Nicole Helm - Too Much to Handle (4 page)

"I should go."

"Where are you staying, sweetie?"

"With a friend." A flat out lie. She didn't feel much like caring at the moment. "I'll call before I come next time so I don't interrupt."

"All right, honey. See you later."

Ellen stood by the door blinking back tears. Ken's pictures littered the mantle. Ken's ghost choked the air out of the living room that hadn't changed in fourteen years.

And she was invisible in the midst of it.

She'd promised herself she wouldn't run away this time, but she was beginning to think it was a promise she'd have to break.

Henry stood in pet food aisle of the grocery store and hated himself. Hated himself for waffling. Hated himself for the guilt, and the blame, and all the dumb shit in his brain.

He couldn't get Ellen saying she just wanted to be happy out of his head. Happy. He was trying to remember the last time he'd let himself be that way, and he…couldn't. Any happiness usually got squashed by the fact he was here to enjoy it and Ken wasn't.

All because he'd made a mistake.

Well, they'd both made mistakes, hadn't they?

Henry cursed under his breath, grabbed a stupid bag of cat treats and threw it into his cart. He went through the self checkout, grumbling at himself the entire time. People probably thought he was nuts.

Considering he was planning on going to Ellen's house when he got back, they wouldn't be wrong.

He drove back to his place, having no idea what he was going to say or do. Nerves churned in his gut, but so did something else. Something foreign and dangerous.

Excitement.

Shit.

He pulled his truck next to his side of the building, grabbed his bag and then marched over to Ellen's side. This didn't have to be anything about the attraction stuff. They were friends, and he cared about what happened to her.

That was it.

Sure it is, buddy.

He pounded on the door, venting some of his frustration.

Ellen opened, her expression blank. Which…never happened. And actually made him pause enough to lose whatever momentum he'd had storming up here.

"Can I help you?"

"In a million ways, probably."

The blankness faded into a smile. "A million, huh?"

Yeesh, he wished he hadn't said that, but might as well keep going. "I hate having you next door and pretending like we don't know each other."

She crossed her arms over her chest, chin up, resolute. Sexy. "I hate it, too, but I'm not going to pretend I don't feel more than friendly toward you."

"You don't even know me."

She smiled at that. "I know so much about you, Henry Peterson. Maybe not everything, but I've known you longer than almost anyone. Maybe you didn't always pay attention to me, but I always paid attention to you."

She uncrossed her arms, then rested her hands on his chest, fingertips brushing the fabric of his shirt, making everything in his brain short circuit.

"I know you're kind and generous and loyal to a fault. And I think the reason you're so bound and determined to feel guilty is because you feel so deeply. And you miss him. And you want there to be a reason he's gone, even if you're the reason."

"I'm part of the reason."

"Maybe. Maybe not. We'll never really know. Maybe there's no reason. No one at fault. Maybe it just happened. A stupid, senseless tragedy we can't change. No matter how much we run, how much we blame, how much we wallow. It doesn't go away."

He wanted to believe the hollow, scary feeling in his chest was disagreement or disappointment that she didn't understand, but he couldn't deny that it was plain old fear.

Fear that he'd spent his adult life blaming himself and marinating in guilt simply because he wanted there to be a reason Ken was gone.

And if there was no reason? If it happened without blame, what was he supposed to do with all these unresolved feelings still stewing inside him?

"Come inside. It's cold."

Her place was cozy and colorful. Something she always seemed to bring with her. Ellen's expertise. Making something feel like home.

"What's in the bag?"

He rolled his eyes at himself. "Damn cat treats," he muttered, but his mouth curved in response to her smile.

"Aw, you love Scabby."

"You did not honestly name that cat Scabby."

"It was appropriate." She shook the bag of treats until the mangy beast appeared. "You like it, don't you, sweetie?" She dropped a few treats on the ground and the cat's purring filled the room.

Ellen looked at him, and he looked back because he wasn't sure why he was here. What he was hoping to do. Or not do. He should be hoping not to do.

