Page 64 of Gifts

Asa rounded us up quick-like, I said goodbye to my new wino friends, and we were off. I didn’t know where we were off to and I didn’t care. I was sitting in the most comfortable seat in automotive history, so I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. The last thing I heard was Saylor and Asa discussing lo mein.

The next thing I know, car doors are slamming and when I feel a touch on my chin, Chinese food mixed with new car smell engulf me. My eyes flutter open and all I see is Asa. “You’re home, baby. Go on in.”

“Where are the kids?” I ask.

“In the house, probably ransacking your kitchen.”

The thought of standing exhausts me further, so I state the obvious. “I drank too much.”

He smirks. “It’s okay.”

I shake my head. “It’s not. I can’t day drink. It makes me tired and my kids are too little—they need me.”

“I’m here,” he says. “It’s not like they’re on their own. Give yourself a break. You had a bad day yesterday.”

I close my eyes and let my head fall back to keep it from spinning. “I did get shot.”

Asa lowers his voice. “Don’t joke about that.”

I roll my head on the cushiest headrest ever and barely open my eyes. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

“Come inside and eat.” He gets out of my loaner, but I don’t move.

When he opens my door, I shake my head. “I’ll just sit here. This is more comfortable than my bed.”

He takes my hand and pulls me out. “I know for a fact that’s not true.”

When I’m standing toe-to-toe with him, I lean into his chest and tip my head back. “You liked my bed?”

He dips his hand in my hair and leans down to kiss me. “I did.”

“It’s new.” For some reason, I feel the need to fill him in on this and the wine is making me talkish. “You should know that. Because I’m me, and even though the CIA blabbered everything about my life, I’m not sure if they know the age of my bed. You should know when I got rid of David’s stuff, I got rid of that, too. I couldn’t stand to sleep on it. It was during my angry stage—my therapist concurred.”

Since I’m pressed against him, I feel him sigh when he shakes his head. He brings his hand up to cup my face. “The CIA doesn’t know the age of your bed.”

“Well, with all my other baggage,” I mumble, continuing, “you don’t have to worry about that. It’s new.”

He kisses me again. “I’m not worried about your baggage, baby.”

“Really?” I ask, wondering if he’s telling the truth. I mean, I’m a widow with two kids, a donkey, goats, mutts, barn cats, and a broken-down house. I’m not exactly a piñata party.

He gives me a squeeze. “Really. You give it all over to me—I can handle it.”

I shake my head, pushing away from him and let my words trail off, “You say that now…”

I somehow make my way through the garage and to the kitchen where all the kids are eating out of Chinese to-go containers. I need leggings and to not be wearing a bra. I leave the bra part out and announce, “I’m going to change.”

I end up in my room with every intention of taking off my bra and returning to eat all the Chinese food I can, but instead, I look at my new-ish bed that is still unmade from last night. If there’s one thing in life I don’t have time for, it’s making beds. Asa’s pillow is lying there where I left it this morning, so I sit and pull it to my face to see if it still smells like him.

It does.

I fall to my side, promising I’ll just smell it for a few seconds.

That’s when the day drinking takes over. I fall asleep smelling nothing but Asa.

Chapter 16

What do Assassins do for Fun on a Saturday Night?

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