Page 94 of A Wolf After My Own Heart
“Your car’s gotta elevator? Cool.”
kicked the car door closed, and started up the sidewalk. Mama Mac must have heard him pull in, because by the time he got to the kitchen door she was holding it open for him.
“The lady likes rum,” she said, smiling at them both.
“The lady fugging—fucking—loves rummmmm,” Lila slurred, snuggling into Oz’s chest. “Sorry ’bout the fucking.”
Mama’s eyebrows arched, and Oz rushed to fill the gap: “Not actual fucking. That’s not what we—it was a movie. In a palace! And Cokes with a tiny bit of alcohol, but no fucking. She’s apologizing for the swearing.”
“I gathered, Oz. One of these days when you fall over yourself explaining the obvious, you’re gonna have a nervous breakdown.” Mama went to the fridge, pulled out a bottle of water, came back, dropped it in Lila’s tote.
“Thanks, Mama.”
“No problem, m’boy. Get to bed, it’s late.”
“You, too.”
“By and by,” she replied, and he knew she was staying up to check on the cubs a few more times. She stroked Lila’s curls away from her forehead. “Good night, darling.”
“Yr chili wuz good.”
“Thank you.”
Up, up, up the stairs, where Lila’s bedroom door was open, thank God. He carefully laid her on the bed, and while he set the bottle of water on her nightstand, she yawned and sat up, fumbling with her turtleneck.
“Ugh, it’s a million billion degrees in here. How can you stand it? I can’t mmmf mmffff mmmelp!”
He hastily moved and helped her pull her sweater off, revealing a navy-blue tank top. “There you go, hon.”
“You saved me! Don’t call me hon. Makes me think of Attila.”
“Got it. I…oh, Jesus. Lila.” He stared at her, saw—and felt—the burn scars; there was plenty of light from the hallway. He gently grasped her hands and turned them wrists up and saw the patches of burn scars on the tender underside of her arms, too. Her hands were surprisingly clear, except the underside of one palm. “You said you weren’t hurt.”
“Said I was barely hurt. Which is mathematically fac…factshul…true. Eleven percent burns is barely cuz thirteen isn’t sixty or eighty or ninety-five. It’s not as good as zero percent, though, which is what my mom got.”
“Lila…” He held her wrists and stroked the scars he could reach. How had he not noticed this when she was in his arms dressed in nothing but a towel? he asked himself.
And answered himself: because he hadn’t been thinking with hisbighead, plain and simple. The flesh was rough, ragged, but she shivered a little—still some nerve function, then. He realized for the first time that he had always seen her in sweaters or long sleeves. Even her sleeping shirt had long sleeves. He’d assumed it was the weather. And he’d always taken her right hand, not the one with the scarred palm and wrist. Pure luck. And when she had reached out for him
(oh GOD I want her to reach out for me)
it was always with her right hand.
“It was dumb. I was dumb. Tried to grab some of Mom’s stuff so she wouldn’t be so mad.” Lila shrugged. “Didn’t work.”
Didn’t work as in “I was unable to grasp the items in question” or didn’t work as in “My mother was not appreciative of my efforts”? He had a horrid feeling he knew which it was.
She was fully prepared to go into Mama’s house for Dev.
“Your mother,” he managed through gritted teeth, “is a worthless twat.”
“Whoa! Well, that’s fair. Y’know what? It doesn’t smell so much like smoke in here now.”
“Said I’d fix it, didn’t I?” How, he had no idea. But he would. Somehow.How do you fight phantom smoke?“I’ll do anything you want. Anytime.”
“Won’t work,” she sighed, lying down and rolling over to her side, pulling her pillow in close and snuggling up to it. “Never does with me. And thass okay, I expect it. I just wanted to let you know what you were up ’gainst.”
He draped the blanket over her. “Good night, Lila.”
