Page 42 of Safe With Me
Topping each sandwich, Jase cut them in half and laid the plates on the beat-up Formica table that had probably been in the cabin since the fifties. The place came furnished with the farm manager job, and I’d jumped on it. I’d swapped out the sagging couch and hard mattress once I’d gotten my feet under me, but who needed anything more than a basic table?
“Adores is a strong word, man.” I set his bottle next to his plate and dropped into my chair. “Right now, ‘like’ is a strong word for how Hannah feels.”
“She’s hurt.” Jase bit off a huge bite and chewed, pondering. His brows dipped together in a sharp frown. “Doesn’t mean she doesn’t love her sister. The crazy thing is Elizabeth is closer to Hannah than she is Gracie. She was still in middle school whenGracie got married, so she spent more time with Hannah, even after Hannah went to live with Ted and Tilda.”
“I don’t know what to do.” I stared at my sandwich. Hunger twisted through my belly – I’d had a stale scone at Hannah’s before we’d engaged in a tiff about whether or not we were going to church. She’d opted to stay home and had basically told me to get out when I’d tried to coax her into going with me. I’d gone – I mean, I’d already pushed my luck two nights in a row and I wanted her to let me back in. My stomach wanted that sandwich. My stress level said fuck, no. “Elizabeth has lost it, and Hannah won’t leave the fucking house.”
“Know what I’ve learned about Elizabeth in the last six months? She’s going to do what she wants to do. Nothing anybody says is going to change that.” Jase tapped a finger on the table beside his plate. “That channel, man . . . it fucking ruined everything. And Hannah? Don’t blame her for wanting to avoid the shit.”
“I don’t blame her.” I hated her self-isolation, but I didn’t blame her. Her life being limited by Elizabeth’s bullshit pissed me the hell off. Now I was ticked at myself for asking about church this morning and sparking the fear I’d glimpsed in her.
She was afraid to set foot outside. I didn’t know how to help her, adding to the anger that I knew – but didn’t want to admit – was a cover for fear of my own, a heavy dread that Elizabeth hadn’t just harmed Hannah’s life, but had done irreparable damage to Hannah herself.
Not my Hannah, smart and mischievous and fearless. I hated seeing her boxed into her home.
“Maybe if you talked to her.” I dared a bite, the thick-cut wheat bread and turkey like sawdust.
“Hannah?” Jase crunched into his pickle spear.
“Elizabeth.”
“Pfft.” With a grimace, Jase shook his head. “Nope. Won’t work. Not getting sucked back into beating my head against that wall.”
“Yeah.” Like I knew I was afraid, I also knew I was grasping at straws. Elizabeth was hellbent on whatever she hoped to accomplish. Finding a way to stop her was a concrete goal, something I could define.
Because I couldn’t see enough of Hannah’s hurt to know how to help. I wanted to protect her – and yeah, I got the irony since I’d been part of the problem a few short days ago – and I wanted to help her move beyond the trauma Elizabeth had inflicted. But this pain felt huge, and if I knew anything about life, I knew about healing from big pain.
It was a bitch and it took fucking forever.
I didn’t want Hannah to have to fight through that, and it was too fucking late to save her from it. Hell, I’d helped inflict it on her.
And I mean, for fucking real, what was I going to do? I could sleep on her couch every night, but that was more for me than her, to make me feel in control about those assholes writing vile comments. I could hold her when she cried, although those sobs felt like someone reached inside me and ripped my heart and lungs straight out. I could leave gifts on her porch and feed her and kiss her with a gentleness that belonged only to her . . . but what the fuck could I do to repair having family turn on her? Not her mama, who was a piece of work and always had been, but her sister, the one she’d loved hard since meeting her in the hospital when Elizabeth was only a few hours old?
I’d heard that story, how Hannah didn’t want Gracie to touch Elizabeth because it washerbaby sister and she didn’t want to share.
My dumbass was going to help her move forward from losing that. Sure. I’d stumbled my way through the days after Mama had been killed, and I’d been a desperate mess when Daddy had done what he had done. I still hadn’t put myself all the way back together, and here I was thinking I’d be able to do something for Hannah.
Right.
“You gonna eat that sandwich or keep stabbing it with your finger?” Jase tilted his bottle toward me and waved it in a circle.
“Not hungry.” I pushed the plate away. Rubbing a hand down my face, I released a long breath. “This shit sucks. Elizabeth messed up, but I fucked up harder, man. I wasn’t thinking, and . . . I don’t know how to come back from this.”
“Time.” Jase polished off his food. “Consistency. All you can do is show her you’ll be there. That you learned and can be trusted.”
“She didn’t completely kick me out of her life.” I passed my thumb over my bottle, chasing a droplet of condensation. “Let me hang out on her couch the last couple of nights. Guess there’s hope.”
I didn’t tell him about Hannah falling apart and letting me hold her. That shit was private. Hannah’s pain was private.
“So you can’t fix what Elizabeth’s done.” Jase reached for the untouched half of my sandwich. He waved it in punctuation before taking a bite. “But Hannah’s reasonable, and you can probably fix what your dumb ass did.”
Maybe. I hoped so. I wanted to.
Jase took off after he finished my sandwich, too. With my work clothes in the dryer, I ran the vacuum and tried to see the cabin through Hannah’s eyes. Now I’d been in her little house, with its rich colors and fabrics and smells, my place looked downright empty. Not that I’d tried to decorate or anything –all I’d been interested in was a place to eat and sleep that didn’t mean I was taking up space in somebody else’s house. Haunted by the loss of the farm, then Daddy, I’d been too desperate to save as much money as I could to be worried about what the place where I slept looked like.
I liked Hannah’s, though, how soft blankets and squishy pillows on the couch invited a touch or how the air always smelled like herbs and the best of the forest. Being there was like being wrapped up in Hannah herself. Elizabeth had stolen some of that by passing Hannah’s work and ideas off as her own, and that pissed me the hell off. Seeing Hannah diminished in any way twisted a heavy knot in my gut.
While I put laundry away, I fired off a text to Hannah –need anything from the store before I head that way?
