Chaos and Control Page 16

She shakes her head and waves her hand with the IV at me. “I’m the patient. I get what I want.”

  “I’m the sister, and I overrule the patient.” I stand and prop both hands on my hips, giving her a look that dares her to challenge me. Of course, she does.

  “There’s nothing you can do here, anyway. I’m the older sister who overrules the younger sister. I win.”

  “Bennie,” I almost shout. “What if something happens? I should be here.”

  “Nah. You should be home. If something happens, I’m in the best place for professionals to take care of me. Go water my plants. I’ll see you tomorrow, kid. Final answer. Don’t worry about the store. Keep it closed today and tomorrow.”

  “Well, I can stay a couple hours at least.”

  “Wren. Go. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m exhausted.” Bennie gives me a know-it-all grin. “I just want to sleep.”

  “Fine. Hardheaded old hag,” I say, standing and stretching my arms above my head.

  “Smart-mouthed little shit,” she answers.

  “Are you sure you’re okay by yourself?” Bennie nods. I bend over and place a kiss on her forehead. “See you tomorrow, sis.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  Preston leads me out of the room and back toward the exit. He stops twice at wall-mounted antibacterial gel dispensers. Outside, I take a deep breath of fresh air. Preston slides his arm around my shoulders.

  “Ready to head back?”

  “Yeah, let’s go.”

  Panic

  My world flipped

  Upside down

  Furniture above

  While feet dodge light fixtures

  Flashing lights

  Flicker through daylight

  Sirens call out

  And then silence

  Shiny floors that

  Are false in their

  Cleanliness

  Too many surfaces

  Germs cascading over

  Every edge of countertop

  I am chaos

  This is how I will die today

  Then she leans

  On me and my disorder

  And, for once,

  I am strong enough

  To hold back my demons

  And hold on to Wren

  - Preston

  Chapter Sixteen

  Supply and Demand

  When we get home, I tell Preston that I’m going to take a nap. He is perfect and sweet, doting over me and asking if I need anything. For once, I appreciate someone’s protectiveness. It feels comforting and not confining.

  I ask him to come in and take a look at the leaky faucet in my bathroom. It’s annoying, but doesn’t bother me all that much. The truth is, ever since Dylan’s been in contact, the thought of walking into this apartment alone makes me nervous. I am not this girl. I traveled alone for almost three years. I encountered plenty of shady people and dangerous situations, facing all that without a second thought. And now I’m afraid of my own home. I hate that even this far away, Dylan still has control over my life.

  I hear the water turn on, then off, on, then off again.

  “I can fix this,” Preston calls out from my bathroom. “Just need my tools and a new washer.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “Can you fix it later? I really just want to lay down.”

  “Of course,” he answers, appearing in the doorway while drying his hands on a clean towel. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  He gives me a hug, and it’s exactly what I need. Being wrapped in his strong arms, inhaling his scent of mint and laundry detergent, it soothes me. Preston tells me he’ll check on me later and leaves me standing in the doorway.

  I grab an open bottle of red wine from the kitchen counter and pull the decorative stopper out. Tilting the bottle back, I swallow down three large gulps and set it on the table next to the sofa. I don’t even look at what’s on the record player as I turn it on and drop the needle. Instantly, I recognize the sounds of Amos Lee. I throw myself onto the sofa, along with my bottle of wine, and let the easy music and soulful sounds wash over me.

  With quick sips, it doesn’t take long for me to finish the bottle. In fact, I haven’t even had to flip over the vinyl. The alcohol creates a nice buzz in my head, a peaceful detachment from the day’s events. Only, every now and then, an image of Bennie lying unconscious appears behind my closed eyes. It sends a jolt of panic through my body before the wine washes it away.

  “Extreme fatigue,” I say out loud. “Only you, Bennie.”

  I shake my head, but stop quickly because it makes me dizzy. Pulling my feet up on the sofa, I lay my head on one of the overstuffed pillows. Across the room, that photo of Bennie and me stares back. It’s the last thing I see before I fall asleep.

