“Natalie,” he called. “Honey, where are you going?”
Away from you, she wanted to answer, but her mouth was too dry from the cold to muster the response. She heard his footsteps behind her, and another jolt went through her. He wasn’t going to leave her alone this time.
“Natalie, you can’t keep running from how you feel. Honey, I know it hurts, but you need to talk about it and have a good cry. Please just let me hold you.”
A good cry? What in the hell was he talking about? There was nothing good about crying. She never cried.
“Leave me alone, Blake,” she ground out, biting her tongue. The pain barely computed.
“I can’t. You keep asking me not to hold you or touch you, but the more I do as you ask, the more you slip away from me. Natalie, honey, please let me help you.”
She turned around as an arctic blast of cold shot through her internal landscape, punctuated by thunder. Thunder snow was the worst kind of storm. “I don’t want your help. I’m handling it. Just leave me alone.”
He ran his hands through his sandy blond hair, that hair she loved raking her own hands through, and planted them on his hips. “I can’t do that. Honey, you’re hurting. I love you. Let me help you. We’ll get through this together.”
“There’s nothing to get through. Kim is dead, and nothing will bring her back.” Some remote part of herself started screaming at the injustice, but she retreated from the sound, running through the cold drifts of snow in her mind to a sanctuary of numbness. She couldn’t let the emotion come back. It would destroy her.
“Natalie,” Blake called out, and this time he increased his pace.
He was going to catch her, she realized. The rest of her flight to the bathroom was more of a mad dash, and out of instinct, she locked the door behind her.
The knob rattled. “Natalie! Dammit, don’t lock me out.”
She’d never done anything like this before, and her eyes were glued to the doorknob. Off in the distance she could hear him pounding on it, pleading with her to let him in. Touchdown was barking like background music to Blake’s pleas.
The freedom of doing something so bold rolled through her. She could lock him out. She could lock everything out.
Opening up the cabinet under the sink, she dug out the tile cleaner and a sponge. The etched panels of their Italian marble shower suite sparkled from the cleaning she’d given them yesterday, but she shook the tile powder on them anyway and scrubbed until her hands burned. Her body warmed from the brutal cleaning, and it felt good. Cleaning was the only thing that made her feel warm and numb—a combination she loved. It was her new favorite home.
The powder from the can sprinkled over her black dress as she shook it wildly over the mosaic tiles that had been inset in the center of the shower to showcase the cozy shower bench Blake had designed with his architect. Her mind flashed to all the times she and her husband had made love on that bench, and some of the numbness started to fade away, replaced by a sense of loss so poignant, she sank to her knees in the shower, indifferent to the fate of her black designer dress, shoes, and hose.
No, she could not remember those times.
She was not allowed happiness. Not now that Kim was dead.
Blake’s voice had finally disappeared in the background. All around her was a blissful quiet.
Her hands burned from the abrasive cleaning product, and her knuckles leaked blood, but she continued to scrub. Harder. Faster. Panting, she felt her black hose tear as she inched across the tile floor. She looked down to see the run had wrapped around her right knee and darted to her ankle. Even her black shoes were spotted with white, but she didn’t care. She would throw this whole outfit away when she was finished cleaning. It was a horrible reminder of all she had lost.
An unusual rattling interrupted her reverie. She turned her head to see what the metallic jingle was and watched as the doorknob dropped to the floor. Blake entered the bathroom, Touchdown barking in distress by his side.
His face rippled with shock and horror as he looked at her. “Oh, honey.”
She wanted to cower in shame like a leper who was caught bathing by a stranger. She had to hide her sores. She had to make him go away. Sinking back onto her knees, she pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes.
“I told you to leave me alone. I’m cleaning.”
“You cleaned the shower yesterday, honey.”
Damn that word again.
He approached her slowly and crouched down on the floor of the shower beside her. His body was so large and bulky, she felt caged in.
“Come on, honey. Let me help you clean up and change clothes. Then you can have your tea. Oh, Natalie. Your hands….”
Another destructive wave of icy snow was approaching again, like Blake’s very appearance had shifted the wind. No, he’d brought the wind. It was his fault.