Down to My Soul (Soul Series Book 2) (26 page)

“Cereal,” I answer quietly. “It’s all right. I love Fruit Loops, Aunt Ruthie.”

Even at eight, I know it’s not good. I know something’s mighty wrong with Mama if I’m eating cereal for every meal, not bathing, and still have bows in my hair from two days ago. Mama’s picky about most things, but most of all about me. And for the last two days, she forgot I was even here because Daddy’s not.

Aunt Ruthie’s lips get thin and a little knot pops up in her jaw.

“You wait here, Kai Anne. I’m gonna go talk to your mama.”

I nod, using my little dull knife to pull the leaves away from the stem.

“Mai Lin, you gotta get up.” Aunt Ruthie’s voice is a distant rumble down the hall. I climb off the chair and tip toe to the door to hear better.

“Go away, Ruthie,” Mama moans. “Just go.”

“No, I will not go. This ain’t right, Mai.” I’ve never heard Aunt Ruthie’s voice so hard. Never heard her talk to anyone like that, much less her best friend.

“He’s gone.” Mama’s words come out barely louder than a whisper. “Don’t you understand he’s left me? With that whore Carla. Oh, God, Ruthie. How could he? Why? What did I do wrong? I thought we . . .”

There are no more words. Only tears. When I cry that hard it makes me sick sometimes. I just throw right up when I cry like that, and I wonder if Mama will need the trash can by her bed. Or if she’ll make it to the bathroom.

“You did nothing wrong,” Aunt Ruthie says. “You were the best wife he could have asked for. You did everything right, and the fault is not with you.”

It’s quiet except for the sound of Mama sniffling. I haven’t heard her cry since Pops passed not too long after Grams died. She told me then Pops couldn’t stay in a world without Grams. And now I know Mama doesn’t want to stay in a world without Daddy.

“I know it’s hard,” Aunt Ruthie says. “And you know I’m here. I was here before he came and I’m here now that he’s gone. We will get through this. There is a whole congregation behind you. A whole community behind you. But most of all, Mai, there is a little girl in that kitchen who hasn’t had a bath in two days and had cereal for dinner yesterday.”

“Kai Anne?” Mama says it like I’m a surprise. Like she didn’t know I was still here. “Oh, God. I didn’t think . . . how long? Two days? Oh, God, Ruthie. I’m so sorry. I would never . . . Ruthie, what am I gonna do? Now that he’s gone and I have to raise her by myself? How will I take care of her? I don’t even have a job.”

“We’ll figure it out, Mai. I’ve told you. I’m here, and you’re not alone. But the first thing you have to do, and this is right away right now, is get up.”

GET UP.

Aunt Ruthie’s words sound as clear in my head when I open my eyes as they did in my dream. In the memories buried in my sleep. I glance around a semi-dark room, my brain struggling to compute my surroundings. The starchy gown, the antiseptic smell, the thin sheets. Over the last three months I got used to waking up somewhere different almost every morning, but I never in all my life woke up in a hospital.

And then my memories click like a camera shutter, assembling my last performance in a hazy pictorial. I woke up from a fitful nap in my dressing room, still feverish. Still aching and short of breath. But it was the last show. I kept telling myself I only needed to get through one last show. My routine was going fine until I hit the second song, and then the lights blurred and spun, a glaring kaleidoscope over my head. I stumbled, literally feeling my body shutting down limb by limb, my heartbeat slowing . . . and then oblivion. And now, I have no idea how many hours later, I’m here.

I look to my right, my eyes carving out a shape in the sheer dark of dawn filtering in through the blinds. I have no idea what time it is. I have no idea what day it is. I barely know my own
name
, but I know the man slumped in an awkward, sleeping pretzel, his tall frame squeezed into the small chair by my bed.

“Rhys.” My raggedy voice barely pushes the word out, but it abrades my throat. I reach up to touch my neck, like that will make it better, but the skin feels the same. It’s the inside that feels like a cheese grater.

“He hasn’t left this room.” The soft words come from the left side of my bed.

I turn my head, tears instantly collecting in my eyes when I make out Aunt Ruthie seated beside me, her Bible open on her lap.

“Aunt Ruthie.” The words emerge as a croak, my mouth working uselessly to get out my gratitude, my relief that she’s here. “You’re . . . I . . . you . . .”

My shoulders shake, soft sobs racking my sore body. Hot, salty tears slip into the corners of my mouth. I lift my hand to reach for her, only now noticing the IV in my arm. Oh, God. What’s wrong with me? What am I doing here?

“It’s all right.” She sets the Bible aside, crossing the small space between her chair and the bed to wrap a work-roughened hand around mine. She reaches into her pocket for a small handkerchief, dabbing at my tears. “You’re okay, baby.”

“But what . . . what’s wrong with me?” I look over at Rhyson, still asleep. If our places were reversed, and I was in that chair, waiting for him to wake up, I’d be going out of my mind.

“Pneumonia.” Aunt Ruthie brushes hair away from my eyes. “And exhaustion. And dehydration. You really did a number on your body, honey.”

“Pneumonia?” I shake my head against the cool pillow. “That’s not possible. I mean, I had a little cold. A cough.”

“And a fever, too, right?” Her brows climb into the sandy brown hair dipping over her forehead, a little more salt in it than the last time I saw her. “Apparently your ‘little cold’ left unattended became a lot more.”

How could I not know? How could I have missed that? I knew something was wrong, but I never imagined it was more than a bug I couldn’t shake.

“How’s Rhyson?” I whisper, still not ready to wake him. I know his concern will smother me like a blanket once he’s up.

