I handed it to him.
“It fell from the pocket of one of Patrick’s suits.”
“Were they close?”
“Thick as thieves, even though their relationship was mostly long distance. My brother took his role as uncle seriously. My son got his love of music from him. Specifically his love of Eric Clapton. Greatest guitarist to ever live, Gav would say. He gifted Gavin his much-loved and worshiped signed copy of the Unplugged vinyl album one Christmas. I’d never seen my kid so happy.”
“That’s the album he’s holding in the photo on the mantel,” Noon said.
“Yeah. Weirdly, his favorite song was ‘Tears in Heaven.’ Patrick thought it was morbid that he loved that song so much. I thought it was cute when he’d promise to never forget my name, not even in heaven.” I rubbed at the ache in my chest. “Hell, maybe I was the morbid one.”
Noon handed back the creased photo, and I grazed a finger over Gavin’s goofy smile. “I loved that they had something that was just theirs.”
“Did you and Gavin have something that belonged to just the two of you?”
“Photography.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I knew my way around a camera from being in front of one for so many years, and it was the only other thing Gavin had taken an interest in other than music. We’d go off into the woods and take nature shots. We took a class together the summer he…” I swallowed, then decided I didn’t need to say the words for Noon to hear them. He’d become good at picking up on my thoughts. “It was mostly something for us to do since he couldn’t attend day camp like other kids. I didn’t want him out of my sight. Ironic, considering that’s how I lost him. Anyway, I didn’t think I’d gain much from the class, but it sharpened the skills I’d picked up from doing photo shoots.”
“My friend Leland is an artist. Because of him, I have an appreciation for it. Whether it’s paint on canvas, photos of beautiful landscapes… I love it all.”
“Wait here,” I said before darting into the house and returning with my camera. I let him flip through some of the digital images, feeling bolstered by his praise.
“Can I take one of you?” he asked.
“Ah, sure,” I said, self-consciously sifting my hands through my hair. I gave him a quick tutorial before relaxing in my chair and facing the lens.
He snapped a shot, then handed the camera back to me, smiling triumphantly.
“Where’s my head? My nose and chin?” I asked. He’d completely botched the shot.
“I left them out on purpose,” he replied smugly, taking a swig of his beer.
“You expect me to believe you meant to only capture my eyes?” My tone was more than a little skeptical.
“Yes, because it’s the truth,” he whispered. His jeweled gaze glowed in the firelight, intensifying the longer my stunned silence held. He removed the camera from my hands and began snapping away again.
“See?” He inched his chair closer to show me the photos. “Now we have your chin and nose.”
“Better,” I agreed. “Do it again. This time move a few paces away, lower to your haunches, and angle the lens upward. And here,” taking the camera I messed with the settings, “let’s add a UV filter to neutralize the colors, especially the setting sun behind me.” I took a test shot, pursing my lips as I examined it.
“What’s wrong?” He leaned over to see the camera screen. “It looks perfect.”
“I’m trying to decide if it’d be better to switch from a wide-angle lens to a telephoto one,” I mused, taking another photo of the woodland beyond.
“What’s the difference?”
“A wide-angle is better to capture scenery. The vastness of the orange sky and how far the tree tops stretch into the distance,” I explained, still flicking away. “A telephoto lens, on the other hand, would allow you to get a narrower view. It puts the subject at the forefront of the shot, so to speak.”
“Then definitely a telepathic scope,” he said, and I cursed my skin for heating when he gathered my hair to drape it over one shoulder, making it clear who the subject would be.
“It’s a telephoto lens,” I corrected, attempting to take the attention off me. I reached into the camera case to swap out the lenses.
“We’re losing sunlight fast.” I passed the camera off to him. “Make these shots count.”
Between the wine, the fire, and Noon’s sudden intensity, I’d grown too warm for my coat. I shrugged it off, careful to not screw up the way he’d positioned my hair.
Noon fully immersed himself in the task, taking his job as a pseudo-photographer seriously, and what was supposed to be a few photos before sunset turned into a full-blown photo shoot under the moonlight. He gave orders with confidence.
Moodier.
Less pensive.
Smile for the camera.
Pretend you’re walking away.
Now look back at me.
He’d even gotten down on the slushy lawn, willing to do anything for the shot.
“I need more, Solace,” he coaxed. “If you plan on making it in this industry, you’re going to have to give me more.”
“So demanding,” I tsked, chuckling when he lowered the camera to reveal his own amusement.
Noon stood, watching me from across the fire as he dusted his pants off as best he could. “This was fun,” he said. It was. For those couple of hours, I’d forgotten about everything that had hurt me, and I suspected that was the point. A piece of my heart not riddled with pain warmed for the man I observed through the fire pit’s flames, and if his grin was anything to go by, something in him warmed for me too.
It scared and confused me, but I told myself being scared and confused was way better than being scared and alone. Noon made it okay to be terrified as long as we were terrified together.
“Let’s see how you did.” I circled the fire for the camera, ignoring the electrical current that ran up my arm when our hands briefly touched. “This isn’t bad,” I said, my voice huskier than usual.
“It’s terrible,” he countered, looking over my shoulder. His size eclipsed everything, even blocking out the darkened sky. The cold air didn’t stand a chance at getting past him to me.
