We kept fucking, because I didn't know what else to do to keep him from worming his way under my skin, and because every time we did it made it harder to stop. If I called an end to it, if I refused him or failed to rise to his bait when he taunted me, then I'd be as good as admitting defeat. He'd want to know why, and the only explanation I'd have was because you're driving me crazy, and if I went and admitted that, there'd be no living with him. He'd probably strut around, beaming and proud, until he drove me to homicide.
Even worse than that was that he couldn't ever accept no for an answer. I told it to him, time and again, but no matter how many times I refused, he still asked me to come over to his place, or to have supper with him after work, or to close the shop for a day and take in the city with him. He kept trying to kiss me, though none so blatantly as the times before. He didn't pull me to him and claim what I wouldn't give, but I could tell he wanted it when we were pressed together, when he bent his head and hesitated, just for a breath, before pressing his mouth to my jaw or my shoulder or my throat. Sometimes, if I blinked my eyes open when we were both shuddering and on the edge, I caught him running his tongue over his lip or working it between his teeth until it was flushed red and tender, and I knew that it was because he was aching for the pressure of a mouth against his, the bite of teeth and rough scrape of stubble.
It was the end of the week, which meant we had fucked again. If I didn't initiate it, Bansi did. I suspected he found humor in it, because of that earlier comment I'd made. "Come on, Ren," he'd say, smiling and charming. I'd scowl at his use of my nickname and he'd smile right on through it. "You said you'd fuck me at the week's end."
Today, he was sitting at the chair I worked in, when he allowed me time to work, and I was in his lap. I liked it best like this, when I rose up above him and rode him, when I was the one who controlled the pace and the depth and when each of us came. I'd driven us both hard today, held off release for either of us until I couldn't take it anymore. Now, I was slumped forward against Bansi's chest, arms draped over his shoulders and gripping the chair's back to keep us both from sliding off in a puddle of naked limbs.
Bansi had his face in the hollow of my throat, was nuzzling a bit too close and for a bit too long. It was enough like tenderness that it made unease coil beneath my breast like a viper, waiting for the right moment to strike.
I disentangled my limbs from his and tried to slide off his lap. Usually, lately, he let me go, and if his gaze followed me as I moved through the room, retrieving clothes and pulling them back on, we both knew better than to say anything about it.
Today, though, he made a low, unhappy sound and tightened his arms around me. I tried again to pull away, but he lipped at my skin and said, "Just another moment, Renad. That's all."
"That's easy for you to say. You're nice and warm with me for a blanket, aren't you? But my ass is hanging out bare and it's not as though I can afford the wood to keep this shop heated. I'm cold, Bansi. Let me go."
I'd learned quickly enough that there was no point in struggling against him when he did something like this, holding on too tight or refusing to let go. The better tactic was just to wait, and to look him dead in the eye, and repeat the request as many times as it took for him to realize that he was being unbearable.
He was learning. Lately, I'd only had to repeat myself a few times before he gave in. And today, only the once. He gave me a long, searching look that lasted long enough that I had to fight down the urge to fidget beneath the weight of his scrutiny. Then he nodded once, ducked his head, and let me go.
I slid off of his lap and reached for my trousers. Usually, he stayed where as he was, maybe repositioned to make himself a bit more comfortable, and watched me as I moved around the shop, pulling on clothes as I went. His gaze skated over me as though he longed to strip off every garment I put back on. But today, I'd just snagged my trousers from the floor and was balancing on one foot as I shoved the other into the leg, when I turned and he was there standing behind me, helping me balance with a steadying hand on my shoulder.
"Let me help," he said, quietly. There was some hesitation to him that I didn't understand, a slowness to his smile.
"I'm not a child. I can dress myself." I shook his arm off and finished pulling my trousers up and securing them. "You should do the same."
His bare feet scuffed across the floors as he moved to gather his own clothing. When I turned around, he had his trousers on and his shirt in his hand, but made no move to finish dressing. He was looking at me again. He'd been giving me that same, somber look all day long. Earlier, whenever he'd noticed my attention on him, he'd covered it up with a smile, maybe a wink or a lighthearted comment. But now, we were both of us staring at each other, and he made no effort to disguise it.
"What is it?" I snapped, bristling. "What's wrong with you today?"
"Come back with me tonight, Renad. Please. Just this once, stay with me."
"No. You know I can't. Won't," I amended quickly, because I wouldn't have him thinking that my refusal was borne out of some other obligation. I wanted him to know that it was my choice, and that alone.
"Please."
I took a step back from him, crossed my arms over my chest and frowned until he sighed and dragged a hand through his hair, pulling it into messy disarray.
