A weak finger pointed across the way and I’m moving again, yanking him along with me.
“Fuck, man. I think you broke my nose.”
“Idefinitelybroke your nose.” I slam him against the driver’s side door. “Should I do it again?”
One hand cupped over his face, he shakes his head in a panic.
I want to stay and beat him into a bloody pulp, break a dozen more bones in his body. But I want to get back to Hannah more.
“Get the hell out of here. I’ll deal with you later!” I shove him hard into the metal and back off a step. Fists poised at my side in case he decides to do something stupid, I stand at the ready until he climbs into his car and drives off.
Back inside, I run through the aisles, dutifully ignoring every curious stare. My focus is singular: find her.
Outside the bathroom a crowd has formed, concerned looks and hushed whispers shared among them.
“Did you see what happened?”
“She’s crying.”
“Should we call someone?”
“Excuse me,” I say. A dozen synchronized eyes turn toward me.
Silence falls over the tight hallway. My patience wanes as I shoulder my way through the trench of bodies until I’m at the door to the ladies’ room.
One middle-aged woman stops me before I can push my way inside. I meet her gaze. A fierce protectiveness stares back at me—maybe a mom, or a grandmother. My face remains sharp with anger, so I soften my expression as best as the rush of adrenaline coursing through my limbs will let me.
I place my hand gently on top of the one she has on my forearm. “It’s alright. I’ve got her.”
What she sees in my eyes—that desperate, hopeless kind of love—must be enough because she lets go. And with one terse nod, she steps away, taking the rest of the onlookers with her.
On a deep breath, I ease the door forward. “Hannah?” No answer. “It’s just me, okay?”
I step inside quietly, dragging the trash can over to prop the door open. Soft cries echo through the tiny space. Beneath the door of the handicap stall, I see her crouched onto her haunches. I mirror her position outside the stall door, leaning against the wall.
“He’s gone, I promise.” Another muffled sob. “Let’s go home.”
She cries again, and it hurts more than any battle wound I’ve ever gotten.I wasn’t there. I’m never there.Three aisles away, butstillnot close enough to be there when she needed me the most. I press my head against the wall, hard enough to feel the drywall buckle.
For long minutes, we sit in silence, nothing but a metal partition and a thousand unspoken words between us. She sobs, a tear falls down my cheek. She sniffs, a piece of my heart fractures.
I wait and I wait, my legs numb and heart pounding.
Then, a hand. No, not a hand. Her pinky finger stretches out under the door, reaching for me.
I link mine with hers. “Talk to me, baby.”
Her heels shuffle and she lets go. I stand to my feet with her, wait for the door to open. It finally does and everything about her hits me straight in the chest. Mascara tracks, puffy eyes, red nose, and a spirit-crushing set to her frame.
She inches toward me, feet timid, arms curling under mine to clutchmy shoulders. Her chest hiccups on her fading sobs, and all I can do is wrap myself around her. Run a soothing hand over her spine. Kiss her brow.
Hannah doesn’t speak as I lead her through the market and out to my truck. She doesn’t say a word for the hour drive back to the lake house either. And when we step inside, she closes herself in the bathroom and cranks on the shower without once looking back.
I abandoned our groceries at the store, so I set about warming up the half-eaten chicken pot pie in the oven.
Thirty minutes later, dinner is cooling on the counter and the shower still blasts on the other side of the bathroom door.
I knock softly, but she doesn’t respond. I knock again, firmer this time. “Hannah?” Still no answer.