Decades

Velvet Bags

Stevie was trying hard to go to bed earlier and get up earlier. Flexible and adaptable, she could more easily fit into Lindsey's schedule than he could become nocturnal and still flex his creative muscles. Though it was a bit of a compromise, where he'd like to finish working fairly early, she was just hitting her groove.

They were far more cooperative than they'd been in the past, and it felt good to them both. They had a good camaraderie going, and though they were both guarded with each other, things were going well. Any time a spark between them threatened to derail things, Stevie excused herself and took a breather. She wanted nothing more than to have his hands and body all over her, but she was a mature woman now, and she understood that the flame between them wouldn't and shouldn't be rekindled. But, damned if it wasn't always there, taunting her.

Their bedrooms were next door to each other. They'd sometimes climb the stairs together, he'd put his hand on her lower back, sending shivers down her spine, as they walked up the flight of stairs. They were tired but satisfied with the work they were doing. It was difficult for them to separate in that hallway, but both did a good job of not letting the other know they were struggling to go to bed alone.

Occasionally, they'd hold each other's eyes a moment too long, questioningly, leaving the other to wonder if they shared the same idea, but never giving the thoughts voice. Before going their separate ways, they shared a chaste goodnight hug, and sometimes Lindsey would place a kiss on Stevie's forehead. They pretended this didn't affect either of them.

One night, after snuggling into her bed, she considered Lindsey, the most impactful love of her entire life, in a bed alone just on the other side of that thin wall. She wanted to do the right thing, but how could sleeping alone and denying herself love and passion be right? Though, after all that had happened, maybe those feelings were simply hers. He, after all, had a wife and a family, even if it was a troubled marriage. Lindsey didn't do simple. Troubled was his normal.

She stretched her arms above her head as she sat up in the bed. She made a fist and lightly knocked three times on the wall that separated her from Lindsey. Immediately, she heard his answering tap, five knocks. She smiled sadly to herself. Knowing he was nearby had to be good enough. He was here, under the same roof.

Lindsey went downstairs in his pajama bottoms the next "morning" to start the coffee. He'd heard Stevie stirring next door and figured getting a headstart on the caffeine was the least he could do since she was rising earlier than she liked for him. He had noticed she was brighter, more energetic, and more creative than she had been for a while. Her eyes seemed more charged with electricity, more animated. They had a little more sparkle these last few days. He wanted to contribute to more of that.

He hurried into his room to get showered and dressed. The tag inside his shirt was irritating his neck, so he tapped on Stevie's bedroom door. She was drying her hair, so he spoke loudly over the hairdryer. She turned it off and peeped out of the bathroom door, and he repeated himself, "Can you cut this tag out of my shirt for me?"

"Sure, just a second. Grab my scissors. They're underneath the crochet stuff in the top drawer of my nightstand," she gestured towards the bedroom and flipped the dryer back on.

Lindsey walked to the closest nightstand and opened the top drawer, not seeing any yarn. What he did see alarmed him. Just then, Stevie turned the dryer off and entered the room. "Did you find them?"

The color drained from her face, and she hurried over and closed the drawer and then went to the other side of the bed and fetched the scissors from the top drawer of the opposite nightstand. Lindsey stooped down a bit so she could reach the tag and she quickly removed it, lightly grazing his skin with her fingertips.

When he turned back to her, she looked uncomfortable and maybe a little embarrassed. She told him she'd be down soon and waited for him to leave.

He went downstairs feeling rattled. He'd seen a black velvet bag in the drawer. Surely she wasn't carrying cocaine in it like she used to. That would explain her enthusiasm and energy.

Goddammit. To work with him, did she have to do drugs again?

He felt angry with himself for pushing her to come here, guilty that his presence could incite that kind of reaction from her. Mostly, he felt worried about what a relapse could do to her.

She entered the kitchen quietly and poured her coffee while avoiding his eyes. She let herself out onto the covered porch and sank onto the sofa there. Ugh. How much had he seen of what was inside her nightstand drawer?