Slipping in my house through my back door, I opt to leave my luggage in the car and bring it in the morning. Exhaustion owns me, and my skin feels heavy with a day’s worth of sweat clinging to me. Not bothering to turn any lights on, I head straight upstairs and into the hall bathroom, closing the door behind me. The house feels a little stuffy, so I open the bathroom window to let some air in and turn on the shower. I undress, get in and stand under the hot water until it goes cold, forcing me to get out. Wrapped in a white towel, I head for the guest bedroom, tired out of my mind.
Ever since Blake passed, I haven’t been able to sleep in our bedroom. I can dress in there, but sleeping doesn’t happen. I’ve tried, several times, but the still and silence of the night blared in my ears, and my mind only wanted to think of him and how I missed him lying next to me. Before Blake passed, I knew I would miss him. He was my husband, of course, I would. But there are a lot of little things I miss, things I never thought I might, things I took for granted; the feel of his hand resting on my hip as he slept. How he’d roll over and press his back to mine, not exactly cuddling, but touching. He was always touching me. The way he’d always wake so early, and the sound of him in the shower would ease me back to sleep.
So, I tried the guest room. In this room, I found enough peace to sleep. And so, I’ve slept here ever since. Still wearing nothing but my towel, I move to the window and slide it open. The night sky is lit up with stars, and I close my eyes and say a little prayer for Blake. I hope wherever he is, he can see me, and I hope he finds great peace in seeing Connor come home.
I back away until my legs meet the bed and plop down, only to be jolted up and tumble to the floor. The room is dark, but there’s enough light from the moon to make out the silhouette of a very large man who has just jumped off of the bed in front of me.
My mind fumbles for what to do—I’m in nothing but a towel. Is this a burglar or a rapist? So, I scream. It’s blood curdling.
The man starts to run, hitting his foot on the bedpost and begins shouting obscenities. “Goddamn it! Son of a mother—”
“What the . . .” another voice says, and I crab crawl away from the bed. There are two people in here. Oh my God. They’re going to kill me!
“Demi?” The second voice rasps, practically sucking the scream right out of my throat as the nightstand lamp turns on.
“Wendy?” I gasp in disbelief. When I look to the right, Wendy’s husband, Jeff, wearing nothing but a pair of loose boxer shorts, is keeled over still cursing at his wounded toe.
“What the hell, Wendy?” I shriek as I stare at them.
“Shit. Are you okay?” she asks as she comes running around the bed in what I guess is Jeff’s undershirt while I adjust my towel.
“No, I’m not okay!” I boom. “You guys just scared the shit out of me! What are you doing here?”
Foot stomps coming up the stairs cause her to turn her head and Wendy doesn’t have time to answer because Connor comes barreling in the room aiming a golf club straight for Jeff’s head. “You mother fuc—”
“Connor, don’t!” I cry springing from the floor, almost losing the small towel wrapped around me. The club stops mid-swing as Jeff stumbles back into me, tripping us both, causing us to crash to the floor, my towel falling open as he lands on top of me, his back pressed to my bare body.
“We’re her family!” Wendy yells as she jumps in front of Connor. I’m clinging to Jeff for dear life with one hand while my other hand blindly and frantically searches for the towel I’ve lost.
Jeff, realizing our extremely awkward predicament, moves to roll off of me, but I jerk him back. His large body is the only thing covering me and my nakedness right now. “Jeff, if you move I’ll kill you,” I growl, and his body stiffens, but he remains still. “Wendy! I need my towel. Now!”