his hands. “ I was hoping you felt that way, because I went shopping.”
“ What?”
“ Yeah. Bought a few things. We can put it all in the spare room.” He tossed back the second drink, and when he turned and headed for the door, he was a little unsteady—but the flashback was gone. He knew it was only a temporary reprieve.
“ Oh my God,” Lei whispered as he popped the back of the truck to reveal boxes and bags up to the ceiling.
“ Yeah. Apparently, babies need a lot of shit.” He handed her bags until she turned to walk back to the house, and then he filled his own arms.
It took four trips to empty t he truck. Lei was silent, the tight silence that didn’t bode well, but by the last trip he was feeling the booze buzz and ready to take her on.
“ Say what you’ve got to say,” he said, standing beside her in the spare bedroom doorway as they looked at the mountain of baby items.
“ This was supposed to be our baby!” she cried. “Ours! Not hers!” She burst into tears. He didn’t try to stop her when she ran into their bedroom and slammed the door. In a few minutes he heard the murmur of her voice between sobs—probably calling her friend Marcella. He went back to the living room, fetched a spare blanket, and lay on the couch with Keiki and the scotch bottle, the TV on mute keeping the terrible images away from his eyes.
Chap ter 11
Lei woke up to the sound of screaming. Deep, guttural, the sounds of a man in mortal pain.
She grabbed her weapon out of the holster hanging from the headboard and ran to the door, stumbling in the dark as she got it open and then flicking on the living room light to see the threat.
Stevens was sitting straight up on the couch, screaming, his eyes wide open but seeing something else.
Keiki, agitated, pawed his leg and licked his face. Lei, still scanning for threats, saw Stevens wake as he hunched over abruptly and embraced the dog.
“ Oh, God. Help me,” she heard him say. And he wept into the dog’s coat, his arms around the sturdy Rottweiler.
Lei set the weapon on the coffee table, unsure how he ’d respond to her. “Can I do anything?”
The harsh overhead light cast dark shadows under his eyes, beneath his cheekbones as he sat up. She saw the shape of his skull for the first time, as clearly as if the skin were peeled back.
“No. I just need to get through this. Something to drink would be great, though.” His voice was a harsh rasp.
Lei went into the kitchen and poured a large glass of milk. Her own throat felt rough from all the crying last night, but she felt better. Lighter. Determined. She ’d had her say, had her cry. Told everything to her friend Marcella, who understood her conflicted feelings. Now she’d set her course. She’d do her best to be a mom to this baby. Whether she chose him or not, he was coming to them.
She poured herself a glass too, and brought one to Stevens, along with a sleeping pill from her stash. “ Drink this whole thing and come back to bed. I’m done being mad.”
He took the glass, drank the milk, swallowed the pill. That was as alarming as the scr eams—he hated pills of any kind. He followed her into the bedroom and lay down. Keiki, keeping watch, hopped up and nestled at Stevens’s feet on her ratty old quilt.
Lei left them there and went back into the living room. She looked up a number in her phon e, dialed it. “Dr. Wilson? I’m so sorry. I know it’s early. But this is an emergency. Can you come to Maui?”
Stevens woke up slowly. The sun was in his eyes. He expected the cottony pain of a hangover, but the milk and sleeping pill must have worked, because there was nothing but a slight ache behind his eyeballs, and he hadn’t dreamed again.
Keiki licked his hand, trotting back and forth in front of the bedroom door, clearly needing to be let out. There was no sign of Lei.
He got up and walked through the sunlit, empty house. Unlocked Keiki’s dog door in back and let her out. Lei
“ What?”
“ Yeah. Bought a few things. We can put it all in the spare room.” He tossed back the second drink, and when he turned and headed for the door, he was a little unsteady—but the flashback was gone. He knew it was only a temporary reprieve.
“ Oh my God,” Lei whispered as he popped the back of the truck to reveal boxes and bags up to the ceiling.
“ Yeah. Apparently, babies need a lot of shit.” He handed her bags until she turned to walk back to the house, and then he filled his own arms.
It took four trips to empty t he truck. Lei was silent, the tight silence that didn’t bode well, but by the last trip he was feeling the booze buzz and ready to take her on.
“ Say what you’ve got to say,” he said, standing beside her in the spare bedroom doorway as they looked at the mountain of baby items.
“ This was supposed to be our baby!” she cried. “Ours! Not hers!” She burst into tears. He didn’t try to stop her when she ran into their bedroom and slammed the door. In a few minutes he heard the murmur of her voice between sobs—probably calling her friend Marcella. He went back to the living room, fetched a spare blanket, and lay on the couch with Keiki and the scotch bottle, the TV on mute keeping the terrible images away from his eyes.
Chap ter 11
Lei woke up to the sound of screaming. Deep, guttural, the sounds of a man in mortal pain.
She grabbed her weapon out of the holster hanging from the headboard and ran to the door, stumbling in the dark as she got it open and then flicking on the living room light to see the threat.
Stevens was sitting straight up on the couch, screaming, his eyes wide open but seeing something else.
Keiki, agitated, pawed his leg and licked his face. Lei, still scanning for threats, saw Stevens wake as he hunched over abruptly and embraced the dog.
“ Oh, God. Help me,” she heard him say. And he wept into the dog’s coat, his arms around the sturdy Rottweiler.
Lei set the weapon on the coffee table, unsure how he ’d respond to her. “Can I do anything?”
The harsh overhead light cast dark shadows under his eyes, beneath his cheekbones as he sat up. She saw the shape of his skull for the first time, as clearly as if the skin were peeled back.
“No. I just need to get through this. Something to drink would be great, though.” His voice was a harsh rasp.
Lei went into the kitchen and poured a large glass of milk. Her own throat felt rough from all the crying last night, but she felt better. Lighter. Determined. She ’d had her say, had her cry. Told everything to her friend Marcella, who understood her conflicted feelings. Now she’d set her course. She’d do her best to be a mom to this baby. Whether she chose him or not, he was coming to them.
She poured herself a glass too, and brought one to Stevens, along with a sleeping pill from her stash. “ Drink this whole thing and come back to bed. I’m done being mad.”
He took the glass, drank the milk, swallowed the pill. That was as alarming as the scr eams—he hated pills of any kind. He followed her into the bedroom and lay down. Keiki, keeping watch, hopped up and nestled at Stevens’s feet on her ratty old quilt.
Lei left them there and went back into the living room. She looked up a number in her phon e, dialed it. “Dr. Wilson? I’m so sorry. I know it’s early. But this is an emergency. Can you come to Maui?”
Stevens woke up slowly. The sun was in his eyes. He expected the cottony pain of a hangover, but the milk and sleeping pill must have worked, because there was nothing but a slight ache behind his eyeballs, and he hadn’t dreamed again.
Keiki licked his hand, trotting back and forth in front of the bedroom door, clearly needing to be let out. There was no sign of Lei.
He got up and walked through the sunlit, empty house. Unlocked Keiki’s dog door in back and let her out. Lei
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