The moonlight cuts bright blocks out of the hallway’s shadows as James makes his way towards the children’s room. Only a few days ago the widows had been clouded with so much dirt that the house was dim, even during the brightest hours of the day, but Cassandra must have had them cleaned because now even the quarter moon outside illuminates his path with little trouble. The runner carpet has also been cleaned, his steps no longer come with puffs of dust, and the cobwebs have been swept out of the windowsills. He makes a quick note to himself to mention his appreciation to Cassie the next morning.
The children’s door swings open quietly and James softens his steps as he approaches their beds. He stands there for a long while, reassuring himself of their safety, before tucking their blankets a little more tightly around them and turning away.
The hallway is darker as he makes his way towards the room he shares with Cassandra, the moon has been covered by a cloud, and when he opens the door it’s only muscle memory that lets him reach the en-suite without stumbling. It’s late, later than it should be. He keeps waiting longer and longer before making his way upstairs as if he’ll ever be able to avoid the inevitable. As if he’ll be able to avoid her.
He flicks off the light before he opens the bathroom door so as not to disturb Cassie’s sleep. The clouds have parted and the moon is once again casting light and shadows across the room. There’s a beam resting on Cassie’s face and just for a moment the branches of the tree outside appear as ghostly claws caressing her cheek. A blink and the impression is gone, all that’s left is his wife’s face, relaxed in sleep as he rarely sees it in waking. James sighs and makes his way to the bed. There was a time, at the beginning of their marriage, before they moved to this house full of memories, when Cassie would fall asleep and he would lay, staring at the ceiling, resisting the temptation to gather her into his arms. Inevitably though, his conviction would fail and he would tuck her to him, soft and familiar, cursing himself for his weakness as he drifted off.
Now, after so many months of succumbing to the siren call of his wife’s warmth, he does not even bother to hold himself back. He slips under the covers and pulls Cassie close, carefully so as not to disturb her. She curls herself deeper into his arms, tucking her cold toes against his legs, and he reminds himself that it means nothing. They are just warm bodies to each other, clinging together against the cold of a drafty house. He lets himself drift off, ignoring the guilt that he can’t give her this softness during the day. She deserves it, but he is too much of a coward to allow her close when her eyes are open to see him.
—-
Cassie wakes with the early dawn sun on her face through the window, beautifully warm. The arms holding her are a familiar comfort she basks in for longer than she should. The fact that James’ body seeks out her warmth in sleep means nothing, and her heart whines like a greedy child at the knowledge. It wants more, always more, hungry for care, affection, love. It’s not content with stolen moments in the morning. The more she thinks of it the more her breaths start coming tight and quick, the heat, once so welcome, becomes suffocating and the arm tossed over her side, once a soothing weight, becomes an oppressive bar imprisoning her. She slips out of bed into the cool air beyond, escaping before her mounting distress wakes her husband.
James needs the sleep, he’s been working from home the last few days, too many hours with too little rest. Nick, though, needs to be up. He has school, and way out in the country like this, the bus comes at an ungodly hour. Cassie checks the alarm, turning it off before it starts ringing, and begins to get ready. The morning air calms her and by the time she’s dressed and making her way to the kids’ room her heart has slowed and steadied.
Nick is groggy and annoyed when Cassie goes in to wake him, but he gets out of bed without too much trouble and is well on his way to being dressed when she goes downstairs to start on breakfast. They eat together at the counter. Cassie checks that he has his homework and his lunch and he tells her about the butterfly chrysalises in science class that are supposed to open any day now. The sun rises outside the window and casts dusty light across the floor. This is a familiar routine for them now. Sometimes James will join them if he has to get up to go into the office, and sometimes Amelia feels left out and drags herself, bleary eyed and blanket wrapped, down to the kitchen where she generally falls asleep in her chair. Most mornings though, it’s just the two of them, and after breakfast is done they walk together down the long winding driveway and then a little further along the road beyond it to the sign that marks where they wait for the bus.
This morning is a sunny one, still cool and dewy but with every sign of developing into a beautiful day. The bus comes right on time and once it’s gone, leaving only a few curls of road dust in its wake, Cassie turns back toward the house. She tries not to look up at the facade as she approaches the front door. The dilapidation of the windows, trim, and walls of the house give it an abandoned, haunted, air too in line with Cassie’s own misgivings for her to look at it with anything but trepidation. She makes a mental note to look for curtains in the attic. She’s no carpenter, and the one she hired won’t be by for another week or so, but in the meantime she can hang pretty curtains to distract from the rotting shutters.
