“No, hon.” Aunt ruffles my hair. “Go and have fun. Don’t let us keep you here.”
“I’m sure Knox will understand,” I argue.
“Go on. Don’t keep him waiting. He seems like a nice boy.”
“We’re just friends, Aunt.” I take a carrot and munch on it. I need to keep my stomach full in case Knox takes me to dinner in a place where they don’t serve my special food.
She grins. “Sure thing, Elsie.”
“Stop it, Blair.” Uncle comes behind me and massages my shoulder. “You go and have fun, pumpkin.”
I nod, glancing back at him.
Since the pool accident, I can’t help noticing the change in Uncle’s demeanour or at least the way he looks at me. It’s like he’s torn inside and doesn’t know how to communicate it.
He releases me and heads upstairs, probably to freshen up before they’re out again.
“I’m going to change,” I tell Aunt and she beams at me.
I take the steps two at a time so I can follow Uncle. I freeze at the top of the stairs when I find him standing in front of my room.
He’s clutching his briefcase with the jacket on top. His shoulders are drooped and he gazes at my room with utter sorrow as if he’s about to cry.
My own eyes fill with tears at the sight.
What is it, Uncle? What is it that you’re not telling me?
He shakes his head and continues to his room.
“Uncle...”
He stops and turns around with a smile plastered on his face. The smile falls when he meets my gaze. A tear must’ve fallen on my cheeks because I taste salt.
I don’t even know why I called him or why I’m crying, I just know that I need something.
Uncle lets the briefcase and the jacket fall to the ground and hurries towards me.
“What is it, pumpkin? Are you okay?”
I nod, but more tears fall on my cheeks and my lips wouldn’t stop trembling. I don’t want to worry him.
What the hell is wrong with me and these tears coming out of nowhere?
“I’m sorry.” I wipe at my eyes with the back of my hand. “I don’t know where these tears are coming from.”
“It’s okay. Come here, pumpkin.” He wraps his arms around me and I’m a goner.
A complete utter goner.
I couldn’t stop the tears even if I wanted to.
My nails dig into his shirt and I inhale his aftershave with the scent of cinnamon and citrus.
A scent from my childhood.
It’s like I’m that little girl again. That seven-year-old girl who slept in Uncle’s embrace for weeks because I couldn’t fight off the nightmares.
Back then, Aunt would sleep on a chair because I didn’t want her with us. I couldn’t sleep if she touched me.