"You're the only one who sees me, Henry. Who knows me. I don't know how to let anyone else into my life the way you are. I don't know how to make anyone else understand. 
How am I supposed to not want that?
"

He couldn't answer because he felt the same. Ever since Ken had died and he'd shut his life away, Ellen had been the only one to see inside.

How am I supposed to not want that?

*

Ellen wasn't sure what Henry's intention was in coming here, being sweet, bringing her cat treats. But she knew what she wanted from him.

Especially after the visit to Mom. She wanted him. The man who didn't look through her as if she were only a window in front of what he really wanted.

He might still grieve Ken, his guilt might be a crutch and out of place, but when he looked at her, he saw her mostly. He did things to make her happy only because he wanted her to be happy.

She briefly thought about asking him to kiss her again, but that seemed awfully desperate. She'd said she wanted him. What more did the guy need, an invitation?

"Can't I have something that has nothing to do with him? Can't you look at me and not have it be about him?" She hated that tears burned in her eyes, refused to let them shed. She'd just ask and deal with the fallout.

Maybe that's what she'd been missing for these past so many years. Dealing with the fallout. Instead of running away. Instead of pretending only happiness mattered.

It all mattered, but she wanted to focus on the happy when she could. Find the good when she could.

Henry was so, so good.

"Believe it or not…" Hesitantly, carefully, Henry's hands reached out and grasped her shoulders, those dark brown eyes looking deep into hers. "I don't think about Ken when I look at you. I don't think about you being his sister. You are… Like you said the other day. You're you. I see you. I force myself to feel guilty about that, but…"

"You shouldn't. You should be sad he's gone, sad he didn't get to live his life, but you shouldn't look at me and see him."

"I don't."

She was about to say, "Then kiss me," but he did it of his own volition before she even said anything.

It was better than anything she'd dreamed or imagined, because it was real. His lips warm on hers, the graze of his beard against her face, coarse but arousing. His palms flush against her back, warm and soothing.

He pulled away slightly, his arms still around her. "I think you are a wonderful, beautiful person."

She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Well, thank you."

"If your parents are too blinded by grief to see that, it's not your fault. I hope you know that."

"I do."

"Good."

"Henry?"

"Yeah."

She moved onto her tip toes and kissed him, winding her arms around his neck, pressing his body to hers. Henry. Kissing her. She sighed against his mouth. Better than she'd dreamed.

Unfortunately, he didn't push things further. He pulled away again. "There is, uh, one last hurdle we should discuss before we…"

"Before we what?"

He cleared his throat. "Move…forward…with…this."

"'This' being?" She couldn't help teasing him when he got all stuttery and uncomfortable. He was just too adorable.

"I guess, I, um, mean a relationship."

"We have a relationship."

He gave her an exasperated look to go along with his exasperated sigh. "A romantic relationship. One, I was thinking…that we should take slow."

She snorted. "You have a right to your opinion, but no. The many years I've lusted after you are plenty. Now what's this last hurdle?"

"Ellen."

"Hurdle now, or I start undressing." She moved to unbutton her sweater but his next words stopped her and all humor.

"Your parents."

Ah, yes, that was a bit of a hurdle. "They don't get a say."

"But you do need to tell them." She opened her mouth to argue, but he kept going. "I understand why you wouldn't want to, I do. But, I also think…" He pushed some hair back from her face, all sweet and gentle and something she'd been dreaming about…forever.

"I think it's important that you do. Hiding from them isn't honest, and I know telling them won't be happy, but if this has a chance of working out, they need to know."

Not happy. No, it certainly wouldn't be, but maybe that was part of coming home. Facing it all.

"All right. On one condition."

"Name it."

"You can't let them guilt you out of it. And, for God's sake, don't give them another cent on my account."

He winced. "I was only trying to—"

"Do the right thing. I know." She smiled, fingers tracing over his beard, lingering over his face since he was letting her. Wanted her to. "It's one of the things I like best and worst about you."