"All right. All right. Then..." He turned, squaring off with me. When he reached to take my hands, I jerked away. But he caught them all the same, and held them in a firm grasp. I didn't know what had gotten into him, what strange mood had gripped him, but I hated it. This wasn't the way I was used to him acting. This wasn't the Bansi I had grown accustomed to, and that made him unpredictable. I eyed the door and wondered, if I pulled my hands from his and slid out through it, if he'd let me leave, or if he'd just follow me all the way to Corine's like a stray dog.
I wouldn't risk leading him to Elodie, so I stayed, but I made no effort to hide my irritation or impatience. "What is it, Bansi? Just speak, before I grow old waiting."
He shut his eyes for a moment. The skin across his brow creased. When he opened his eyes again and looked at me, there wasn't a trace of warmth or humor on his face, just sadness. "I have to go, Ren. Tomorrow."
"You have to go now. I'm closing shop."
He bared his teeth with a grimace. His hands clenched around mine. "No. The caravan. The season's over, and we're going back home, before storms close off the pass. I have to go with them, you know I do."
A moment passed that felt like forever. I just stared at him as the knowledge that he was leaving the city settled over me. I felt relief and vindication, and none of that surprised me. But there was also something unpleasant that felt like a weight on my lungs, making it difficult and painful to breathe. I should have been thrilled, and while I was relieved that I wouldn't have to chase him out of my shop every day, it was hard to focus on that when the one, purely-selfish thought spinning through my head was that I'd just grown used to having someone to fuck regularly again, and now it was being taken from me.
Bansi scanned my face like he was waiting for me to react, but I couldn't. I didn't know how to. "Renad?" He sounded uncertain. I tried to find words in me, the right words, the ones I ought to say. But before I could decide what they were, he moved a step closer to me and continued urgently, "I'm coming back, Renad. Do you hear me? I'm coming back. It's not so long, really. We've made it through this before."
I pulled back and stared at him, then shook my head in bewilderment. "Made it through? Bansi... Go. Do what you must. Do whatever you like. What do I care? I've been trying to be rid of you for months now, haven't I?"
He smiled at me, but unlike every time prior, this time his smile was sad, heartbreaking. "You don't mean that, Ren."
"I've meant it all along. You haven't been listening."
He moved toward me. I stiffened, but I wouldn't be driven away. I held my ground, even though it meant he came right up to stand before me, so close the toes of his boots touched mine, and his chest grazed mine with every breath, and I had to tip my head just a bit to look him in the eye. "Let me say good-bye?" he asked on a breath. The warmth of it skated over my cheekbone.
"Isn't that what you've just been doing?"
He shook his head slowly. "Not properly."
I didn't understand what he meant. I was an idiot. He put a hand on my waist and leaned in, and it wasn't until his lips were about to touch mine that I realized.
I moved away, then, slipping to the side so that he was left with his arms empty, like he was embracing a ghost. "Stop that." My voice was a little too rough, a little too wet. I cleared my throat and hated myself for revealing even that weakness. "You know I don't want that."
His gaze followed me as I paced across the shop, seeking something with which to keep my hands busy. "You're right," he said. "But I still don't understand why."
And he wasn't even apologizing for it, either. I bristled. "Because that's not what we are. That's not what this is."
"Oh, isn't it?" He had one brow raised, his tone faintly mocking. Then he sobered. "It's just a kiss, Ren."
It wasn't, though. He kissed like he was still in love with me. And no matter what he thought, that wasn't what this was. We were fucking, that was all. I couldn't let him forget that.
I took up a box of spare parts that was sitting out in the shop and carried it back behind my counter. It gave me an excuse to turn my back on Bansi, and to put more distance between us. "I don't know why you're hanging about here like you need permission to leave. Go, Bansi. Go home."
He lingered in my doorway, fingers clenched around the frame like he didn't want to let it go. "I will come back," he said on a whisper.
I continued about my work and gave no indication that I'd heard. It would only have encouraged him.
"Good-bye," he said, a breath of sound. And when I'd gathered the courage to turn, he was gone, my shop door left open and gaping in his wake.
Wasn't that just like him, to leave things ashambles behind him for someone else to pick up in his wake? I stomped across the shop, thinking unpleasant thoughts of all the things I'd have said to him if he'd stayed around to hear them, and shut the door behind him. I locked it for good measure, then stood and stared at its beams, thinking, Tomorrow, he will not be here to knock his silly little tune out against it, and force his way in, and make a nuisance of himself. Tomorrow, I'll be able to work, and the only people here will be my own customers.
It should have been a reassuring thought. I meant it to be, and expected it to be. But the unpleasant weight upon my lungs remained, making each breath I drew short and painful.
It was just the pleasure I had grown used to taking in him, and the regularity of it. I reminded myself of this as I settled down at my counter to get a few more hours of work in before I left for Corine's. It would fade with the passage of time, as it had before, and then my life would return to the rhythms I was used to.
