The restlessness came back, joined by the uncontrollable need to touch him. To caress his skin. He needed a friend right now, but lying in bed with him was doing strange things to her insides, despite the separation of the sheets between them.
“Doc said there was nothing they could do, but sometimes I wonder…” He frowned.
“Terrence,” Charisse said, using the same voice she did when scolding their kids, “I hope you’re not doing something foolish like blaming yourself. You did everything you could. You gave Grandma Esther the best care money could buy.” She was never the same after the first stroke, and Charisse couldn’t imagine there was anything else that could be done after the second.
He was silent for a moment. “Yeah,” he finally said, his mouth twisting into a rueful smile. He turned onto his side so they faced each other. “You weren’t around in the beginning, but she was so proud of me. When I won my first cypher contest, she invited over friends and the whole neighborhood for a cookout. She hooked it up! And she wouldn’t let me pay for a thing, because she said it wouldn’t be a gift if I had to contribute. She was the best publicist, too.” He laughed softly to himself. “Used to talk me up to everybody, including the church folks.”
“She didnot. With all that cussing and sexual content in your songs?”
He chuckled. “She warned them but still let them know about my career, which she followed closer than I realized. Up until she passed, I can’t believe she still cut articles about me out of the newspapers and magazines. Not the bad ones, though. She didn’t like those.”
“Oh, I remember. She really hated when they called you a thug. I think that upset her more than it did you.”
“It did upset her. She used to chastise me in private about my behavior and warned me not to ‘give them reporters nothing to write about.’ She always had my back.” Silence. “I wish she’d let me move her out of this old house.”
“This is the house your grandfather bought for her. She was comfortable here, and think of all the memories of raising her daughter and raising you. I understand why she didn’t want to move. At least she let you do some remodeling.”
“But look how long that took. For years she told me to ‘save your money, dear heart. Save it for your future.’”
“And you still do. So the constant nagging worked.”
“I guess.” He laughed a little. “Dang, I miss her.”
“Me, too,” Charisse whispered, tears filling her eyes. She kept her voice strong because she was supposed to be comforting him.
His gaze flicked over her, eyes softening. “Know what I wish I could have right now?”
“What?”
“One of your back rubs.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Charisse said firmly. She was too fidgety and ill at ease and didn’t quite know what to do with herself and the excess energy lying next to him evoked.
“Why not?”
“It’s not a good idea, Terrence. You know that.” She picked at a loose thread in the comforter.
“I know. But you give the best back rubs. Shit feels so good.” His voice went lower. “I always feel good when I’m with you.”
Charisse continued plucking at the thread, but his words sparked pain in her chest, and she bit down on her bottom lip to fight back tears. Allowing him into the room had definitely been a bad idea. She hated what he said, because those words filled her with regret and made her feel sorry for him, when she was the one who had been hurt, and she’d had every right to walk away from their marriage.
What if he’s changed?a voice in her head whispered. But she couldn’t risk the pain again.
Terrence took her hand loosely in his. “I’m not saying these things to upset you. I want you to know how special you are to me. I appreciate you staying behind to help me out. Grandma Esther always loved you. When she was in the hospital, she gave me hell about how I’d messed things up with you. She loved you like a daughter.”
“I loved her, too.”
Charisse withdrew her hand from his and curled it into a ball. Lying together in this bed, they were playing with fire. Cutting off contact was a necessity, or she might do something foolish. To change the subject to a safer topic, she said, “I loved her gingersnap cookies, and the way the house smelled when she baked.”
“Them dang cookies were the best. She didn’t bake as much in recent years, but for my birthday last year, she baked me one of her apple pies.”
Charisse stared at him. “Wait a minute, Grandma Esther baked you an apple pie and you didn’t say anything?”
“Huh?” Faux-innocent eyes looked back at her.
“You heard me. Are you telling me you had one of her apple pies, and you didn’t share?” His grandmother made the best apple pies she’d ever tasted, with the most amazing sugar-sprinkled crust.
“I thought you didn’t want the kids to have too much sugar,” Terrence said.
