Page 89 of Cakes for the Grump

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

My words are swallowed by the dark. There is no answer, no forgiveness.

Only exhaustion.

Sometime later, I’m stirred awake because I’m in motion. My arms automatically grasp tighter, fists seeking out and bunching into anchor points. Soft blonde hair. My nose burrows into a neck. It’s Luke. He mumbles something as he carries me in his arms. I’m settled back into a familiar bed, tucked into a familiar comforter. My own room. Lips brush over my forehead. Then it goes black again for a while.

The next time I wake up, it is three in the morning and still dark. My heart is pounding, and it takes a while for the events of last night to run through my head. I sit up. “Luke.”

He’s brought me back, another good sign he’s doing okay, but how much time has passed since? Again I lie in bed, worried. One more time won’t hurt. I’ll simply check to see if he’s breathing okay.

This time when I open his bedroom door, Luke turns over in bed. “You’re back,” he says.

“I can’t—what if something happens to you?—”

“And I can’t go to sleep because I keep thinking you are uncomfortably squeezed on that chair giving yourself a neck cramp again.”

We’ve come to a crossroads with no obvious solution, but based on our spent and darkened eyes, further exhaustion can’t be the answer.

I cast a pitiful look at the armchair. “It’s not that uncomfortable…”

Luke exhales and rolls off the bed.

“I didn’t meanyoushould use it!”

“I’m not.” He straightens his sheets and comforter until they are neat again as if proclaiming no one should use the bed. But that’s not it, because after it’s been tidied, he lies back down on top of everything. Then he reaches over and lifts the cover on the opposite side of the bed, holding it open.

“You can’t mean—” I start.

“If it’s the only way, we get rest, yes. I’ll turn the other way. It will be like we’re in separate beds.”

To my fatigued and desperate brain, this makes sense. It’s the only way I’ll stop worrying and how he’ll be able to get some rest too. That’s why I go and ease my way under his sheets. After settling in, I turn to ask Luke if he’ll be okay sleeping on top without a blanket, but he’s already giving me his back. Okay. I turn away, too. Everything is fine. This will work. Being in bed together is no big deal, and we’ll fall asleep immediately because we are so very tired.

Minutes pass by, and I keep hoping.

More minutes expire, but they are not peaceful.

We both keep shifting around.

When one stops, the other begins, and vice versa.

Eventually, Luke’s vexed grumble prompts me to face him. He also rollsonto his side, and with how the moonlight is refracted through the blinds, a glowing triangle highlights his eyebrow raise. “Yes, Rita?”

“We can’t sleep.”

“Obviously.”

“I’m sorry.”

His eyebrow ticks higher. “And why would this be your fault?”

“But it is. This whole thingis.” I reach over and pinch the pillow between us, my thumb playing along the seam. “You wouldn’t have had to come get me, if I hadn’t gone to the party like an idiot. And not only that, but I keep thinking about what Sistine said. How much is the fight going to cause you problems?”

“My sister worries too much.”

“But she’s right, isn’t she? Especially if it’s caught on the security cameras somewhere.”

His hand stills my restlessness. It forces my eyes up to his.