  …

  The windows are black when I wake. I sit up and glance at the clock, nine o’clock. I slept for almost six hours. There’s a slight pounding behind my eyes, a result of my indulgence in cheap wine. Sitting in the quiet of this apartment makes me uneasy. I slip into my boots, and down two glasses of water with some aspirin. I need to get out of here and know just where I’m headed.

  I stop in the hall and knock on Preston’s door. He is quick to answer, as if he’s been waiting on my reappearance into the world.

  “Hey,” I say, giving a small, awkward wave.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah. I just want to get out of the apartment. Want to take a walk with me?”

  Preston’s answering smile lights up the dim hallway. He grabs his keys and steps into the hall, pulling the door closed behind him. He only checks the deadbolt twice before we’re on our way.

  Outside, the night air is cool. We walk along the sidewalk instead of the street, and I notice his hesitation to do so.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Preston frowns at his feet and shakes his head. “Nothing. I’m good.”

  “Preston, you can tell me.”

  He sighs and shoves his hands into his pockets. “I’d rather walk on the street.”

  I stare at him blankly, not understanding. “Okay. Then we’ll walk on the street.”

  I take off toward the park and Preston stays beside me, an unasked question between us. We are a foot apart, not physically touching, but I feel him all the same.

  “It’s the cracks on the sidewalk,” he confesses. “I’m sorry.”

  I stop and place my palms on his cheeks, forcing him to look at me. “Do not apologize for these things. I like you, Preston. I like everything about you.”

  I turn left into the park, and as soon as we hit the grass, I kick out of my boots and pull off my socks, leaving both under a tree.

  “What are you doing?” Preston asks.

  “I want to feel the grass.” His lips press into a thin line as he looks at my bare feet and back to my shoes. “You want to take yours off, too?”

  “Uh, no. I’m good.”

  I laugh and grab his hand, pulling him over to the swings. I take a seat in one and push off from the ground. Moving my legs back and forth, I swing as high as it’ll let me go. With my face turned toward the starry sky, I feel weightless and floating.

  “Come on, Preston,” I shout at him.

  He hesitantly sits on the next swing and watches me for a few seconds. His tall frame and wide shoulders look almost comical on the small swing, but he doesn’t back down. Preston pushes back and lets his Chuck Taylors kick out in front of him. I giggle when I see his competitive spirit come alive and he tries to swing higher than me.

  When we are both breathless from our efforts and from laughing, we slow down and come to a stop. The chains creak with our slow movements now, and it conjures up similar memories from childhood with a different boy.

  “Preston?”

  “Yeah?”

  I reach over, grab his swing’s chains, and pull myself closer. He gasps when I’m almost sitting on his lap.

  “Will you kiss me on these swings?”

  He nods and licks
his lips. “Why here?”

  I lean in now, our mouths only inches apart. My heart leaps in my chest, and I can see and feel nothing but Preston.

  “Because the last boy who kissed me here was Saw—”

  I don’t even get the name out before Preston pushes forward and presses his lips to mine. The force behind this kiss makes me tingle in all the right places. It is claim-staking and all-encompassing. My fingers loosen on the chains of his swing, wanting to abandon the hard metal for his hard body, but then I’d just drift away. I don’t want to take the risk of losing this moment. Tiny whimpers escape my lips, and I am helpless to stop them. Preston ends it with four quick pecks on my lips, one on my forehead and nose—an even number.

  “Six kisses,” I point out. Letting go of Preston’s swing, I fall back into place and hop off.

  “Six on Wednesdays. I figure if I’m going to be kissing you often, I’d like some kind of routine. Two on Mondays, four on Tuesdays, six on Wednesdays, and so on.”

  A grin splits my face in half. “You plan on kissing me often?”

  Preston simply nods.

  “What a day.”

  “You still worried about Bennie?” he asks.

  “Yeah. It’s more than this exhaustion thing, though. She’s been lying to me.”

