Page 42 of Soft Flannel Hank

“We’re gonna go meet Nat at my house.”

“But he’s with them!”

“He’s not with them. Well, not really. We’re gonna meet at my house, and you can tell both of us exactly what happened.”

“And then what? If he doesn’t like my story, he can deliver me to them on a silver platter?”

“Did you mean to hurt anyone?”

“No,” she whispered.

“Then you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“So you’ve said.”

“Esther,” he said, stopping the truck and looking at her. “I’ll keep you safe.”

They didn’t talk on the drive back to his house. The radio stayed off. The only sounds were the familiar noises of damp road under his tires and air rustling through the vents.

When they pulled into the driveway and parked next to the house, Hank couldn’t help but think of the other time he’d parked his truck here with her inside. The cab had been practically thrumming with energy and tension, both of them waiting for the other to spring, to drop the match on the gasoline, to start the blaze.

The inside of the truck was alive with tension this time too, but it was different. Esther clenched her fists in her lap, looking out the window and into the night. He turned the truck off, and the sudden silence felt like a roar in his ears. She didn’t turn, her eyes glued to his house.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“I’m just thinking about the other time I was at your house. It was different.”

Her voice was so quiet he had to strain to hear it, even in the relative silence of the truck.

“It was different. And I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she asked, turning to face him. “For bringing me here then, or for bringing me here now?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say “Both,” but then he realized that was a lie. He certainly wasn’t sorry about bringing her home the last time, and frankly, he wasn’t sorry about it now.

“I’m just sorry that you’re coming back like this, I guess.”

When she didn’t reply, he opened his door and said, “Come on.”

He grabbed her bag from the bed of the truck and started up the stairs. He heard her behind him when he opened the door, flipping on the light in the mudroom. He turned to hold the door open and felt his stomach fall when she stepped into the small room. In the yellowed light from the incandescent bulb, Esther’s hair practically glowed. The dark circles under her eyes were deep and swollen, and her lips were puffy from crying.

She looked up at him, and for that moment, it was just the two of them. No threats. No history. No insecurities or low self-esteem. No past transgressions or rejection or fear. There were just two people inexplicably drawn to one another, standing in a mudroom that smelled like leather cleaner and fabric softener.

Hank would keep her safe. With his last breath and his final bit of strength if it came to it, he would keep her safe.

But as he stared into her bright blue eyes, shimmering with unshed tears, he couldn’t help but wonder who would keep him safe from her.

9

Esther couldn’t take her eyes off Hank. Unlike last time she was here, he’d turned the lights on. It was a mudroom and a laundry room in one, with a bench and boot stand to one side next to a coat rack, and a washer and dryer on the other side next to a utility sink.

Hank sat on the bench and began unlacing his boots. He looked up at her through his lashes and tilted his head to the side in the direction of the rest of the bench that wasn’t occupied by his bulky frame. She dropped her backpack and sat down with a thud. She bent to unlace her Doc Martens as well, noticing Hank’s white socks when he pulled off his heavy, brown boots and placed them carefully on the boot rack.

He held his hand out, and Esther was confused for a moment until she realized that he wanted her boots too. She handed them over, looking at both of their socked feet on the linoleum floor. Her feet were not small by any means, but they were dwarfed by his. She wore hand-knit rainbow socks that her grandmother had made, and they looked so different from his utilitarian white socks with the gray toe cap and red brand name just above.

With a grunt, he stood, hefted her bag in his hand as if it weighed nothing, and walked through another door and into the house. She followed, backpack in hand, and found herself in the kitchen. Hank set her duffle bag down next to the refrigerator.

“Do you want some coffee?”