Total y Queen of Super Shitty Luck.
I shook my thoughts clear, cleaned Juno’s water bowl, gave her new water, refreshed her food bowl and unpacked my stuff from the workout bag (leaving Mace’s stuff in as a statement). Then I retreated to the bathroom. I was going to take a long, hot, lavender-scented bath and give myself a pedicure.
I was soaking in the bath, a wet washcloth over my eyes, when Juno and Mace got back.
I heard them moving around.
I heard the bathroom door open.
I prayed to al that was holy that the bubbles were holding up.
“You didn’t lock the deadbolt.” I heard Mace say.
I was silent.
“You didn’t set the alarm,” Mace continued, sounding closer, indeed a lot closer.
“Sorry, I get an ‘F’ for the day in security,” I replied sarcastical y.
The washcloth was taken from my eyes. My hair was up in a knot on top of my head and I had a wide, pale yel ow headband holding it back from my face for good measure.
I turned my head which was resting on a bath pil ow on the back of the tub and looked at Mace. He was crouched down and close, he didn’t look angry but he didn’t look happy either.
“Babe, those particular grades end in ‘D’ which means
“Babe, those particular grades end in ‘D’ which means ‘dead’,” he said quietly and in al seriousness.
Shit.
He handed the washcloth back, I took it and put it back over my eyes.
Then I heard his voice come at me.
“By the way, babe, not a good idea to soak with that wound.”
Great. He was right.
Obviously, considering he was right, I made no response.
When I heard the door click behind him, I pul ed the washcloth off my eyes again and checked the bubbles.
Total body coverage.
Wel , thank God for one smal stroke of luck.
Hastily exiting the bath trying not to sound through the door like I was hastily exiting the bath, I toweled off, put on my robe and decided on a self-spa evening. After my pedicure (I went for a deep, violet purple), a nail file and buff and a mini-facial I threw in just because, I was no more clearheaded or relaxed. I was just as confused and just as scared and, additional y, my wound hurt.
I needed my music.
I’d been in the bathroom a long time. By the time I got out, even the summer evening light outside was dimming. I could see it around the blinds.
There was a faint light glowing by my mauve chair. Mace was in bed, surprising me by looking asleep. He didn’t move as I walked into the room. Juno gave a soft woof confirming this. Juno was good at being careful when her confirming this. Juno was good at being careful when her humans needed rest. It was weird for a dog to do but it was true.
Mace must have meant it that morning when he said he felt he only got ten minutes of sleep. I’d never seen him go to bed this early. He was always out to al hours, doing whatever crazy shit he did then doing crazy shit for my band and then up in the morning, early, usual y starting the day going for a run.
I walked to my dresser, pul ed out some underwear and put it on under my short robe, careful of the new dressing I’d taped on. Then I pul ed out a pair of loose-fitting, peach jersey drawstring shorts and a soft yel ow tank top with peachy flowers printed in a strip up the sides. I turned my back to the bed, shrugged off my robe and got dressed.
Then I walked to my acoustic guitar, grabbed it and sat on the edge of my mauve chair, settling the guitar on my thigh, close to my knee, deciding, if I played quietly, maybe I wouldn’t wake Mace.
But I had to play, it had been two days and too much happened. I needed it.
And Guitar Hero didn’t cut it.
My fingers moved up the neck, feeling the strings, snagging the frets. I strummed a few chords. Then put a few more together.
After awhile, I forgot everything. Eric, the way he looked at me, what he said to me and that entire scene. My new alarm system. Police checking in on me. The Rock Chicks in danger. Someone wanting to murder me. That same someone already murdering Lindsey. I even forgot Mace someone already murdering Lindsey. I even forgot Mace and Juno, who were in the same room with me.
My long since cal used fingers moved along the frets, strummed and plucked at the strings, and, softly, I closed my eyes and began to sing The Beatles’ “Blackbird”.
And I kept my eyes closed, softly singing and strumming, picking and sliding until I plucked the last two notes. I opened my eyes and saw movement.
I looked to the bed.
Mace was awake, elbow in the pil ow, head in his hand, eyes, I could tel , even in the mostly dark, on me.
Just like he used to do. Just like always.
“Kitten, come to bed,” he said softly.
Just like he used to say. Just like always.
Out of habit, having sunk into living the memory of what we once were, I didn’t hesitate.