Change is good, unless it isn't

Chapter 8

Before Normani, pain was what held her up, kept her going. It helped her make it through the day. It crept underneath her skin, became a second skeleton. It was her closest friend. But then, she moved to Boston and met Normani. Normani, the detective that hid behind her tough as nails façade. Normani, who held Dinah when she needed to be held and pushed when she needed to be pushed. Normani, the only person that had ever truly cared about Dinah besides Tanner.

And Dinah is scared. She's scared to get a taste of the happiness that Normani had brought into her life just to have everything ripped away from her again. She's scared to be happy because being happy might mean forgetting. She never wants to forget the life she had with her son, even if it means she had to endure the most painful memories every single day just to get a short glimpse of the good ones. She never wants to forget the good ones.

So when Normani offered to bring lunch down to the morgue for the 12th day in a row, Dinah rejected for the first time. She told Normani she had other things to do. And she did. She had to carefully reconstruct the walls Normani had slowly started to tear down. She had to remember what it was like to be alone, because she had resolved herself to never letting anyone in for fear of losing them. She had to remember her life wasn't idle chat and joking around. Her life was loneliness and loss and no one could ever possibly change that—not even Normani.

The one person she felt safe with.

The one person she was scared to death of.

So when Normani barged in at half past two while Dinah was wiping her eyes from the tears that had been freely falling all day, Dinah almost asked her to leave. Almost. That is, until she saw the red stain slowly growing on the sleeve of Normani's shirt.

Dinah gasps. "Normani?"

She wastes no time helping Normani out of the shirt and pulling it away to reveal a three inch gash across Normani's bicep. Her fingers gently rub the underside of Normani's arm as her eyes travel up from the wound to meet Normani's face.

Normani shrugs bashfully. "Think you can fix me up?"

~~~~~

She could've sworn she saw it happen in slow motion. Tanner had been climbing around on the play set in the back yard before tumbling sideways off the slide and landing in the woodchips below. She was already up and jogging towards him before he had the chance to try and stand.

She gently carries him inside. He hasn't cried, he hasn't whimpered. Honestly, it would've been odd if he did—Tanner was not a crier. His lip never even trembled when he had fallen off his bike and gotten a bruise that covered his entire ribcage a few weeks before. He's brave. Resilient. Tough. And for the next few months he needs to continue to be.

Carefully, she places him on the vanity by the sink and starts lifting his shirt and pant legs to check over him. He was perfectly okay minus the ever-present bruises and the scratches that now mar his forearms. He slowly runs his finger over them—gauging the damage—before looking back up at her.

"Can you fix it, Mama?"

Smiling, she runs her fingers through his curly brown hair. "I certainly can, my sweet boy."

She reaches down into one of the drawers and pulls out some peroxide, Neosporin, and a bandage. In awe, he watches as the peroxide hits his skin and instantly bubbles up. "That looks funny."

Grinning, she pats his arm dry and starts to apply the Neosporin. "Is it?"

He fervently nods. "Yeah. My arm was blowing bubbles!"

She gives it an extra pat and then kisses the top of the gauze. "All better?"

He pulls on her blouse until she comes closer and his arms instantly wrap around her, his head burrowing against her stomach. "Yep," he gives an exaggerated nod, "You always make me better."