Apparently sensing my surge of jittery energy, Dean stayed out of the way while I bustled around getting a quilt spread out and the pillows fluffed.
“Here’s a clock if you want to keep it beside the sofa.” I put a battery-powered digital clock on a small table. “Do you want the remote control too?”
“Liv.” Dean put a gentle hand on my shoulder. Affection and something else, something more somber, filled his eyes. “Everything’s fine.”
“Okay.” I ran my damp palms over my thighs. “Sorry… sorry again for…”
Shit. My throat jammed up.
“Stop apologizing, Liv. Go get some sleep.”
Rather than try and speak, I just nodded and went into my room. I slipped into a T-shirt and pajama bottoms and managed to brush my teeth and hair before falling into bed.The one blessing of a panic attack, if one could call it a blessing, was that I always slept hard for a few hours afterward. It was one of the few times I was able to sleep well.
I woke to the reddish glow of my clock. One thirty-two. Pushing aside the covers, I went into the kitchen for a glass of water. The living room curtains were partly open, allowing a thin stream of moonlight to illuminate Dean stretched out on the sofa. Clutching the glass, I moved closer to look at him.
It should have been strange to me that his presence was a comfort rather than cause for apprehension, but it felt entirely… normal.
I put the glass down, then sat on a chair by the sofa and looked at him. He seemed younger in sleep, the lines of his face eased, his closed eyes concealing the flashes of darkness whose source I still didn’t know.
I could almost see him as he might have been as a boy—full of youthful energy and confidence, knowing he would blaze a trail through the world, surrounded by people who admired him.
A band tightened around my heart. How different from my own wariness, my inability to envision my own future beyond the tangled, dark forest of my childhood where an oppressive queen ruled.
Dean opened his eyes. We looked at each other for a moment before he pushed up to sitting. He dragged a hand through his hair, over his rough jaw.
“Hi,” he said, his voice hoarse with sleep.
“Hi. Thanks for staying.”
I couldn’t believe how comforting it was to have him here, how grateful I was to wake up and not be alone. Even when I was at Twelve Oaks… I’d never felt so warmed by the presence of another person.
I have been so fucking lonely.
My throat tightened.
“You okay?” Dean asked.
“Can I get you anything?” I whispered. “Something to drink?”
He shook his head. Moonlight slanted through the curtains, a stripe of it cutting across the shadows on his face.
I owed him an explanation. I knew that.
I took a breath. “Dean, I’m… I need to tell you some things about me.”
Faint wariness flashed in his eyes. “Okay.”
“When I said I traveled a lot as a kid, it was because of my mother,” I explained, resisting the memories pushing at the back of my head. “Crystal. She was very self-centered. Controlling. She’d been a spoiled, coddled child… actually had a successful career as a child model for a couple of years and was in a national commercial.
“But the career offers waned when her mother got a reputation for being unreasonable and demanding, a typical stage mother. No one wanted to work with Crystal anymore. She was in some beauty pageants and talent shows, but then she got pregnant with me when she was seventeen. Changed her whole life. She never stopped resenting me for that.”
I reached for my water and took a sip. “Her parents disowned her because of the pregnancy. She had to drop out of high school and move in with my father. They never got along. They fought a lot about money… or lack thereof. They broke up when I was seven.
“I found out later that my father was having an affair.” The word lodged in my throat. “He was going to leave my mother to be with the other woman. My aunt Stella, my father’s sister, once told me he’d still wanted to have a relationship with me, you know, still be my father. But my mother said she’d never let him near me again.
“So she packed up her car and we took off. She was restless, always wanting to be somewhere else, always wanting to find the attention she’d had as a child. We moved a lot. I lost track of the number of cities and towns we stayed in.”
“How long did you and your mother live like that?” Dean asked.
“Until I was thirteen. I finally told my mother I was going to live with Aunt Stella up in Pepin County. I wanted to have a normal life. My mother and I had a huge fight about it.
“We were in Dubuque. I woke up one morning and she was gone. She’d taken the car, most of our stuff. I had just enough money for a bus ride to Madison, where I called Stella to come and pick me up. I didn’t hear from my mother for years.”
“You lived with your aunt after that?”
“Yes. Through high school.”
“When did you see your mother again?”
An ache crawled over my heart. “When she came to visit right before my senior year. She wanted me to come with her again, but I refused. She’ll never forgive me for leaving her.”