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***
“Embers… What are you doing?”
I glance at Jesse over my shoulder. He’s been sprawled on the sofa, dozing and twitching in his sleep. The heavy painkillers the doc at the hospital prescribed are making him woozy, and he has sleepwalked his way through visits by his roommates, the Damage Boyz and the Inked Brotherhood, nodding and grunting like a zombie.
He barely seemed to understand what happened when Micah visited and apologized for being an ass. For not believing him. God, I hope Jesse will remember this afterward.
At least the swelling in his face is going down, and he can now see out of both eyes. Through which he’s currently staring at me, confusion written all over his handsome face.
“I’m just, um, cleaning.” I wave the dust cloth in the air by way of demonstration, trying not to cough at the dust cloud billowing from it.
“You’re dressed…” He sits up, wincing, his arm automatically wrapping around his bruised ribs. “Like you’re expecting someone. Is that why you’ve gone medieval on the apartment’s ass?”
“Are you implying I don’t normally clean?” If I wasn’t so stressed about this, I’d pretend to be upset.
“I don’t give a fuck about that, kitten, and you know it.” He gets up with a grunt, takes the dust cloth from my hand and lets it drop on the table. His hand drifts up to my face. “You—”
I’ll never know what he was about to say, because the doorbell rings and I jump away from him, running my hands over my white top and batik skirt. Am I dressed okay? Is it too hippy? Is it too old-fashioned?
God, I feel like I’m about to meet his parents and need their approval—which is probably as close as I’ll ever get to that.
“Who can that be?” Jesse mutters, his gaze flicking from me to the door, going narrow and suspicious.
“I’ll get it.” I hurry to open and then stand back, staring at the tiny blond woman standing right outside.
“Hi. You must be Amber?”
I nod as I take her in. Dark eyes and brows, cheeks like peaches, a boyish body. Hard to imagine this is the girl who once took care of my Jesse.
He’s suddenly there, by my side, his eyes big like saucers in his pale face. “Who is this?” he whispers, his voice hushed. “What in the fucking fuck?”
Somehow I think he already knows, but can’t accept it yet.
“Jesse?” She takes a step toward him, a tremor going through her small frame. “I thought it couldn’t be true. Oh my God, it is you, look at you. You’ve grown so much. They told me you ran away and nobody knew if you were alive or dead or… It’s me. It’s Helen, Jesse.”
A small, anguished sound leaves his throat. His body jerks forward, his hands lift…
Then he grabs Helen and wraps his arms around her. “You’re alive,” he whispers over and over, his chin resting on top of her head. “You’re okay. I thought I’d never see you again.”
Seeing them clinging to each other like that, I back away, feeling like an intruder on something very personal.
At the last moment, though, he reaches for me and snags my wrist, pulling me to him. Before I know it, I’m included in the hug, and the three of us stand together, three links in a chain of love that makes us whole.
***
That evening, after turning off the lights in the apartment, long after Helen has left, I find Jesse curled up on his side on the bed.
I hesitate at the door of my bedroom, wondering what he’s thinking. The reunion was joyful. Helen explained she’d been to visit her parents, found them in the middle of a huge fight during which windows were broken and bullets fired. The police came. Then social services swooped in and placed her with a new foster family.
A good family, who moved away from Minneapolis, where Jesse was at the time, to one of the smaller towns in the area. And no matter how hard she looked for him, she never found him again,
Because meanwhile he’d been also whisked away to a boy camp in the countryside, from which he escaped a few months later and hitched a ride to Madison.
It’s a heartbreaking story, and I’m glad they both had their happy ending.
Although right now I’m not certain what I should do. So I take a step back. Maybe he needs some space. It’s a lot to process, for sure.
“Embers.” His deep voice stops me as I turn to go, draws me back to him like a magic spell.
