A Blind Eye (25 page)

I still wore the sweats I'd put on last night, and I stank of sweat, blood, and the chemicals from the embalming room.

“Scarlett, I need a shower.” But right after I said it, I remembered I couldn't take a shower; the hole in my arm had to stay dry. “Well, a bath.”

“Okay,” She kissed my cheek and left for her own room.

I went into my bathroom and took off my shirt in front of the mirror. A bruise the size of a frying pan covered half my ribs. I had another bruise on my cheek, and when I turned around, a welt like someone had hit me with a baseball bat crossed my back. I filled the tub with hot water and lowered myself in, careful to keep the bullet wound dry.

I soaked for a long time with my eyes closed. Then I dressed and tried to bandage my arm. I couldn't do it one-handed. I thought of asking Scarlett for help, but I heard her shower running. I stepped into the hall and called over the railing, “Gloria?”

My dad's face appeared in the hall. “She went to the store.”

He looked like a different man from the one last night. Tall again, and straight. He really had been worried. Panicked that his son would die. Why wasn't he at work? It was Tuesday morning. He worked seven days a week. He watched me with a knot in his brow, wondering, like me, if anything had really changed between us.

If he was trying this hard, I could too. “Uh, I need some help here, with my arm.” I held up the roll of cotton gauze.

He tried to keep his face straight, but I caught the relief that smoothed his forehead. He jogged up the stairs, two at a time. “Sure.”

I sat on the edge of my bed, and he knelt on the floor in front of me. He wound the bandage around more times than probably necessary before securing it with tape. “How are you feeling today?” His words came out stiff and forced. This was going to be a bumpy road.

“Okay.” I took a deep breath before making my next attempt at bridging the gap. “I'm sorry for the things I said at your office yesterday.” I wished I could tell him I didn't really mean them, but at the time, I totally did. “I just . . . I mean, I was . . . The thing is . . .”

“Stop.” He kept his focus on the bandaging, even though he'd already finished. “Don't worry about it. You were right, and I deserved every word. It's my fault.”

I never expected to hear words like that come from him—words that didn't choke and strangle but instead settled on me softly, peacefully. I think at last he understood all the torture he'd put me through. But if he wanted a son, and I wanted a father, I couldn't think like that anymore. I had to let it go.

“Okay, then,” I said. “Let's just move on.”

His whole body relaxed. “Yes. If you'll give me the chance.”

I think I'd been around Scarlett too long. I couldn't resist the urge to get him back for his wisecracks the other night when he'd nearly shot me with his gun. I carefully edged my voice with humor and said, “Will you toss out all your bottles of wine?”

He looked me straight in the eye. “I already did.”

I stared at him, stunned. I had no comeback for that.

A thin smile crossed his face, and he patted my knee, like a stranger pats the head of a wandering dog. I'd take it.

He left as Scarlett came in.

“What was that about?” Her pink hair fell around her face, still wet and shiny from the shower, and her diamond nose stud glittered in the morning sun streaming through the window. She sat beside me, resting her head on my shoulder.

“Scarlett, you called it. I think the second half is going to be okay.”

Julie Daines was born in Concord, Massachusetts, and was raised in Utah. She spent eighteen months living in London, where she studied and fell in love with English literature, sticky toffee pudding, and the mysterious guy who ran the kebab store around the corner.

She loves reading, writing, and watching movies—anything that transports her to another world. She picks Captain Wentworth over Mr. Darcy, firmly believes in second breakfast, and never leaves home without her
verveine
.

To learn more about Julie Daines or to contact her, visit her website at www.juliedaines.com.