Proving Paul's Promise
Page 61

She’s not going to reply. I knew that before I sent the message. I tuck my phone under my pillow, just in case she does, and I close my eyes. I dream about her red lips and that perfect smile. And for the first time all week, I don’t wake up grasping for something I don’t have.
Friday
Henry keeps strange hours. It’s two in the morning, and he’s down in his shop working on clocks. Faith was here until around midnight working with him until her husband, Daniel, came to take her home.
I skip down the stairs and stop at the bottom. Henry has spread out pieces of a clock, and the tiny gears are all over the table in front of him.
He grins at me and shakes his head. “My Nan used to skip down those stairs just like that. She brought me coffee and snacks because I sometimes got so engrossed in my work I forgot to eat.”
“What are you working on?” I ask, handing him a cup of coffee.
He takes a sip and smiles at me over the rim. “Thanks,” he says. His eyes twinkle. He motions to what’s in front of him. “This clock is not cooperating,” he says. “It’s a stubborn bastard, but I refuse to let it win.” He laughs and picks up a tiny gear and shows it to me. “Do you see that? Sometimes it’s the smallest things that can set off a whole slew of symptoms. You have to dig really deep to find it, and you almost have to dismantle the whole thing. But if you’re willing to dig deep enough, you’ll almost always get there.”
He starts to put the clock back together. He’s wearing thick magnifying glasses that make his eyes look huge.
I sit down beside him and pick my feet up, spinning my chair in a circle like a child. He shakes his head. “Faithy used to do that when she was little. She still does, when she’s in a quirky mood. It’s usually a signal that she wants to talk.”
I lean forward, rest my elbow on the counter, and put my chin on my upturned palm. “What do you miss the most, Henry?” I ask softly.
He doesn’t even look up. “I miss the noise,” he says. “My Nan used to chatter like a magpie. She talked all the time. The woman never shut up. I used to have to kiss her so that I could get her to be quiet long enough to get a word in edgewise.” He takes a deep breath. “Yes. I miss the noise the most.” He looks up at me finally, and smiles. “It’s been really nice having you here this week,” he says. “A little noise in the house is a good thing.”
“Thank you for letting me hide out.”
He snorts. “Let me guess. It’s time for you to go back to your family.”
A smile tips the corners of my lips. “Paul just texted me.”
His brow arches. “Oh yeah?” He grins. “What did he have to say?”
“He pretty much said he’s a dumbass and he won’t be one again.”
Henry laughs.
My voice goes quiet. “He really said he’s been taking care of people his whole life, and it’s always been his job to solve everybody’s problems. It’s a hard habit to break.” I spin my chair around again. “What do you think?”
“I think he loves you.” He looks up and shrugs. “That’s all I think. He loves you. You love him. That much is obvious. What else do you need to know?”
I draw in a deep breath and spin.
“You need to know he won’t leave you? That he won’t betray you? That he won’t leave you all alone? That he’ll love you until the end of time?”
I stop spinning, but I can’t open my mouth because everything in my head seems stupid, even to me.
Henry lays his tools down. “I’ll tell you one thing. I’d take five minutes with my Nan over never having had her at all. If I had five wonderful minutes and then it all went to hell, I’d remember the five minutes just as much as the part that was shot to hell.”
I watch him. He doesn’t look sad.
“People keep the bad things in their heads, but let me tell you, pretty lady, when you’re as old as me, you learn to shove all that shit to the back of your mind and relive the good times. All the five minutes are what stick in your head. They give you strength. They keep you going.”
“I’ve been stupid, haven’t I?”
He shakes his head. “You’ve been careful.”
I bared my soul to Henry that first night he brought me home with him. We never did watch a movie. We sat up for hours, and he listened to my whole story. I told him things I never told anyone. I told him things I didn’t even know were buried deep in me until they started to roll out my mouth.
“Paul has been raising kids since he was one,” Henry tells me. “He grew up quick. But inside, he’s still a stupid young man, just like all of us are at one time.” He grins. “And you can tell him I said so.”
“He hasn’t even tried to come and see me once.”
Henry’s face flushes. “That might be my fault.”
“What do you mean?”
“I might have threatened his life with a baseball bat.” He scratches his bald head.
“Henry,” I scold, but I like that he’s taking care of me. I like it a lot, and it makes me feel all warm inside.
“You needed time to get through all that crying.” He waves a hand through the air as though he’s brushing a bug from his face.
“I think I might go home soon. What do you think?”
“I think that’s the best idea I’ve heard all week.” He grabs the edge of my chair and spins it for me, and I laugh as I go around in a circle.