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Mr. Hoffman handed her the envelope. “Are you alright, dear? He knocked you down pretty hard.”
Ali gnashed her molars so hard that her jaw began to ache. “Yes, I’m fine.”
“You look a little pale.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hoffman. I’m alright. Just caught off guard.” By you. Here.
Mr. Hoffman’s eyes squinted in sympathy, and a small twitch of guilt pinched at Ali’s insides because the kind man in his late fifties, who rented them the house was exactly that—a sweet, soft grandfather, who lived two streets over, who couldn’t have been more excited to lease the home he raised his family in to Cornell, Hopperville’s small-town hero.
“Let me help you inside. Doesn’t seem like Cornell is here.”
“Is Coach Crawford here?”
Ali swallowed heavily, crossing her arms when Mowgli finally sat. “He’s on his way,” Ali said. “But thank you for bringing this by.”
She pulled Mowgli past Mr. Hoffman and went to the front door, fumbling with her keys before opening it and quickly slamming and locking it behind her. She didn’t bother unclipping Mowgli’s leash or stepping out of her shoes. She beelined for their bedroom and slammed that door shut too, hopeful the barriers would dam the memories from her mind.
Like the slur of Graham’s voice.
The stench of his breath.
The impossible weight of him determined to stay on top of her.
“Grounding,” she repeated aloud, forcing her eyes to stay open and look around. She could hear Mowgli sauntering into the kitchen to get to his water bowl, his leash sliding across the floor. What was it? Grounding. Try to keep yourself here.
“It’s Tuesday,” Ali said quietly. “Today is Tuesday.”
He did that to me on a Monday.
But Ali couldn’t remember what else Linda had told her to say, and her lips began to quiver as words backed up her throat.
“I’m here,” she pushed out. “I’m at home.”
He was here, but now he’s not.
Ali was determined not to let the tears fall. She clutched at the wooden floor, some of the finish rolling beneath her fingernails. “I’m waiting for Cornell.”
Her heart twisted as those words left her mouth. Because she had been waiting for Cornell on that night, too.
But it’s not that night. It’s not. It’s right now. You’re in the here, not in the then.Ali’s breathing began to rapidly increase. Open your eyes. Carefully, she opened one eye and then the other, looking at the edge of the duvet. There’s the shoe you’ve been looking for that you thought Mowgli ate. And one of Cornell’s socks. You’re at home.
“I’m home,” she repeated over and over, releasing her hands from behind her and drawing her knees to her chest. “Mr. Hoffman just brought documents by about the house.”
Even though she knew she was supposed to remain in the present, Ali let her mind go to the past, just not too far. She thought about the hotel room, the lights, the bubble bath. The way they didn’t care that the bubbles had dissolved and their fingers pruned as they made love for a second time that night, slopping so much water all over the bathroom tub that there was only one dry towel left for the two of them after trying to clean it up.
Cornell’s breath on her neck.
His protective hold—clutch—on her, something transient, something that knew no borders. Ali’s heart thumped hard against her sternum in search of his, she was certain. Because Cornell’s love kept her safe from top to bottom, from inside out. It fought all the demons in her mind and heart, giving her a break.
Ali jumped when Mowgli barked, holding her breath.
“What’s up, man?” Cornell’s voice easily coaxed the sigh of relief that left Ali’s mouth.
Get up,she thought. Go hug him. Congratulate him. Get the ice cream out of the fridge. You’re fine. We’re supposed to be celebrating. But still, Ali couldn’t move, even though her brain had finally let go of the imaginary threat, her body kept it in a choke hold, squeezing.
“Babe?”
In here,Ali wanted to scream as she heard Cornell walk around the house, followed by Mowgli’s pattering feet across the hardwood floors.