“How do you think he is?” Aunt Ruthie tilts her head to catch my eyes. “Worried and ornery. Making life difficult for everyone around here.”

“That sounds about right,” I mutter. “How long have I been out? How long have you been here?”

“You’ve been asleep for about a day. They sedated you. I got here a few hours ago.” She inclines her head toward the man still sleeping to my right. “He had a fancy plane come get me.”

“That was sweet of him. I—”

“Pep?” Rhyson’s voice, faint from fatigue, interrupts our conversation. He blinks away sleep, pushing his hands up over his face and through his hair. He’s swift to his feet, crossing over to the bed to grip my hand between his. “You’re up.”

He leans down, pressing his nose into my hair.

“God, I’ve been so worried, baby.” His kisses feather across my face, one landing like rain on my lips before he pulls back. He glances up to meet Aunt Ruthie’s curious eyes. Her mouth crooks into a small smile. “How long has she been awake?”

“Just now. You gonna yell at me for not letting you know sooner?” Aunt Ruthie turns amused eyes back to me. “This one seems to think yelling is how you get things done around here.”

“Thanks a lot,” he says. “That was supposed to be our little secret.”

“I would buzz the nurse,” Aunt Ruthie says. “But someone, I won’t call any names, has been abusing the buzzer.”

“I just buzzed her a couple times.” Rhyson rolls his eyes and grins, not quite meeting my eyes.

“Mmmmmm.” Aunt Ruthie walks over to the door, turning with her hand on the handle. “He’s the boy who cried wolf so she won’t come anymore when he buzzes. I’ll go get her myself.”

“You’ll be back, right?” She’s a balm to me. I didn’t realize how much I missed her warmth and care until I had it pressed against me again.

“I’ll be right back, honey.” Aunt Ruthie winks at me and points a warning finger at Rhyson. “And you behave while I’m gone.”

“The nurse would have come if she buzzed,” Rhyson says. “I think she’s just trying to give us a few minutes alone.”

“So you haven’t been making life hell for everyone being protective and unreasonable?” I rasp, struggling a little to get the words out. “’Cause that would be your MO.”

“Of course I have.” He grins even though his eyes are sober when he brings me water from the small refrigerator in the corner of the room. “I’ve had to be kind of forceful. They didn’t want me in here since I wasn’t down as an emergency contact or anything, and no one knew we were together. I didn’t have much of a leg to stand on. If San hadn’t vouched for me, I wouldn’t even be in here now.”

I know going through San to get to me always infuriates him. I watch his face while he tips water into the dry, narrow passageway of my throat.

“I’m sorry about that.” I cough a little, barely getting the words out. “I completed the paperwork a few months ago when the tour started. We weren’t even speaking, so of course I put San down and hadn’t thought about it since.”

“Yeah, of course. I get it.”

He doesn’t get it. It’s all over him, from the tight lips to the stiffly-held shoulders. I could apologize more, but I know that won’t ease the sting of feeling cut out.

“I was there.” Rhyson tunnels his hands into the pockets of his pants. He’s wearing Dickeys, which he never would under normal circumstances be caught dead in. So I assume he was at my concert in disguise.

“You were?”

The intensity of the look he gives me is almost too much. I don’t know if it’s what’s in his eyes stealing my breath, or the infection lingering in my lungs, but I can’t breathe until he looks away, down to the floor.

“Yeah, I was in the audience when you collapsed.” He clenches his eyes shut. “Worst moment of my life, Pep. Seeing you fall. Not knowing what the hell was wrong. Not able to get to you or knowing even where you were.”

“I’m so sorry.” I whisper as much as my voice will allow, grabbing his hand, dipping my head to catch his eyes even though he doesn’t want me to see the vulnerability there. “Rhys, I’m sorry.”

“I can’t believe I held you in my arms coughing, walking around with fucking pneumonia and didn’t do anything about it. Didn’t even realize it.” He shakes his head, jaw clenched, and walks to the foot of the bed. “That’s never happening again. I’m never trusting someone else with you again. Not even you.”

“What’s that mean?” I frown even though every part of me aches so much even that action takes effort.

“Meaning I can’t even trust you to take care of yourself, much less think Malcolm would look after you.” His stare accuses me. “How could you let this happen?”

“Are you mad at me?” I inch myself upright in the bed. “I’m in the hospital, and you’re mad at me?”

“You can’t love me the way I love you if you don’t understand that.” He stands, pacing at the foot of the bed and shoveling both hands through his hair. “Did you mean it when you said I’m yours and you’re mine?”

“You know I did. Of course, I me—”

“Then how dare you be so damn reckless with what’s
mine
?” He presses his palms to the table at the foot of the bed, leaning forward, his stare pressing me deeper into the pillow behind me. “You can’t possibly get that and be so careless with your health. With your life.”

“I wasn’t being careless. I was working.”

“For a tyrant. And I told you he didn’t give a shit about you, but you ignored me.
Left
me to go on the road for him, and this is what happens.”

“How can you be mad at me?” Tears blur and burn my eyes.

“How can I not, Pep? You’re my fucking
life
. How can you not know that?” He drops his head into his hands, digging and twisting his palms into his eyes. “You’re my life.”

“And you’re mine.”

“Am I?” He shakes his head, turning away from me to link his hands behind his neck. “If that were true, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“You’ve gotten to do this your whole life. Is it wrong that I want to take advantage of my shot? I finally get the chance to make it, and—”

“I don’t give a damn if you ‘make it’ if it hurts you, Pep.” He swings back around to face me, eyes tumultuous. “If it jeopardizes you, then you’re right. I don’t care about your career. There. I said it.”