Innocent Ink by Ranae Rose Page B

Karen?”
    “I’m fine.” Her voice came out surprisingly, pleasingly steady.
    “You’ve been in the shower for a long time. Thought I’d make sure everything’s okay.”
    She shut off the tepid water and took a moment to smooth her expression before sliding the shower door open. “Thanks. But I’m okay.”
    Jed’s eyes went wide as she revealed herself, stepping out onto the bathmat. For several silent moments, he stared, dark eyes shining with apparent concern … and something more.
    She reached for a towel hanging on a nearby hook and wrapped it around her body.
    His gaze continued to linger, now on her shoulders. “You sure? If I did something to upset you, you can tell me. Or if it’s about what you’re going through, you know you can talk to me, right?” He seemed earnest as he stood in the doorway, one arm braced against the frame, and Karen’s heart did a cartwheel as she met his eyes.
    “I guess I’m just now starting to realize what gone means. But Jed… I don’t feel right talking to you about it. Not when you’ve been through so much worse.” Her pain was real, but the prospect of baring her heart to Jed made her feel somehow selfish. After all, she’d never expected to outlive her grandmother; however much she’d enjoyed Helen’s company, she’d always known that this day would come eventually.
     Jed, on the other hand, had lost the person he’d sworn to spend the rest of his life with.
    He didn’t say so, but it had to hurt him to witness her sadness, to try to comfort her. Didn’t it?
     
* * * * *
     
    Jed’s heart fractured as he stood across from Karen, watching water streak down her face and over the graceful lines of her collarbones, eventually dampening the towel she’d wrapped tight around her body. Maybe she thought he didn’t realize she’d been crying, but the redness and slight puffiness around the edges of her eyes had betrayed her to him as soon as she’d stepped out of the shower. Even now, he noticed a tear slipping from one corner of her eye; the beads of liquid dripping from her sopping hair didn’t hide it.
    “Talk to me, Karen. I can handle it. I wouldn’t have offered if I couldn’t.”
    It was a lie. In that moment, he’d have done anything for her, even if it would’ve meant agony for him. But it wouldn’t; in fact, a part of him sensed that if he could help her make sense of her own grief, it might give his some kind of meaning. And that would be a comfort, however small.
    She made the slightest movement, as if she meant to step off the bathmat and come to him. Her shoulders went rigid as she stopped herself, and a dent appeared in her lower lip.
    He went to her instead, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. Her body was soft beneath the scant cover of the towel, and it conformed to his as he embraced her. He held her tight, even tighter than he’d meant to as the memory of her picking up the red teapot in his kitchen played inside his head, crystal-clear.
    One of the reasons why the sight of her holding the teapot had unsettled him had been because the object – the physical token of his grief – had seemed so out of place in her hands. There was a certain kind of innocence about her; she projected an air of passion, the sort of fearless zeal for life that could only exist in someone whose world had never been turned upside down by life’s unfairness. It grated to see that innocence tainted, to think of her spending the night in the hospital, the only family member there to watch someone she loved die.
    He’d only pulled on his jeans, no shirt. Something hot and wet dampened his shoulder – hotter than the lukewarm water that soaked her hair. At least he’d convinced her she could cry in front of him. It was a double-edged sword, sending relief and bitter sympathy slicing through him. “You two were close, weren’t you?” Mina had said so.
    Karen nodded, raising her head and meeting his gaze for a second before