Jennifer Hillier: Creep

She’d put him through hell. She’d put them both through hell. Morris had never asked for any of this. The only thing he had ever done was love her.

He stood at the foot of the bed, shadows and moonlight playing against the contours of his face. He looked exhausted. She wanted to cry.

“Been here all day,” he said. “You’ve been either asleep or with the cops or doctors. Busy woman, as always.” He managed a smile. “Did I wake you?”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t sleeping. Though I guess visiting hours are technically over.”

Morris walked around the bed and took a seat in the chair near her pillow. “I won’t tell if you won’t.” The lightheartedness in his voice sounded forced, and she was disappointed when he folded his hands neatly in his lap.

She ached to touch him. Her heart broke at the sight of his face, clearly visible now that he was inches away. His eyes were bloodshot and framed with lines she hadn’t seen before, his complexion blotchy and covered in three-day stubble. His hair was tousled. The strong scent of Listerine on his breath told her he’d started drinking again. Yet another thing that was her fault.

Still, he was beautiful.

“How are you?” she asked.

“I’m good.” Another tired smile. “More important, how are you?”

She tried to match his smile but her lips wouldn’t turn up. “I’m fine. They said I’m dehydrated but otherwise okay.”

“I talked to the doctor. You can go home tomorrow morning. Sleep in your own bed.”

“Can’t wait.” Sheila felt no enthusiasm whatsoever. Unable to restrain herself any longer, she reached for him. “Morris, I’m so sorry.”

“Shhh.” His voice was soft, and she was glad when he finally took her hand. “There’s time for all that later.”

“We need to talk about it.”

“We will. But not tonight. You need to rest.”

Was he angry with her? It was hard to tell. Before she could say anything else, a discreet cough came from the corner of the room near the doorway. They both looked up. Sheila could see the shape of a tall man but couldn’t make out his face. Instantly, her stomach tightened again.

“It’s okay, darlin’.” Morris squeezed her hand, careful not to touch the IV needle stuck there. He waved the stranger closer. “Were you able to get it?”

The man nodded and passed something to Morris that Sheila couldn’t see. Morris looked at it and grinned, and it was a typical Morris grin, ear to ear. It warmed her.

“Sheila, I’d like you to meet my son Randall. I believe the two of you have been in touch via e-mail?”

A younger version of Morris stepped closer to the bed. His hair was longer and straighter and there were fewer pounds on his tall frame, but there was no mistaking the resemblance, right down to the grin that lit the young man’s face. “Hey there, Sheila. It’s so nice to meet you finally, circumstances notwithstanding.”

Sheila stared up at Morris’s oldest son in surprise. “Randall!” Holding out her other hand, she grasped his wrist. “I can’t believe you’re really here. I’m so glad.”

“It’s because of you.” Randall bent down and kissed her cheek. Placing his free hand on his father’s shoulder, he said softly, “Thank you.”

Morris looked at his son with so much love that Sheila thought her heart would burst. Then Morris turned back to her, his eyes watering. “He’s right, darlin’. You did a good thing.”

Randall gave her hand a gentle squeeze before letting it go. “I’ll wait for you outside, Dad.”

“No, stay. Please.” Morris looked at Sheila and cleared his throat. He seemed nervous and she felt a stab of alarm. “I have something that belongs to you. I know we have a lot to work through, and I know it will take time, but I’m hoping…” His lip trembled slightly. “I’m hoping you’ll say yes again.”

He slipped something shiny onto her finger. In disbelief, she lifted up her hand and gazed at it in wonder. Though her wrists were still bruised and a needle was stuck in her vein, she felt a smile light her face.

Morris had given her back her engagement ring.

Roseburg, Oregon, was chilly in November. But something about the crisp air and the misty skies cleared Sheila’s head. She sat on the veranda of the large ranch house, a thick wool blanket wrapped over her coat, looking out into the gray day and feeling better than she had in a long time. It was Visitor’s Day. She was probably the only person dumb enough to sit out in the cold waiting for her visitor, but she wanted to be the first person Morris saw when he pulled up to the New Trails Treatment Center for Addiction.

The front door to the left of Sheila opened, and Melanie Rudder, one of the ladies in the administration office, poked her head out.

“Holy cow.” Melanie wasn’t even all the way outside but her arms were already wrapped around herself. “It’s freezing out here.”

Sheila smiled at the younger woman from her rocking chair. “It’s not so bad once you get used to it.”

Melanie shook her head in disbelief, shivering. She held out what looked like a postcard. “Here, this came for you. I must have missed it when I was handing out the mail this morning. Quick, take it before my arm freezes and falls off. Looks like it’s from your work.”

She dashed back inside once Sheila took hold of the glossy postcard. Melanie was right; there was no mistaking where this was from.

The front of the card showed a picture of the grounds of Puget Sound State University in the autumn, specifically the quad in the middle of campus where the huge water fountain sprayed mist into the air. In the background stood the old, brown-brick George Herbert Mead psychology building where Sheila had worked for the past fifteen years.

She smiled to herself; she hadn’t even known that PSSU had postcards. It was sweet of her colleagues to think of her. Dean Simmons, especially, had been very understanding. Her job would be waiting for her whenever she was ready to return.

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to go back. But it was nice to have the option.

The sound of snow crunching under tires made her look up. A big, black Cadillac was making its way up the long driveway toward the ranch house.

She waved happily to Morris, who grinned and waved back. Turning the postcard over in her gloved hands, she smiled in anticipation of the kind words.

Her hands began to shake and it wasn’t from the cold. This note wasn’t from anyone at the university-at least not from anyone there now.

Dear Professor Tao,

Saw you the other day. You seem to be doing well.

Enjoy it while it lasts.

Best,

Abby Maddox

Sheila heard the roar of a motorcycle from somewhere behind Morris.

Looking up, she caught a glimpse of tight jeans on a Triumph before it sped away.