Page 83 of The Tattered Gloves
I lifted my head and watched him walk back to the door, finding a place on the floor to rest. I didn’t know how long we sat like that — me nearly rocking back and forth on the stool behind the counter, my breath heavy and uneven, while he sat on the floor, probably wondering what the heck was wrong with me.
“I’ve been told I’m an excellent listener,” he finally said softly.
“By who?” I asked.
“Whom.”
“What?”
“It’s not bywho; it’s bywhom. Just demonstrating my superior listening skills for you.”
My eyebrow lifted as I found his faint smile across the room.
“My sister,” he answered. “I think I’ve mentioned to you that, out of the two of us, she took my mother leaving the hardest. Often, late at night, I’d find her crying instead of sleeping. Talking was the only way to keep the tears away, so that was what we’d do, sometimes all night. But it helped. Even me,” he admitted.
“Head down. Don’t look up. Never make eye contact.Those were the rules in my house, growing up. I was to keep out of the way, shut up, and pretend I didn’t exist,” I said in one quick breath. “I played my part well, staying out of sight for as long as I could. Until I couldn’t anymore.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice distant.
“The men who frequented our place weren’t always the best men, something my mother constantly reminded me of. When I was little, I would convince myself that she did this to protect me, but I soon came to realize, she was blaming me for her crappy clientele. No one wanted to see a kid running around when they came to have a good time.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No,” I agreed. “But it was the truth. It’s why she made me all but hide when I started to get older, fearing some of the less-than-savory men would try their luck with me rather than actually pay for any services she offered.”
“Willow, no.”
I could hear the agony in his voice as he came to the realization of my words.
“I should have stayed in my bedroom,” I said meekly. Looking down at my gloved hands, I remembered the first time I’d put them on.
“I didn’t move for what felt like days, but in reality, it was just a few hours. All I could hear was the sound of my mother’s voice as she paced the floor. She was angry that I hadn’t listened. Angry that some dirty scumbag had taken advantage of her.”
“Ofher?” he interrupted.
I nodded, meeting his pained expression. “He hadn’t paid her.”
“I’m going to ask you a question,” he said, “and feel free to say no, but it’s killing me to sit against this wall when you’re so far away. If I promise not to touch you and I turn on the lights… hell, I’ll even tiptoe over there like a freaking fairy, can I please sit next to you?”
“Yes,” I found myself instantly agreeing.
He did as he’d promised, slipping off his shoes before he flipped on the lights. He moved carefully across the store, checking on me each step of the way to ensure I wasn’t in any distress.
“I’m okay,” I assured him.
Sam took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, as he found a spot on the floor next to me by the old counter. I was seated on the stool in front of the cash register, so the angle was awkward.
But he was right.
It was better to have him close by.
“I was lying in my room, staring at the wall, shaking, because I had no tears left to cry, and that was when I saw them, balled up in a corner.”
“The gloves?”
“I must have thrown them there and forgotten about them. I’m not the neatest person. But, in that moment, they looked safe and warm… everything I wasn’t. So, I crawled off the bed and slipped them on. It felt like armor, and I just knew I was never going to take them off again.”
“Can I ask you something?” he said, looking up at me from his spot on the dusty floor.
