Page 93 of Tears of Ink

I offer her a tight smile. “Is that all?”

There’s a moment of hesitation. “Well,” she clears her throat. “It would be nice if you could come back to the dining room for your meals. It doesn’t look good for the house to be so fractured.”

“And Lewis?”

“Lewis too. I understand he will be with us for the next couple of weeks.”

I nod. The last place I want to go back to is that stiff and stuffy dining room with the wicked witch. “Does it really matter how this house appears to be?”

When she turns, her eyes are deep with an inexplicable emotion. “Appearances are everything.” She swallows hard. “Which brings me to my next thing. It’s been noted that Elijah has been here with you.”

A blush creeps from under the neckline of my dressing gown, but I brazen it out and watch her in silence.

“It can’t be anything. If he chooses to release his urges with you, then so be it, but it will be nothing more. At the end of the summer, you will be leaving this house and no longer seeing my son.”

I pull on the door and hold it open for her. “Don’t ever talk to me about my own business again. The rules and games of this family mean nothing to me and I can’t wait to leave.”

I slam the door and lean against it, hearing Eli pad out of the bathroom. He winds me into his arms. “I’m sorry she’s such a bitch. She shouldn’t speak to you like that.”

For the briefest moment I’m going to ask if he’s going to stand up for me, if he’s going to tell her she’s wrong. But then I remember what we said, the agreement we made, and start to laugh.

“Would you care to release your urges with me?” I wiggle my hips suggestively and he grabs them firmly, anchoring me to him.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Then his mouth is on mine demanding everything and I forget about reality and the sting of words that never truly go away.

We are in the kitchen and I’ve pushed Elaine out of the way to cook some bacon when my phone rings. When I pull it from my pocket, I wish I’d never heard it, wish I’d never seen it. My heart crashes, my stomach drops, and my hands don’t want to work.

Dan.

“Hi.” I can sense Eli’s curious gaze burn into my back as I push the bacon around the pan.

“You okay, Faithy?” Dan’s words slur and run into one another.

“Shit, are you drunk?” I glance at the kitchen clock. It’s only quarter to nine. I’ve got forty-five minutes to eat and say goodbye to Eli before the kids arrive. I turn and slide a hungry glance over to Eli, who’s stooped over the table reading the paper, pretending not to listen to my conversation. I’m going to need at least thirty-five minutes to say goodbye to him.

“A little,” Dan slurs. “Maybe just a wee bit.”

“Why are you drunk in the morning?” I ask, although I have a very good feeling why and my throat begins to tighten. I grip the spatula harder, giving the bacon hell to distract me from emotional overloads.

“He’s gone into the hospice, Faith. They took him last night in a private ambulance.”

“Why? He was okay the other week.”

“Weeks, Faith? This is lung cancer. It’s not going to hang around for you to finish making crappy art.”

A single tear rolls down my face and splashes into the frying pan. “That’s not fair. What happened? And I mean tell me, not just shout at me.”

“Yesterday lunch, his lungs…” Dan trails off. “He’s not getting enough oxygen, sleeping more and more. I can’t get him to eat, to drink, to take painkillers.” There’s another pause and I hear Dan light a cigarette. I want one too, but then I think of Al and his lungs collapsing, being eaten by a sick cancer that won’t stop attacking.

A hand gently takes the spatula and I look up into Eli’s face. He wipes away a tear from my face with his thumb and then another and then another. I don’t care that Jennings and Elaine are watching us, or that Lewis is bashing about with something noisy and metallic the other side of the room. I care about his touch because it’s the only thing I can cling onto. I stare into the blues and my hand shakes as I hold the phone to my ear.

“Have they said how long he will need the respite care for?” I know my lifelong friend won’t be leaving the hospice, no one ever does.

“A couple of weeks maybe.”

A couple of weeks?