Chapter 4

4: 4

By the time we got back to the complex from the hotel, the rain had picked up.

Mom had barely reached the entrance when a cramp doubled her over.

She'd taken the painkiller on an empty stomach, and cold sweat was already soaking the hair at her temples.

I helped her inside, and when she saw the elevator numbers climbing, she grabbed my arm at once.

"Don't take me up to your place. Just find a bathroom down here."

"The stores outside are all closed."

"Then I'll hold it."

Hold it. Again.

I didn't listen to her. I pressed the floor button.

When the doors opened, Damian was in the entryway, changing his shoes.

He saw the rain soaking through Mom's pant legs, and his first move was to reach for the disinfectant spray.

I caught his hand.

"She's got stomach pain. She needs to borrow the bathroom."

Mom braced herself against the wall, her voice thin and shaking.

"I'll leave right away. I'll wipe the floor clean."

Damian glanced toward the living room.

Annette was slumped on the sofa on oxygen, and Winona still had my coat draped over her shoulders.

He lowered his voice.

"Aunt Annette's immune system is very weak. You two just came in from outside, your clothes are soaked with rain. There's a bathroom in the clubhouse downstairs. I'll have the driver take you over."

"She can't walk anymore."

"Then go to the hospital."

"The bathroom is right behind you."

His brow drew tighter, notch by notch.

"Millicent, do you have to pick this exact moment to fight me? It's not that I won't let your mom use it. There's a sick person in this house. If she tracks in bacteria, who's going to answer for it?"

Mom pressed a hand to her stomach and gave me a small tug.

"Never mind. I can walk."

She'd just turned around when Annette suddenly heaved.

Damian practically lunged, dropping to his knees on the floor to hold her by the shoulders. She didn't get to the trash can in time and threw up all over his hands, medicine residue spattering the front of his shirt.

He didn't so much as frown. He only soothed her, low and gentle: "It's okay, take your time, don't choke."

On the entryway tile, all Mom had left were a few faint wet footprints, and he found those filthy.

Annette vomited on him, and all he cared about was how bad she felt.

Mom's hand slowly slid off my arm.

She didn't say anything. Head down, she started toward the elevator.

I was about to follow when Damian handed Annette off to Winona, rinsed his hands quickly, and hurried out after me.

"Wait."

He reached up to wipe the rain from my temple, his tone settling back into that familiar softness.

"I spoke too harshly just now. Don't make that face. Your stomach isn't good either. I'll have the driver take you both to the hospital in a bit. Come back tonight and I'll make you noodles."

The moment the pad of his finger touched my face, my stomach turned.

I jerked back, pulled that bottle of disinfectant spray from his suit pocket, and gave the skin he'd touched three pumps.

Damian's hand froze in midair, the color draining from his face.

"What is this supposed to mean?"

I pushed the spray back into his palm.

"I used to be afraid you'd find me dirty, and afraid you'd find my mother dirty. Every time I brought her here, I'd be apologizing for her before I even got in the door."

The elevator doors slid open.

I steadied Mom, took the key and my ring out of my bag, and set them together on the doormat by the door, the one printed with "Welcome Home."

Damian stared at those two things and laughed.

"Don't put on such a ruthless act. If you really meant it, you wouldn't have come back last night for the marriage certificate."

"I came back for it so I could leave."

His throat moved, and his voice went suddenly tight.

"You walk out that door, don't call me at midnight with your stomach hurting. I won't come get you every time."

In the past, all he had to do was say he wouldn't take care of me and I'd turn back.

This time, I pressed the close button.

Through the last inch of the closing gap, Damian was still holding out his hand.

He looked down at the disinfectant in his palm, and the bottle slipped between his fingers.

That hand, the one that never let anything escape its control, was shaking for the first time, too unsteady to hold on.