When he’s settled, he asks me if I’m okay. It surprises me, and I don’t know why. He’s made sure I’ve been okay since I arrived in Cheyenne.
Please let this be real.
The dryer tumbles softly down the hall, and everything seems strangely okay. “I’m good.”
“You’ll tell me if that changes?”
“I can if you want me to.”
“I do.”
My heart skips a happy little beat. It’s been doing some funny things lately, and I’m not sure if I can trust it.
We’re quiet for several long minutes, and I wonder if he’s fallen asleep. I’m too scared to turn around and look.
“Rage?”
“Yeah.”
“You said you understood how I was feeling …” I pause, unsure if I should finish my thought. But the image of the little boy I envisioned earlier whispers to me to press on. “I’m sorry you understand.” Internally I cringe, worried I’ve assumed too much.
“Me too,” he says quietly, almost as if to himself.
My system floods with relief and connection before turning to heartbreak. Slowly I roll over and find him facing me.
His eyes connect with mine, and he doesn’t look away. He doesn’t shy away from the truth of his story or mine. Each of us remain on our own side of the bed, but he is touching me in ways I didn’t know possible.
We don’t say anything else, and we remain locked in a different sort of embrace. More intimate than any physical one I’ve ever had. I don’t think I’ve ever stared into someone’s eyes this long.
My eyelids get heavy, and I begin to blink slowly.
When I open them again, it’s morning. I hear Mila talking to someone. I jump up, careful not to wake Rage as he sleeps. His arm is thrown over his eyes to block out the sun peeking through the curtains.
Oh my god. How did we sleep through someone coming into the house?
“This one is yours,” I hear Mila say.
I rush around the corner to find her trying to put one of her little headbands on Peanut’s big head.
The dog gives me the funniest look. He’s not fond of his makeover.
“What are you two doing in here?” I ask, lowering myself to the floor beside them.
“Me and doggy playing.” She turns back to the baby dolls she has lined up on the floor. I watch as she gives one a bottle. “Baby eating.”
She’s talking so much better, and her color has improved a lot. I think getting outside really helped.
“Is Mila hungry?”
She rubs her little tummy and nods.
“Do you want to help me cook breakfast this morning?”
She jumps to her feet and runs out the door toward the kitchen. Peanut follows, not letting her get more than two steps in front of him.
I’ll take her enthusiasm as a yes. Mila has changed so much overnight. It makes me excited for Rage to wake up and see her progress.
A little flutter erupts in the pit of my stomach at the thought of him.