  His head whips toward me, brows heavy over steel eyes.

  “About what?” he asks.

  “On Mondays, she says she’s spending time with her best friend, Laney. But I ran into Laney, and she says she hasn’t seen or heard from Bennie in months.”

  “That’s weird.”

  “It is. Bennie knows how I feel about lying. I mean, we’ve never kept secrets from each other. I’m totally going to call her on it.”

  Preston looks out across the park, the chains of his swing creaking in rhythm. “Maybe you should wait. She is in the hospital. Give her a while to recover. I know you know Bennie, but I do, too. I think whatever she isn’t telling you, there could be a good reason behind it. An argument with you would gut her, Wren.”

  “There’s no excuse for it,” I say. “But you’re right. I don’t want to fight with Bennie—especially now. Guess I’ll have to keep a closer eye on her. Make sure she’s getting lots of rest and not overdoing it.”

  He nods again, his eyes on the trees in the distance. What I wouldn’t give to be inside his head, to know what he’s obsessing over at this very moment.

  We make our way home, my socks and boots safely back on my feet. At his door, I’m hesitant to let him go.

  “Want to come over for breakfast in the morning? There will be pancakes and fruit and bacon—but not real bacon. Turkey bacon, because it’s Bennie and some things never change. I’m not going to wait for her to call. We can eat, and then I’ll go wait at the hospital until they release her.”

  Preston wraps his arms around me, his large hands rubbing circles on my back.

  “I’d love breakfast. And I’ll bring you to pick up Bennie.”

  “You sure?” I ask.

  “I’m sure.”

  “Okay. Come over at eight o’clock.” I walk backward as Preston unlocks his door. “Good night, Preston-who-didn’t-stick-to-his-schedule-today.”

  His eyes widen, and his head tilts a bit. Slowly, a smile lifts the corner of his mouth, and he turns away.

  “Good night, Wren.”

  …

  Preston knocks on the door at exactly eight a.m. I leave the stove, smooth down Bennie’s apron, and run my fingers through my hair before pulling the door open. Preston stands on the other side, looking like a damn cover model so early in the morning. He gives me a grin, eight kisses on my waiting lips, and steps inside.

  “Good morning,” he says.

  Preston’s eyes trail down my body. Beneath the apron, I may have purposely not changed out of my pajama shorts and tank. There’s a lot of visible skin, and by the tortured look on his face, I can tell he’s taking it all in.

  “Good morning.” I wave him over to the table, where he takes a seat. “You want some coffee?”

  He nods and holds up a mug he brought with him. I pour him a cup and set it on the table before returning to my skillet and flipping the turkey bacon over.

  “Thanks,” he says, tipping his mug at me. “It smells great in here.”

  “It’s going to taste even better.”

  Preston is silent. He alternates between watching me cook and gazing out of the front window while sipping his black coffee. It’s not uncomfortable. I feel at ease just being near him. When I place the bacon, pancakes, and fruit on the table, Preston mimes wiping drool from his mouth. I untie the apron, pull it off, and hang it on the back of the pantry door. With nothing to impede his view, Preston is not even trying to hide his appreciation of my breakfast attire.

  “You hear from Bennie yet?” he asks, spearing two pancakes and dropping them onto his plate.

  “Nope. I’ll give her a call when we’re done eating.”

  Preston nods. “These are great.”

  I smile and watch his jaw work beneath that short beard, eating the food I made him. My food, but still twelve chews before swallowing. Pride surges through my chest as he moans and hums.

  “I’m glad you like it. Do you want some syrup?”

  He shakes his head. “No.” Preston looks embarrassed suddenly, and I wonder what the issue is now. “I don’t like to combine foods,” he admits.

  “Hmm. I love to mix all kinds of things together.” I drag my finger through a puddle of syrup on my plate and suck it off my finger. “Watching me eat is probably a nightmare for you, huh?”

