Page 53 of The Last Letter of Rachel Ellsworth
Veronica smiled. “Fair. It’s so full of darkness and brokenness.”
“What’s your favorite, then?”
“‘A Thousand Kisses Deep,’” she said quietly, thinking about the lyrics. “It got me through some dark nights after my divorce.”
“Another one about the way life fucks with you.”
She laughed. “Yeah. Now I want to listen to Leonard Cohen. I bet you have some on your phone, don’t you?”
“Probably. But we’re almost back to the hotel.”
“I hate that you’re going to have to drive back.”
He pulled up beside the hotel, put the Range Rover in park. “Are you inviting me up?”
Veronica looked up at him. A bar of light from a streetlight cast half his face in shadow, cut the lines of his mouth into perfect relief. He smelled of earth and forest and sky, and the air around them thickened with recognition. Possibility. “Maybe,” she whispered.
He placed an open hand on the inside of her wrist. His palm was hot.
Mariah moaned from the back seat. They jerked apart.
“I need to get her safely settled.”
He nodded. “It’s probably easier to unload her here rather than looking for space in the garage.”
“Right.” She opened the door, and stepped out, not quite willing to leave that soft cloud of possibility, knowing there was nothing to be done. She cocked her head.
He held her eye. Barely nodded.
Veronica turned toward duty.Her charge,she thought, like an old novel. “Come on, sweetheart,” she said, opening the door to the back.
Mariah stirred, wiping her face. “Jeez, I’m so fucking high.”
“Can you walk?”
“I’m not a baby,” she said, and tumbled from the car, nearly wiping out on the sidewalk. Veronica caught her, grabbed the cane.
Henry hopped out and rounded the car. There was no traffic, and he left the car running as he helped Mariah to the door. Veronica pulled the girl toward her, letting her lean as they staggered up the steps. Henry stood close by, his hand at Mariah’s back. The elevator opened immediately, but he waited a moment.
“You got it? At this time of day, I can park for a few minutes.”
The offer lit a dozen hidden places in her body, small blue lights in her palms, her throat. Other places. She swallowed. “I think I’m okay. Thanks.”
“Okay.” He raised a palm. She kept her gaze on his face, a soft bar of light across his cheekbone and chin, until the door closed completely.
Mariah leaned on both cane and Veronica, and they made it without incident to the room. Veronica poured Mariah onto her bed, pulling off her shoes. “How long since you’ve eaten?”
“I don’t know,” Mariah said, shimmying out of her shirt, then her jeans, climbing into bed in her underwear. “I don’t think I can eat right now. I just want to sleep.”
“Wait. Sit up. Five minutes.” She got her propped up and ran into the kitchen, poured a glass of milk, and looked for something to eat that would be fast and easy to chew. Yogurt. When she rushed back into the room, Mariah had tilted sideways, her hair over her face. But she wasn’t sleeping. She was crying. It was the broken cry of a child, a wail.
“Oh, honey.” Veronica put down the milk and yogurt and settled beside her on the bed instead, lifting her up so she could get an arm around her, then tucking her against her shoulder. “Go ahead and cry. I’m here.”
She cried herself to sleep. Veronica’s shirt was soaked and sweaty as she settled the girl in the pillows and covered her up, pulling her hair out of her face. For a moment, she took in Mariah’s finally sleeping face, and felt something long forgotten, the relief of a sick child finally dropping off.
She was mothering Mariah. Was that appropriate? Unhealthy? Was it even what Mariah needed? She thought of her conversation with Jenna about her rent. She was shoving her own daughter out of the nest to fly, then turning around and pouring mother love on this girl.
Was that wrong?
