Mara was tempted to simply fall asleep in the bath, and if she slipped beneath the water and drowned, well… so be it. But Eli was watching her son, and her son was in his beastly indoor manifestation, and it wouldn’t be polite to give up and die and leave the poor man to babysit eternally. So she scrubbed herself clean and climbed reluctantly out of the tub while the water was still warm.
She’d kept a set of clothes clean, which she dug out and tossed on the bed, eyeing the door separating her room from its neighbor. She trusted Eli not to barge in while she was naked, but she had no such faith in Nick. Padding over to the door, still wrapped in her towel, she turned the deadbolt just in case.
She got dressed, combed her hair, and wove the damp curls into a braid so they wouldn’t dry into an unmanageable halo. Then she pulled in a deep, steadying breath, and unlocked the door, giving it a knock before tugging it open.
“Hello?” She peeked her head in and found the room completely dismantled. Dank Depths, had her son done this much damage in so short a time? The duvet had been removed from the bed and draped over what looked like a small dining table in the corner, the chairs to which had been turned upside down and placed in a suspiciously neat line in the center of the room. The empty drawers had been pulled from the dresser and placed on end against one wall, evenly spaced out. “What…”
Eli sat against the wall by the other door, legs outstretched. He caught her eye and smiled, but held up a hand. “You’ll want to stay back. He’s about to make another run, and he’s determined to beat his time. I don’t think he’ll slow down to go around you.”
“What are—”
All her questions were answered when movement caught her eye as Nick exploded from the armchair in the corner by the window. Fighting the draped duvet, he climbed under the table, disappearing for a minute before wrestling his way free of the makeshift curtain. He ran to the bed and hopped up, crawled across it, and hopped down. Ran to the drawers against the wall and clambered over them, taking meticulous care not to knock them over–no small feat with such small legs. Finally, he ran to the overturned chairs and flopped onto his belly, shimmying beneath the small space made by the back and seat.
“Hey, hey,” Eli called. “No using your legs on the chair tunnel.”
Nick, Mara noticed, didn’t stop using his legs. But he at least used them less, pulling himself by his arms. When he emerged from beneath the chairs he popped to his feet and hurled himself forward, only saved from braining himself on the door jamb by Eli’s hand, scooping him back and away from danger.
“That was your best time yet,” Eli declared. “Seven seconds.”
Nick cheered. Mara was dubious. It had taken seven seconds for him just to clear the last chair.
“Well,” she said, entering the room now that it was safe and leaning against the stripped bed. “Your knack for Nick-wrangling extends to indoor spaces as well. This is clever.”
The answering smile had just enough strain to it, she got the sudden, distinct impression that he’d not come up with this idea on his own. The joy in it, the clever utilization of ordinary objects for the sake of fun and adventure–the whole setup tasted bittersweetly of Davy. Was this a game they had played together as children?
“Alright, my love,” she said, clapping her hands and driving that thought–and the desire it brought forth to lay down and weep herself dry–from her mind. “Let’s help Eli set his room to rights so he can have a bath.”
She and Eli straightened the room while Nick offered his usual brand of nonhelp, and by the time Eli’s tub was full, the obstacle course had been converted back to regular inn-room furnishings.
Back in her own room, she had Nick help her pull the dirty clothes out of her pack to send to the laundry, repacked the precious items into the small drawstring bag she used for Nick’s things, and generally kept her hands and her mind busy. Until, of course, there was nothing left to do except sit and watch Nick poke about the room, discover the remains of the soap by the tub, and squish it to flaky goo between his hands.
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She was pondering the risk and potential reward of stopping Nick from further mutilating the soap when Eli knocked on her door and said he’d be ready to go in five minutes, if she wanted to eat supper.
Eli met her in the hallway, but stopped her just as she was locking her door, her small satchel of precious objects over her shoulder and her son on her hip.
“Lorraine and her partner invited us for supper,” he said.
Too much, Mara’s brain screamed. Not right now.
“That was nice of them,” she said.
“They have a daughter, Adeline. She’s a couple years older than Nick.”
“That’s nice.” She did love for Nick to play with other children. It was so hard, finding friends for him amidst all the machinations.
“And it started raining while we were cleaning up.”
Mara knew. The first splatter of droplets had struck the thick-paned window while she bathed.
“We could eat in the barroom, but it’s already on its way to crowded and I don’t know if–”
“You don’t have to talk me into it,” she snapped–snapped–at the man who had, for reasons that still eluded her, risked his life to escort her this far. Had healed her, fed her, sheltered her, protected her, cared for and entertained her son. Had done everything in his power to make every step of this miserable journey less miserable. She snapped at him.
Because she did not want to eat dinner with his friend, who was happy to see him instead of sad to see him without Davy.
She didn’t want to smile and make small talk beneath layers of veiled pity and forced cheer, because she was such a terrible mother, she couldn’t bear to tell her son that his father was dead.
She would rather have gone out in the rain. Rather have sat in the crowded barroom. Rather have tucked herself into bed, fully clothed with an empty stomach.
But Nick needed food, and Eli needed a night among friends, so of course they were going to accept the generous invitation.
“I’m not…” I’m not a selfish cretin. I’m just sad. “I’m sorry. Really, though, I don’t need convincing. I’d love to meet your friends.”
“They’re not just my friends,” he said, in that low, even tone she hated so much because it always took the fire out of her. “They’re Davy’s. They’ve wanted to meet you for years.” Before she could decide how to respond to that, he went on. “Just so you’re prepared–Lori’s partner is a woman. Her name is Becca.”
Mara opened her mouth, and then she closed it. What was there to say? She’d known such things happened. She read books. She spoke to people. She knew the love a woman shared with a man–the sweaty sheets and shared futures kind of love–could be shared between a woman and another woman. Between a man and another man. Between people whose form and format defied the definable reaches of the scale between woman and man.
She’d even seen it–quietly, at the very edges of what was spoken and shared. But she’d never done anything like share a meal with two women who loved each other in the light of day and, apparently, shared a daughter. The Order’s rules made such a thing unthinkable. Unknowable. How should she behave? What should she do?
“Will that be a problem?”
The blunt edge to Eli’s voice brought her attention to him. His eyes were narrow, and she wondered what he would say if she told him it would be? How would he choose, between the honor of his friends and his commitment to her?
“Of course not,” she said, because of course, it wasn’t a problem. Of course, even if it was a problem, she wouldn’t force him to make such a choice. “I’m not… I would never take issue. It just took me aback. I’m not used to it.”
His posture relaxed and he reached out and took Nick from her arms–an exchange they’d done so many times over the past few weeks she almost didn’t notice it happen. “You will be. Things are different outside the Order’s control.”
“So I’ve been told,” she said, as she followed him toward the stairs. “That’s what we’re all counting on, isn’t it?”