"I don't—"

But she cut him off with a kiss, because confronting her parents was a bad thing for another day. Today, she had Henry. And that was enough.

Ellen had procrastinated all week. It was wrong, and she hated the way Henry just…didn't say anything about it. Was all sweet and awkward and perfect. Meanwhile, he wanted her to tell her parents about them. She hated everything about this.

Except Henry.

Sitting in her parents' living room while Mom decorated the Christmas tree, she should be smiling about happy Christmas memories. Instead, she was smiling because of Henry.

A week with Henry had been very nice indeed. Even if it was silly, she was going to miss him when he went to spend Christmas weekend with his dad in Des Moines.

Also silly she kept putting off telling her parents about him.

"Oh, Steve, remember the Christmas we got Ken his first bike?" Mom said, hanging a bike ornament on the tree. "He was so excited." Mom's eyes filled with tears. "It's still in the basement. I thought…"

"Remember the Christmas we went to Alaska?" Ellen asked, trying to deflect the topic. "That was so cool. We should do another trip like that. Those cruises are great."

But Mom just made a little noise and turned away, and Dad didn't say anything, and Ellen…Ellen felt like she didn't exist.

"I'm in love with Henry," she said into the silence of the room. She'd meant to ease them into it, find some calm way of explaining, but she was so desperate to make herself exist to them, it burst out.

Both of her parents stood perfectly still. Frozen. As if the words had broken the space and time continuum.

"Who's Henry?" Mom finally said.

"You know who Henry is."

"No. No, I do not know who Henry is because the only Henry I know is responsible for the death of your brother, and no daughter of mine would be so cruel and awful to love that monster." Mom wasn't looking at her, and Dad sat there as if he wasn't even present.

"He's not a monster. He's a man." She wanted them to see, not for her—but for themselves. So they could move on. Just a little. "And at the time he was a boy, and so was Ken. Careless, irresponsible boys."

Mom whirled around to face her. "You will not say that about my son."

"He wasn't perfect or a saint. He made a mistake, and he paid for it."

"They shouldn't have let him drive!" This time Mom threw the ornament in her hand, and it crashed to the floor.

Dad still didn't move, and Ellen wanted to back down, but…this was wrong. Running away hadn't solved anything, so it was time to go head-on. No matter how upset Mom was, no matter how detached Dad was.

"Maybe you shouldn't have let him go to that party. Maybe I should have made him play Nintendo with me like he'd promised that morning. There are a million maybes, a million ways to find blame, and the fact you took money from Henry as some sort of penance for that blame is shameful."

"No. I refuse to accept this." Mom shook her head so vigorously it had to hurt. "I refuse to discuss it."

"That doesn't change it, Mom," Ellen said quietly. "You can't pretend me away. I exist. I'm here. All I ever wanted was for you to love me. To pay attention to me. To care. But everything you have is wrapped up in your son dying, so your daughter doesn't matter. Well, I don't want to pretend that's okay anymore. I'm going to be with someone who doesn't treat me that way, even if it hurts you. Because I am done hurting over things I can control. There's enough hurt with the things I can't."

"Of course we love you, Ellen. Don't be foolish. Choosing someone who was responsible for Ken's death over your own parents is its own kind of tragedy." Dad's voice was almost bored.

"I'm sorry you feel that way. I know you love me. I know that losing Ken is not something any of us will ever get over. It is a tragedy, but it's also…awful that I feel like I'll never be as important to you as someone who's not even here."

"If this is how you feel, then I don't know why you even bothered to come home. If you think I'll ever accept that man as anything other than a monster at fault for my child's death, then you don't belong in this house." Mom turned away.

Ellen brushed at the tears on her cheeks. "I hope when you sit down and think about this, you'll feel differently. I'll always be around if you change your mind, but I'm not living like this anymore. Trying to make you see me, trying to pretend you'll want to someday. Not when I actually have someone who cares about me. I love you both, and I miss him, too, but I don't want to be overshadowed by his memory. I need to be equal to it."