  He watches closely as I slide my finger out of my mouth. “Not exactly.” I laugh at his honesty. “I mean, it should bother me. If it was anyone else, I think it would. But there’s something about you, Wren.” He pauses and lays his fork on the edge of his plate. “Most days I feel like my brain is made up of bad wiring, you know? Like, something in there is not complete or connected how it should be. I picture these rapid-firing sparks shooting off in every direction. Did I leave the iron on? Did I lock the door? Did I pay my phone bill? Is that car going to hit me? Should I wash my hands again? Will I get heart disease? When you’re around, it’s like my circuits connect, my thoughts are clearer.”

  “Wow,” I breathe.

  Preston gives me a half-hearted grin and shrugs. “Sorry for such heavy talk over breakfast.”

  “Thank you for sharing that with me. It’s hard for me to understand. But I want to.”

  Preston nods and opens his mouth for a second before pressing his lips together again.

  “What is it?” I ask, dropping my empty plate into the sink.

  “I wish you would share more with me, too.”

  I turn and lean against the sink, crossing my arms. “I’m an open book, Preston.”

  He shakes his head and pushes from the table before making his way over and placing his plate in the sink with mine. Preston turns the water on and starts washing his hands.

  “You are lots of things, Wren. But you are not an open book.” He lathers up past his wrist, rinses, and starts again. “You’re free in a way that I’ll never know. But you guard secrets, just like the rest of us.”

  Preston’s words take me by surprise, and I pull my arms tighter around my body, my fingers fisting the sides of my shirt. No one has ever looked at me the way he does. He dissects me, sees through me, and suddenly, I’m not sure if I want him to.

  “What do you want to know?”

  He shuts off the water and dries his hands on a paper towel.

  “Why did you really come home?” Preston asks.

  He leans against the counter next to me, trying to pull my secrets out. I keep my eyes off his face, instead taking in every square inch of manly beauty before me. Memories of what he feels like beneath my touch, what he smells like, the way his voice coerces my body to respond.

  “Wren?”

  My eyes snap up, and I know I’ve been caught. Still, his expression is all bus
iness as he waits for me to respond.

  I throw my hands up. “I got into a situation I needed to get out of. There. Are you happy?”

  “No. What does that mean? What kind of situation?”

  I cross my arms and shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. All my time on the road is right where I left it, out there.” I wave a hand toward the window. “I came back to Crowley to separate myself from that, to have something familiar again. Can we just leave it at that?”

  Preston frowns but remains quiet as I push past him and disappear into my bedroom to get dressed. After a quick shower, I emerge to find the kitchen spotless, everything in its place.

  We make it to the hospital, and I freeze when I walk in to find my parents at Bennie’s bedside. My father has his eyes closed, his hand holding Bennie’s, while my mother reads passages from the Bible. Bennie’s eyes are closed, but I’m not sure if it’s because she’s praying or doesn’t want to face them.

  “Ben?” I ask.

  My parents don’t acknowledge my presence, but keep up with the praying. Preston closes the door behind me with a soft click as Bennie turns to look at us. I raise my eyebrows, a silent question that she seems to understand. She mouths “I’m okay,” and I nod to show her I’ll behave.

  Preston bows his head and wraps his hand in mine, and I think this is all very dramatic for a one-night stay in the hospital. My mother’s voice sounds exactly the same as it did when I was a kid. Its monotonous tone delivers words that seem emotionless and unsympathetic. When she is done, she closes her Bible and my father releases Bennie. An eerie silence fills the room now, and it sends a bad feeling to my gut. My parents make their way around the bed. My father gives me a curt nod, ignoring Preston completely, while my mother silently follows. The door slams closed behind them.

  “Good to see you guys, too,” I say to the door. “Wow. A visit from the Reverend and wife? You must feel special.”

  “I know,” Bennie says. “They just showed up this morning. I swear, there are no damn secrets in this county.”

  “Yeah, but you knew that already. Remember when I stole that goat from the Carville farm?”

  Bennie chuckles. “Yep. A deputy was in the driveway before you even finished unloading it from Sawyer’s truck.”