And for some reason, I tried real hard and heard them.
I stopped hearing them practically before I started because Deke was back in a flash and he moved right into me, close, and grabbed a pillowcase.
I forced my mind off shit that would fuck with it and onto working with him and together we made my bed.
When we were done, I was on one side, the side closer to the windows, Deke on the other. He barely put the last pillow into place before he bent low, and using the hem, he wiped away the black fingerprinting dust with the inside of his white tee.
“Deke, that might stain,” I told him.
“Then the shirt goes in the trash,” he told me, straightening and doing it pulling out his phone.
He touched the screen and put it to his ear while I stood there watching him.
“Jim-Billy,” he said, paused then went on, “I know what time it is. I’m at Jussy’s. She’s hangin’ inside with me while I work and she doesn’t have any furniture. Need you to make some calls, round up something comfortable, chair, couch, don’t give a shit just as long as whoever donates it doesn’t care it gets drywall dust and wood slivers on it. Bring it up soon’s you can.” Another pause then, “Right, man. Thanks.”
He shoved his phone in his back pocket and I watched him round the bed and move to the French doors. I pivoted with him so I was in the position to continue watching as he went out to my deck, grabbed one of my Adirondack chairs and came right back in.
“Close the door, babe,” he ordered as he hauled the chair through my bedroom.
I jerked my body out of its stupor and moved quickly to the door.
I closed it, locked it and the instant the lock clicked, Deke kept being bossy.
“Follow me.”
I did as told, following him as he maneuvered the chair at an angle that would not only get it through my bedroom door but also through the doorway to the great room.
He set it down there and I only got the chance to glance at Cal, who was standing inside the closed front door zipping shut a measuring tape, doing this watching us, before Deke spoke again,
“’Til Jim-Billy sets you up, Jussy, this’ll have to do.”
I looked up to him. “Okay, honey.”
He got close and put a hand to my neck, sliding it back and up into my hair as he dipped his face to mine.
“Sheets are in the wash. Washin’ him away. Your bed’s clean of him. It’s all yours again. That room all yours. This house all yours. He didn’t belong here when he was here, he doesn’t belong here at all, including up here.” He lifted his other hand and lightly tapped my forehead before he dropped that hand. “Gonna take some effort but start that now, Jussy. Wash him away.”
I nodded, feeling his hand warm in my hair against my scalp, nothing in my space, my world, but his strong, beautiful, bearded face.
I didn’t know if I could wash that guy away.
What I did know was that, for Deke, I’d try my damnedest to do anything he wanted.
I watched his eyes smile before his fingers slid out of my hair so he could wrap them around the back of my neck and pull me to him.
He kept that one hand there, curled his other arm around me and I curved both of mine around him.
He held me and he took his time doing it, no squeezes, just offering me the undeniable evidence of his solid sanctuary.
Finally, he bent his head so his lips were at the top of my hair and he said there, “Gonna get to work on givin’ my gypsy some walls.”
He kissed my hair and only then gave me a squeeze before he let me go.
I drew in breath, still smelling the clean soap aroma that was Deke in the morning, or Deke drywalling.
Actually, just Deke.
Deke moved to his tools that he kept along a wall in the great room.
I moved my eyes to Cal to see he was paying us no mind and instead was doing whatever he needed to do to get done what I needed him to do.
I went to my Adirondack chair, taking my phone out of my pocket when I did.
And I sat in my chair and texted Joss, Lacey, Dana and Mr. T, telling them I was good, I was healing, I was safe.
And I was home.
*
An hour later, it started happening.
That “it” being, even if Deke hadn’t begun the process of washing away what had happened in that house, the town of Carnal was clearly intent on doing that same thing.
However, it began not with a Carnal citizen.
It began with Mr. T.
Playing butler along with security expert, Cal answered the door to him at eight o’clock sharp.
I watched Mr. T walk in carrying a cardboard holder with four coffees (of course Mr. T wouldn’t forget Cal) and a white bag with a colorful flower hand-drawn in Sharpies on the outside.
La-La Land treats.
“Callahan,” Mr. T greeted Cal.
“Thurston,” Cal greeted Mr. T back.
But I was up and moving quickly across the space.