Heartbreak Warfare

CHAPTER 6: Days Go By

He showered while she got settled in his guest room and changed into more comfortable clothes. Then, they had pie and ice cold milk for dinner while sitting on the sofa, the TV on mute. It was like old times but with a new threat.

"Red, your pie was perfection. I didn't know you could bake," she said, wiping his mouth, his plate clean.

"I couldn't when you knew me. I developed that skill in New Orleans. My "girlfriend's" mother owned a bakery in the French Quarter. She taught me. She is a great lady," he said, grinning at a memory. "You'd like her, Lizzie."

"What about her daughter? Would I have liked him," she asked, knowing this was not an appropriate question, knowing it mattered not at all. But, also, feeling the sting she felt nearly ages ago when they broke up and she told him she was seeing someone new, while she could clearly see he hasn't moved on; it was Lizzie's relationship with this man that caused Red to stop asking about her. This was what made him leave her be. What he had felt then, like now, he knew he had no right to.

He squinted his eyes at her, concentrating, assessing, trying to decipher her tone and motivation. "I don't know," he answered truthfully.

"Do you always eat pie for dinner," she asked, changing the subject, trying to lighten the mood but only managing to sound chastising.

"I eat whatever I want, whenever I want it, Lizzie. I do exactly what I want, when I want to do it, if I am able...just like I used to," he said, sounding a bit miffed. She recognized that tone. It sounded like old times.

"And, so you should, Red. I only meant ... what I am wondering, I suppose, is do you have help? When you need it. Do you have assistance ... with things? I mean I'm assuming Kate and Dembe are always around...but are there anyone else you can rely on just in case business is booming?"She was stumbling now, becoming too invasive, perhaps. She risked offending him or causing him to shut down. But, she was working off of old information with this line of thinking. She would learn that soon. He had been through too much to be so easily put off by his escalating concern. He was not so bull-headed anymore, not so prideful. Being sick was humbling. It made you accept things, forced you to acquiesce- with people, with situations. Being sick took choices away, but it didn't leave you powerless. The power just shifted. It had taken her a while to learn this.

"I have help," he assured her. "I have someone who cleans and runs some errands for me. She will cook if I need her to. But, usually I don't need that. And, I thought you were going to cook for me? Didn't you just make that promise a little earlier?"

"I did, and I will," she nodded, tilting her head and grinning at him, relieved by his more playful response. He liked looking at her. He always had. The truth was he wanted to stare at her at length, study her like a portrait in a gallery. A masterpiece. Both immediately striking and nuanced, endlessly captivating. He would never bore of her.

She smiled gently, enjoying watching him watch her. His slow perusal warmed her like nothing had in a long time. So, she stayed still and quiet for as long as she could. This was part of her power, to be present in the moment, to bask in it, to savor it like it could be her last. Because it could be. And, right now, if it were, she would be okay. Her last thing. He was also her best thing. And, he was here now. And, he loved her still. She could feel that plainly now. Earlier, when he admitted to not knowing about her life, of leaving her alone, she briefly worried it was because he stopped caring. Now, she knew that wasn't true. He was settling down, relaxing; his chaotic movements were slowing, and in the calmness, she could read him better. Whatever he had done over the past years, whoever he had loved, he hadn't stopped loving her. She had gotten to thank him for all he had done for her, and she had had the chance to feel his earnest devotion. It was more than she had hoped for. She was grateful, as grateful as she'd ever been.

"Red," she whispered, noticing he was getting so sleepy, so quickly, still watching his eyes pass again and again over her face as if he were cataloguing her, filing her away.

"Yes, sweetheart," he answered, his voice wistful and deep, smooth like brandy. Her stomach clenched; she'd almost forgotten the power of his voice, what it did to her.

"I want to hear all about you. All about your life, but I can see you're tired now. So, in the morning, you will need to start that talking you promised me, and I want you to start by talking about you. Okay," she asked.

"Whatever you want is what I'll do. Prepare to be entertained... I'll try my best to talk, as long as you talk my ears off too.. I want to know more about you.. I want to know by listening to you and not doing what I used to do... I'm sorry for that..."he said, his voice hypnotic to her tired brain.

"Good," she nodded, slightly, running her hand on his head, as she watched his eyes droop.

"Lizzie?"

"Yes," she answered, head back on the sofa, reminiscent of earlier, but he drifted off... He was tired.

"Let me help you to bed," she said, rising and grasping his hand in hers to help him up.

He whined just a little and mumbled under his breath before he stood to follow her lead down the hallway, and she chuckled. She knew why she chose to keep his name over the years after he was freed. He was no longer Red, just "Ray" just like the sun. He was vibrant, warm, and bright. It seemed so sophisticated, but also plain, he hadn't been Ray in over 3 decades, and after everything, he can be Ray again, and he was happy enough, he could use that name again. And, when she was a boy and would fall asleep on the sofa while watching old movies with His mom, he always said waking him up and getting him to bed was like getting a drunk Irishman out of the pub at closing time - there was the physical struggle, the arguing, the nonsensical chatter, occasional tears, and unsolicited declarations of love. And, so, in those times, his mum had called her "Raymi." More appropriate a name than Red, Liz supposed. Ray. She smiled, if only his parents could see him now, after everything, she knew they'd still be proud. He was quite a man after all.

When they reached his room, she walked him to the edge of his bed, but he stopped her when she tried to sit him down on it. "I have to brush my teeth," he mumbled, catching his arms, which had moved to his waist, in her hands. She stood there a moment gathering his energy for the walk to the bathroom; he was truly exhausted. The joy of having her there had zapped his reserves, but he was happily depleted. And, she wanted him to know that as he went off to sleep. He smiled, knowing what she was doing. So, he slowly slipped her hands up until they met at the back of his neck. With his meager strength, he pulled her toward him. She moved forward willingly, and she hugged him, as tight as she could, not caring about boundaries, lines in sand, or other unnecessary human constraints.

She nestled her body against his in as intimate a way as she could. She wanted to feel his curves, his intake of breath, his heartbeat, his muscles, and his every minute movement against her. She wanted to smell him up close. She rubbed her nose against his neck and breathed deeply, humming against him, eyes closed. He craved human contact, but to relax in it had been difficult for him since he became ill. And, the truth was she'd wanted him, only him, this way for two years. Since he was gone, she only wanted him. She moved her hands from his neck down his back, tracing his spine with her fingers, moving outward from there over his back, her touch gentle and sure. They trailed to his waist, and she wound her arms around him there, squeezing. She moved her mouth to his ear then, her eyes still closed, she had been focused on feeling him. "Breathe, Red," she whispered, breathing deeply against him herself. "Breathe with me."

His arms tightened around her. "Lizzie," he said, finally breathing, shallowly and swiftly. "Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie."

"I've wanted this all day," he whispered in her ear. "It is such a comfort to feel you against me. I don't know if I can fully explain to you how much it means to me."

She didn't speak, couldn't; she only groaned in the back of her throat and tightened her grip on him.

They held each other for a long time until he loosened his grip, sighing. "I should let you get to bed now, and I definitely need to sleep." She only nodded, not letting her go. He pulled back enough to see her face. Her eyes were tightly closed. Good, he thought. She is feeling, she is allowing herself this moment. She watched him for a second before leaning in and kissing his cheek, tenderly, lingeringly. "Goodnight, Red," she said, her mouth against his skin. Then, she let him go and walked slowly to the door.