The food she’d left covered on the stove is gone when she returns to the kitchen, the dishes drying on the rack. James had come and gone already, the two of them like ships in the night. She does not see him the rest of the day. Not as she plays with Amelia, or as she tidies the rooms at the front of the house, no point putting new curtains in dusty rooms after all, and not as she finally makes her way up to the attic to search for the curtains.
Cassie had explored the attic soon after they’d arrived. She’d peeked under the dust covers and cracked open the wardrobes and chests. There was an eclectic mix of what she could only assume was James’ mother’s style and his previous wife’s, as well as older things that were more dust than anything else. Now, she makes her way to a chest holding stacks of curtains, carefully packed with mothballs and lavender sachets. Selecting a few that might match the rooms she stands and turns back toward the stairs.
She’s barely halfway down when one of the curtains tumbles from her grasp, unfolding as it falls, and tangles up around her feet. There is a moment of weightless panic as she begins to topple. Time seems to slow and then speed up all at once and she is falling, tumbling down the stairs, the cloth in her arms scattering as if escaping from a clothesline on a windy day. She reaches the bottom with the breath knocked out of her and a blooming ache all over her body. She lays there for a stretch of stunned stillness, and then another few seconds to reassure herself she’s alive, and then another few more to ascertain that nothing feels too broken. She finally moves when she sees Amelia’s head poking out from her door.
“Mama?” Cassie’s heart still warms every time Amelia calls her that, but in this case the glow is quickly shuttered by the pain radiating through her body. Amelia runs over and looks down with concern. “Did you fall? Are you alright? Do you need a doctor?” Cassie smiles with only a hint of a grimace.
“I did fall. I’ll be fine, but can you go grab your papa for me please?” Amelia nods seriously and disappears down the stairs. Cassie groans as she pulls herself up, resting her back on the wall and breathing through the rush of pain that comes. She’s barely gathered herself before James is there, hovering anxiously.
“Are you alright? Amy said you fell.” He kneels as he speaks and she smiles at him. He must catch how pained it is though because he frowns. “Do you need a hospital? I can warn Nick’s teacher we won’t be able to pick him up.”
“No, no. I don’t think anything’s broken. I just need some ice and an ibuprofen. You’ll have to get Nick though, and…” She smiles sheepishly and with a bit less pain. “Could you help me up?” James jolts, frazzled apologies stumbling from his lips as he scoops her up with little fanfare. Cassie must make some noise at the renewed wave of pain that comes with the movement because he stills instantly, frowning down at her with concern. “I’m fine, I’m fine, you just surprised me.” He does not look entirely convinced but makes no comment as he carries her to their room. He settles her on the bed before leaving and coming back with an ice pack and ibuprofen as requested, as well as some juice and a candy bar from the stash she uses as treats in Nick’s lunches. Amelia is also tagging along at his heels, anxious to see that Cassie is okay. James allows her up on the bed after promising that she won’t be too wiggly, and surprisingly, he stays as well, sitting on the vanity stool, listening while Amelia chatters to them both about the epic battle her dolls are currently engaged in against the barbarian horde of her stuffed animals. It’s riveting stuff but Cassie’s eyes still begin to droop and flutter closed. Just as she’s about to drift off she hears James hoist Amelia up into his arms and carry her out of the room with a whispered-
“Let’s let Mama sleep okay? Do you want to go get Nick with me?” His effort at quiet is slightly disturbed by Amelia’s excited cheer but the call of sleep is too strong and Cassie slips off before she can hear him shush her.
She wakes hours later to James gently shaking her. It’s dark outside, the sun long set, and he helps her out of bed and into sleep clothes before they both lie down. He flicks off the light, leaving them laying there in the dark watching the moon’s shadows dance across the ceiling. The silence stretches until Cassie feels him make an aborted movement toward her, and then hears the barest huff of a self deprecating laugh. It occurs to her, for the first time, that he might hold her each night by choice, that it might bring him as much comfort as it brings her, that he too might feel alone in this big house with two small precious people to look after with only a practical stranger for help and company. She turns toward him and gives into her private selfish greed, which might not truly be private, selfish, or greedy after all, and tucks herself close to him. He stiffens, before sighing, relaxing, and pulling her closer. She smiles into his chest, tucks her feet against his shins, and drifts off to sleep, perfectly warm.
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