Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 75861 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75861 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
No matter how distasteful I found it.
"Okay, let's get going then," I agreed, and we drove in silence, like both of us needed the space to slip back into our respective roles.
"Mrs. Ericsson," Maritza said as we walked in the front door, tone faux concerned while her eyes were accusatory. "We were worried. We almost called the senator."
At that, I expected her to shrink back like she always did, to become smaller. I was shocked to find her spine straightening, her chin lifting.
"My usual meeting with Dr. Patterson was pushed earlier at the last minute," she declared, sounding exasperated at the idea. "We had to get to the center by eight-thirty," she added, shaking her head.
And because of the travel time, that would mean we had to leave before they would have gotten in for their shift.
"Has there been any news?" Maritza asked.
To that, Jenny's eyes went sad. And there was no faking going on. She shook her head, looking down at her feet.
She hadn't taken her jacket off, acutely aware that she was still wearing the dress from the funeral.
"Oh, well. You never know, missus," Maritza said, giving her a nod before moving away to the kitchen. "I will put the kettle on for you. You must be frozen through."
As soon as she was out of sight, Jenny practically threw her jacket at me and made a dash for the stairs, coming down half an hour later, showered, redressed in jeans and a simple white sweater, her wet hair pulled into a side braid.
And it was the first time I had seen this woman looking exactly how she wanted to look. It wasn't just an external change, either. It was inside. It radiated through - a deep self-assuredness, a comfort in her own skin.
And, let me tell you, it was a fucking beautiful thing.
Maritza stopped short at seeing her, but knowing she couldn't say anything, didn't, just handed her the tea, and likely shuffled off to go talk shit to Lydia. And maybe even the senator.
"I am going to make some calls," Jenny told me when we were alone again.
"Calls?" I prompted when she didn't elaborate, not liking invading her privacy, but knowing her innocence in the eyes of everyone was dependent on how things went for the next few weeks and months.
"Our financial consultant, the attorney. I have a missed call from the attorney actually. I figure this is all stuff that widows have to deal with, even if they are grieving."
"That's true," I agreed. "Just don't volunteer any information. Let them do the talking with the lawyer. And if the finance guy asks, say Teddy was always in charge of the finances. Act embarrassed and say you just need to know how things stand, that sort of thing."
"Got it," she agreed, giving me a small smile. "Little steps toward freedom, right?" she asked, then turned away to go make her calls.
I wondered as I went upstairs to shower and change as well if things had changed. The air between us felt thick.
Was she putting space? Regretting the night before? Had she just been needy, wanting comfort, wanting the feel of kind hands after so many years only knowing those that wanted to hurt her?
Burning questions, all.
And not ones I could ask her.
At least not while the staff was around.
After her calls, she shut herself up in her craft room, and I chose not to interrupt her, instead calling to check in with the office, tossing all the shitty-smelling food Lydia had cooked, dragging out some ingredients to make something myself, only going up to knock after the food was ready, figuring she must be hungry again as well.
When she didn't answer, my heart started speeding open, knocking again, then opening the door.
Fine.
She was fine.
Just passed out on the girly bed, her project half-finished on the desk.
"Jenny," I said, reaching down to swipe some stray hair out of her face, watching as her eyes fluttered open. "I made..." I started, trailing off when her hand moved off the pillow, closing tightly around my wrist, pulling me down toward the bed with her.
Well, then.
Those burning questions were silently answered, then, weren't they?
Once I was on my side facing her, her hand left my wrist, planted on the side of my neck, her startling eyes watching me for a long moment.
"You okay?" I asked, arm sliding around her lower back.
"How long?" she asked instead of answering.
"How long for what?" I asked as her fingers toyed at the hair of my beard.
"Until we don't have to pretend that you're just my security detail."
Maybe it was cheesy to admit, but my heart stuttered at that, at the possibilities it meant for me, for her, for us, for the future. A future I was starting to have a hard time imagining not having her in it.