“We’re at my house, Ren,” he told her as he laid her on the couch. “When you wake up, if you want to go to Brooklyn’s, I’ll take you.” He said the words as though she could hear him. Graham covered her with an afghan his grandmother had made many years ago and kneeled next to her, brushing her hair away from her eyes. “I don’t know what he did, but I’m here when you need me.”
With those words, he went outside and back to the car to get her things. When he walked back into his houseboat, she was on her side, her back facing him. He was tired, but his concern for his friend outweighed his need for sleep. Instead of going upstairs to sleep, he brought his weighted blanket and comforter down from his room. He added the comforter to Rennie, knowing the afghan wouldn’t be enough, and he settled into the chair for what was going to undoubtedly be the most uncomfortable night of sleep he had ever had.
NINETEEN
Rennie woke to the smell of freshly brewed coffee, the sound of birds squawking, and the . . . ocean. It took her a long minute to remember where she was, and when she rolled over to verify her surroundings, she almost fell off whatever she was sleeping on, her back screaming in protest, and her legs flailed about until one planted firmly on the ground. She sat up and looked around for Graham and saw him sitting on his patio, reading the newspaper. The sliding glass door was open a smidge, enough to let the cool ocean breeze in. Next to the couch sat her suitcase. She stood, picked it up, and made her way to the bathroom, afraid to turn on the light. The last thing she wanted to see was how wretched she looked or what Graham had to see when he picked her up last night. Rennie closed her eyes, flipped the light switch on, and braced her hands against the ledge of the counter.
When she opened her eyes, she saw pain, suffering, and anger staring back at her. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, her cheeks stained with makeup.
When she stared at her reflection, she thought back to the last twenty-four hours and how everything fell apart . . . or had it? Maybe life had finally come to fruition. Maybe there was a deeper meaning to what she was feeling.
The knock at the door startled her. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
“The pump’s on so you can shower. There are fresh towels under the sink. Can I get you anything?” His voice was so kind and caring. She owed Graham an apology for how she acted last night—how she ignored him when all he tried to do was get her to talk to him. Yet, he never gave up. She’d heard every word he had said to her.
“Coffee, please.”
“Of course, Ren.”
Because his place was small, she could easily hear him walk the few feet to the kitchen. She heard him fumble around, likely popping another pod into the coffee maker or setting a cup under the dispenser. She turned on the water for the shower, undressed, and stepped into the stand-up. The water felt good, and as much as she wanted to stay under the hot spray for an eternity, she knew from Graham’s stories that hot water on the houseboat didn’t last very long. She washed her hair and body, using his soap even though she had her own in her suitcase. But there was something about the way Graham smelled. It appealed to her, comforted her.
When she emerged from the shower, she pulled her damp hair into a bun and dried off. She dressed in a pair of lounge pants and an oversize sweatshirt belonging to Graham, which she had found hanging on a hook behind the door. Her cup of coffee was sitting on the counter, along with a blueberry muffin, when she came out of the bathroom. She took her breakfast outside and made herself comfortable.
“Nice sweatshirt.”
She pulled the fabric to her nose and inhaled deeply. “It smells like you.”
“And that’s a good thing?” he asked. Graham closed and folded the paper and set it on the table between them.
“It’s a great thing,” she replied. “It’s comfort, and I need that right now.”
He nodded and took his cup back into the house and into the kitchen. Again, she heard him fumbling around, making another cup for himself. She watched the harbor and counted five boats trolling around. There was also a couple in two kayaks who were staying reasonably close to the shore. “Isn’t that dangerous?” she asked when she sensed Graham’s presence. She closed her eyes when she felt a blanket wrap around her shoulders.
“You’re going to catch a cold with your wet hair,” he told her as he sat down. “And yes, it is dangerous, which is why I’ve been sitting out here since I saw them walk down the dock over there.”