Page 86 of Courage, Dear Heart

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

Am I okay? I want to laugh, but I don’t. “Yes. Better than I’ve been in a long time.”

He places two fingers under my chin and tries to tilt my head up, but I’m not ready to face him yet. “Give me a moment, please.”

His hands resume makingcircles on my back.

I sigh and push away from him. Lift my eyes to his.

His gaze searches my face. “Did I hurt you?”

I smile. My lips tremble. “Not at all.”

“Why are you crying then?”

“Because.” I fill my lungs with air, then release. “Because I think I had an emotional breakthrough.”

His head tilts. “What do you mean?”

I shake my head. How can I put into words the emotional hurricane I’ve experienced in the last few minutes? “I’m still processing it. You didn’t hurt me. This is good. It’s a good thing.”

He nods. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“What did you mean when you said you were free?”

I smile. “I’m free to move forward and be me again.”

Elliott kisses my forehead and pulls me into his chest. His arms hold me to him and he sways left to right and back again like he’s soothing a child. Or perhaps soothing himself.

We walk back to my apartment, Elliott’s arms loaded with the extra food he ordered and insisted I take home. Enough to keep me from cooking for a couple of days and to share with Sheila, too. When we walk upstairs, the house is dark but for the flickering light from the TV. Daisy is thankfully quiet inside her covered cage. Thank goodness for the blackout cover I invested in. We got awakened at the crack of dawn way too many times as Daisy likes to screechgood morningwith the first sunlight coming through the windows.

Sheila smiles from her spot on the sofa and puts a fingerto her lips. Jamie is asleep, his head on her lap and a blanket over him as Sheila gently rubs his back.

Elliott and I tiptoe to the kitchen, and he sets the food on the counter. We go back into the living room. “There’s lots of food if you’re hungry,” I whisper. “From Frijoles.”

Her eyes widen. Sheila is a foodie. “Hell yes,” she whispers back and slowly extricates herself from under Jamie, who settles back into the sofa.

We follow Sheila to the small kitchen, and I set the takeout containers out for her to pick.

Sheila leans over, checking out the many options. “What did you do? Order the entire menu?”

Elliott’s hands go up in a defensive gesture. “She said she wanted one of everything.”

She laughs. “Hey, I’m not complaining. Order all you want, but make sure to bring me the leftovers.”

I grab a plate, utensils, and a paper napkin for her. “Help yourself. Come back tomorrow for lunch. There’s plenty.”

Sheila opens a container and takes a healthy portion of enchilada. “Oh, I will. We should take this to the park and have a picnic.”

“That’s a great idea. Jamie would love that.” I look at Elliott. “Want to join us?”

Elliott’s shoulders slump. “I wish I could. I have a lunch meeting with a client.”

“On a Sunday?” My smile falters. “That’s okay. We can get together later.”

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