Eventide

Chapter 9. Family

Chapter 9

Family

(What I’ve Done, by Linkin Park)

     As I awoke, Brogan kissed the top of my head.  “Good morning.”

     My eyes stung as if someone had sandpapered the rims.

     The light of day streamed through the windows.  His heady scent hung all around me like a warm shroud and I curled tighter into him.  The previous day was still with me, not something I had to think about to recall.

     “I’m s…sorry.”  Both our heart beats hitched.  It seemed so inadequate, that one little word.  How could I have laid all that misery on him last night?

     “Shhh.”  His fingers combed through my hair.  “You can go back to sleep, if you like.”

     I fisted my hands in his shirt and laid my head against his chest.  His shoulders were broad and strong, but they had never been meant to bear my burden.

     “No, I’m up,” I mumbled.

     He tucked the blanket more firmly beneath me, then his arms returned to hold me.  We sat for a long time like that.  He made me feel safe and sheltered.  With a sigh, I snuggled into him.

     When I was finally ready to get up, he stood with me cradled, then set me gently back on the recliner with the blanket still over me.  He went into his bedroom and I heard the wisp of cloth.  When he returned, he held one of his shirts out to me, redolent with his scent.

     “Put this on while I fix us something to eat.”

     “I’m not really hungry.”

     “You’ll change your mind about that.  I make a mean scrambled eggs,” he said.  “I’ll get some coffee going.”

     Coffee did sound good, which surprised me.  I wouldn’t have thought anything could sound good after last night.  

     He kept his back to me in the kitchen as I dropped the blanket and put on his shirt.  The hem hung just above my knees and I had to roll the sleeves several times before my hands could peek out from the ends.  I heard the whoosh as he lowered a match to the gas burner and it wasn’t long before his old fashioned percolator began thumping.  He whipped the eggs in a huge bowl.

     “Don’t look,” he said.  “It’s a secret ingredient I add to make my scrambled eggs absolutely irresistible.”

     I obliged, taking a seat at his table and holding my head in my hands.  It sounded like he was slicing into something soft, like butter.

     “You take it straight, as I recall.”  He slid a steaming cup of coffee in front of me.  “Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes.”

     “Honestly, you don’t have to go to any more trouble, Brogan.”

     “It’s no trouble.  Besides, I’m hungry.”

     The bowl he placed on the table a few minutes later was big and overflowing with scrambled eggs.  I caught the scent of cream cheese, the so-called secret ingredient he had mixed in as they cooked.  My stomach rumbled.

     I scooped two spoons-worth of eggs.  He scowled at me, then added six more to my plate.  He piled his own plate nearly as full.  We hadn’t even made a dent in the big bowl.  How many eggs had he cooked, a dozen, two dozen?

     He buttered a slice of toast before he set it on my plate.  It seemed I was in for the full service this morning.

     We ate in silence, for the most part, and it wasn‘t the least bit uneasy.  He seemed to understand I wasn’t up for conversation.  The first mouthful seemed to melt in my mouth with a rich, creamy taste.  He did indeed make a mean scrambled eggs.  Between the two of us, we finished every last bite of food on the table.