“There’s some good stuff here,” I said, wincing when I got to one missing half my body. “You did good for your first time,” I amended.
Noon stepped closer to me, taking the camera back. Excitement flashed in his eyes as he scrolled through the remaining photos. They were the best, proving he’d gotten better with time. I loved seeing him happy. There was a childlike quality to him. As intimidating as he seemed on the outside, he was soft and mushy on the inside.
“Care Bear,” I said in wonder.
“Huh?” He took a break from scrolling to look at me, his expression bewildered.
“Gavin would have called you a Care Bear. It’s an old cartoon and stuffed toy. Way before his time. He was an old soul like that. The bears were created to help people express their emotions. They have this unique way of making people feel seen and safe.” I shook my head, feeling silly. “Forget it. Ignore me,” I insisted. Noon likely didn’t remember, if he ever knew, who the Care Bears were. “I used to watch it as a kid. Gavin loved them.”
Noon began singing the theme song then, and my chest burned from where my heart had begun to melt. I joined in, and when we were done, he shouted his request for an encore. We sang it three times before emotion robbed me of my voice. I pressed a fist to my mouth. It did nothing to hold the tears in.
“You’re beautiful when you cry,” he said, not making a big deal about it. “Which Care Bear name do you think Gavin would’ve given me?”
I blinked the remainder of my tears away as I thought long and hard. “This is tough because you could literally be all of them—well, maybe not Grumpy Bear.”
“Let’s revisit that after I get my appetite back and you’ve seen me hungry,” he replied. I bit my bottom lip to stifle my smile, and he frowned, pulling it free. “You’re just as beautiful when you smile too.”
“Okay, let’s see,” I said, getting back to his Care Bear name. The way his eyes danced said that my stupid blush was thank you enough for his compliment. “The bear’s gender doesn’t matter here. This is strictly a personality trait thing.”
“Of course,” he said with mock gravity.
I went through all the Care Bear names and traits in my head before saying, “Maybe Tender Heart Bear. Or Always There Bear?” I asked with less confidence. We really could have gone with either.
“Or Bedtime Bear,” he interjected, wiggling his brows. We’d never spoken about our new sleeping arrangement, but we hadn’t spent a night outside of each other’s arms since that first time he found me in the guest bedroom shivering in the dark.
“My dreams have definitely been sweeter since sleeping with you,” I admitted, surprising him and myself. “And even when they’re not, it’s okay, because it feels like you’re there with me.”
“Samsies,” he said, earning him an eye roll. He hummed thoughtfully. “I never had a nickname before. I’ll take Care Bear. And then if the situation calls for it, you can address me by a specific bear’s name at that moment.” He nodded as if it was all settled.
“I’m pretty sure that’s not how nicknames work.” I crossed my arms, the cold beginning to set in again. “You can’t assign yourself one.”
“Says who?” he challenged, getting my coat off my chair and holding it out so I could slide into it. He still wore his suit jacket, but the cold never seemed to affect him like it did me. I’d been washing the whole suit for him every night, and the expensive, dry-clean only fabric now looked mangled.
“Says…” I couldn’t think of who’d said it. Noon placed a hand to his ear in the gesture of waiting for my answer. “Says everyone,” I finished.
“Anyone named Everyone should never be trusted.”
“You know what I meant.”
He tapped me on the nose and again declared that Care Bear was now his official nickname. I gave in, because secretly I loved it and couldn’t wait to drive him crazy by abusing it.
I sat while Noon added more wood to the fire pit. Patrick’s things had long burned to ashes. “That suit has been through a lot,” I noted after he collapsed onto his chair, the plastic and metal groaning in protest.
Noon sighed as the heavy weight of reality retook its place on top of us. “I don’t want to go back there.”
I knew he meant home. I’d known that was part of the reason for his still being here long after the storm had passed. It said a lot about our rapidly growing dependency on each other that he could even be here, in the home Patrick lived in. It said a lot about the man he was that he’d brave his discomfort if it meant not leaving me here alone. I was beginning to appreciate it more than I should have, for reasons that I shouldn’t.
“So don’t. We can pick up a few things for you in town tomorrow.”
“I need to go back,” he whispered.
“Is it work?”
He worked for himself, but that didn’t mean he could afford to take time off.
“No. I think I’ve earned a hiatus, all things considered.”
Perhaps he needed the privacy he couldn’t get while here to fight for his wife. Maybe he wanted her back. Did I want him to fight for her? Did I want Patrick in a position to be forced to settle for me? No, I didn’t want either of those things. Most of all not the former.
“Would you stay with her if you could?” I asked, once the suspense became too much. “Do you still want her?”
Noon considered the question for a long while. “I could have forgiven her for it all the night it happened—or the night she told me about the affair, I should say. We’ve been together for a long time, and marriage has its ups and downs. People make mistakes. I could have forgiven her mistake, even one this big.” He peered into the dark, the breeze disturbing his hair. The ends—a lighter shade of brown than the roots—were beginning to curl in places, signaling his need for a trim.
“But I begged her to stay,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “I begged her, and she told me she would, but when I woke up she was—” His mouth snapped shut, unable to say the words.
“She was gone,” I said.
He nodded, gazing over at me. “Is it crazy of me to say that her not staying felt like the biggest betrayal of all?”
