Chapter 39

He was gone. A big hole in her body where her guts were supposed to be, Tabby started tidying up, her throat raw and her spirit in holes. She sighed wearily as she mechanically washed the dishes, wiped up the counter.

Everything had to be neat once her life fell into the gutter again, didn’t it? She pushed the dishcloth, flicked under the edge of the cutting board, worked to get a few errant crumbs left over from the meal they’d had.

Wipe everything away. Wipe away every bit of evidence that you and he were a team once. A couple.

Definitely not a typical couple, if there even was such a thing, she thought. Yes, she wrote erotica. And interestingly, there'd been very little physicality between them. Very little of the hot and heavy. But oh.

There’d been so much affection between them. So much…

Our hearts. They were stronger, together. We bled for each other. We breathed each other’s breaths.

She clutched her stomach once again, as the familiar roiling and pain intruded, even though she’d tried to keep it at bay.

Damn. I think I've lost him. Again.

This time, for real.

She stumbled to the chair, the one in the old cabin she gravitated to, the old-fashioned gliding rocker. A curious combination. A lovely soft, cradling cushion, then all that hard wood creating the frame, around the edges.

Like their relationship. Such sweetness. It had all been so incredibly treasured by her, though she’d only realized it of late. There was a lot of dependence on each other too, but it never felt like it diminished either one of them. They didn’t talk about it, hardly at all. But both knew it was there.

And maybe? Both feared it was there.

Now, she wondered.

Will we ever be a couple again? Will we get through this, and come together once more? Enjoy that sweetness? The man who looked at me with such admiration, as if I was his whole world, and together, we could do anything?

What a gift he’d given her. But with all his good qualities, he still somehow seemed to have a need to have a strong base to come from, to be able to gift her bits of his strength. To give her any and all of those wonderful things he had given her.

Things no other man had gifted her. Definitely not Clarence.

And maybe it was that damn depression his Mom had hinted at, that was the author of this whole mess, when it came right down to it.

She’d never know. But she could think of the good.

The things they’d alone shared together. They’d been in a world of their own that really, he’d built with his own two hands, brick by brick, at first. Without any encouragement from her, at first. She’d fought him. But he’d done it anyway. As if trusting in them. Knowing.

When she was touchy and didn’t trust anyone, he patiently kept putting in the bricks. Building a wall of protection and security around her. All by himself.

But now, without the ranch and resources, without its backing, the essence of him seemed to have disappeared. She saw the signs. He seemed to feel he was nothing, that he had nothing of value to give.

It’s a deficit I can't fill, Babe. I would if I could.

The tears flowed, rivered down her cheeks, as she moved back into the kitchen, restless, and braced her hands on the spotless kitchen counter. The words echoed deep throughout her, and likely? Speared to him through the ether, wherever he was, right now.

I’d gladly fill all your deficits, honey, because we’re still a team. We’re still you and me. I know I have the strength. I can have it for both of us. Easily.

Because you made me strong.

A single sob wracked from her. The wordless plea poured from her, jagged.

Please don't leave me once you've made me strong.

But deep inside she knew. The grand, unvarnished, unchangeable truth. None of this was in her control.

I can't control what you think of yourself.

And I can’t control that demon that’s got you by the throat.

The emptiness swirled within her. Suddenly, she couldn't feel any more.

But she had one more task to complete, even from her world of nothingness.

She went to the tiny closet, pulled it open. The scarlet teddy hung there. And seemed to talk to her. Ask her…

…do you still want me?

She pulled it off the hanger, buried her face in it. Scents from after that horrific accident still swirled in the garment. Then the scent of the burgers she and Cole had shared on tour, endless burgers.

Now, it captured the scent of pines from the lovely, weird little spot she’d landed in.

All that in a teddy.

But really? It was just a lovely, soft, underthing. And she realized, the shame was gone. The odd feeling of sin she’d somehow had. None of it applied anymore, and never had.

She folded the supple, silky garment carefully. Gently. Tucked it in the top drawer of the little chest, on one side. Patted it lightly.

One day, with a worthy man. And in the meantime, she’d wear it anyway. A symbol of her femininity. Of being what she really was.

A warrior. A goddess.

A woman.

I’ve earned my stripes, she suddenly thought, then the blackness of her current reality slammed in again.

She stumbled to the bed, fell into it. Drifted off to sleep, to escape, one part of her never wanting to wake again. Really.

Notwithstanding all the I am woman hear me roar hype, to have had all that—what they’d had—and to have lost it all over what felt like absolutely, bloody nothing….

…was more than she could comprehend.

She lost herself in sleep and darkness.

A little patchwork cat that had known loss too, jumped quietly onto the bed. It padded to her chest, beside her large heart, and stretched out tiny yet strong beside her mistress, gave her warmth and the tight rumble she could. Because she knew her, loved her, and they were in this together.