*
I did not settle back into my old patterns so easily as I had expected. Every day, it seemed, there was a new reminder of Bansi's absence at my side. And though I expected it to be a pleasant reminder, the way one was startled and pleased to realize that the pain they had grown used to living with in a joint had healed itself and was no longer present, it was not so simple as that.
I was glad to be rid of him. I cleaned the alley behind my shop out from all the refuse of his gifts, the broken baskets and remnants of old fruit or dried husks of bread, and in a few days rains came, tearing through the city and leaving everything sodden and dripping, and washed the alley clean so that I could step out the shop's back door and see no sign of him at all.
I was pleased to have that trash heap gone, pleased, too, to have back the solitude of my mornings, a few scant hours in which to work in peace, while the city and the sun still slept, just me and my hands and my work and the lamp glowing golden on the counter beside me.
The days were harder to adjust to than I'd anticipated. It should have been easy, simple. There were customers enough to keep me busy, and it should have been natural to forget the absence at my side, the chair pulled up to the counter beside mine that now sat empty. But throughout the day, inevitably, I found myself glancing over to my right with a comment upon my lips, only to remember that there was no one there to speak it to. When I worked and had to reach for a tool, or lift my head from my task to seek out where I had left it, it struck me then, too, a sharp catch beneath my breastbone like a fisherman's hook. I had grown too used to his assistance, to needing to do little more than hold my hand out and have the tool I need placed into my grasp.
My customers had grown accustomed to it, too. Not a day passed when someone didn't wander in, look about with a frown wrinkling their brows, and wonder where Bansi had stepped off to and when he would be back. The first time, I had been so taken aback I'd snapped, "He doesn't work here! He's gone home," without thinking, and only afterwards been chagrined to discover that they'd thought his absence was my fault, and demanded to know why I'd let that poor man go.
After that, I held my tongue and let their curiosity die on its own. Or, when the questions were persistent, I spared a brief glance from my work and said, "Don't ask me. Bansi goes where he wills. I suppose he grew tired of it here." That, at least, had them clucking their tongue in sympathy with me, not him.
It might have been easier to graciously accept his absence, and how difficult I'd found it to be filled, if it weren't for the fact that my shop suffered without him there. Business slowed, because I could no longer keep up the pace that he and I together had been able to set. People who had come for his smile and his charm, and then lingered long enough to part with their coin, either no longer came or no longer tarried, and they kept their coin in their purses, and out of mine.
I needed the shop to do well, for Elodie's sake if not my own, and it was infinitely frustrating that Bansi seemed to be the lynchpin in our success. Every day, it seemed, Elodie was a little bit taller. Every day, there was some new expense. A dress whose hem had been let down so many times that there was nothing left but a frayed edge. Shoes whose soles had been worn through and needed to be repaired. And always, hanging over my head like a storm-cloud, there was the knowledge that soon she would need to start school, and I would have to find a way to pay for it.
That, if nothing else, I was determined to give her. She would have an education, the best I could provide. I would not have her resigned to my fate, working with her hands to scratch out a meager living, every day of her life spent eminently aware of how much she earned and how much she needed. I didn't want her to have to go hungry some nights so that her child could eat, the way I did when things were tight. I wanted her to have everything, and while I couldn't give her that, I could give her this. And I would, even if I had to work when I ought to sleep in order to make up for Bansi's absence.
I knew the strain was showing on me. Corine quietly made me breakfast some mornings, along with my tea. Sometimes when I came to pick Elodie up, she would already have supper on the table. "Oh, hello there, is it so late already?" she'd always say, as though surprised, and then wave me to the table and put a cup of tea in my hands so I would stay there. "The roast took longer to bake today than I expected," she'd say, or she'd laugh and make out like it was her own sloth that had her putting supper on now, instead of earlier. "Well, sit. Yvas, get a plate for Renad," she would say, and I would protest, because she was not much better off than Elodie or I and I couldn't bear that she was taking from her own pocket to pad out mine. But my objections always fell on deaf ears. "I'll not have you sipping tea while the rest of us eat in front of you," she'd say. "My poor grandmother would be rolling over in her grave right now if she knew that I was showing such poor hospitality. You'll just have to stay and eat, or I'll feel terrible about it all night long." And somehow, always, she made it so that my eating her food was somehow a favor to her, so that I could not object. And when the meal was over and I bundled Elodie up in her coat and scarf to leave, I'd draw Corine close to kiss her cheek in farewell, and murmur where only she could hear, "Thank you, Corine. It was wonderful," and hope that she knew what I was really thanking her for.
I did manage to save a little, mostly through grit and determination and Corine's generosity. Not enough to pay for school for Elodie, but I was undeterred. She was my daughter, and there was nothing I wouldn't do to give her what she deserved.
My hours grew longer. I came to the shop earlier, left later, brought even more parts home and worked on them while I told Elodie stories to put her to sleep, while I sat with a lamp throwing dancing shadows and light across my kitchen and worked long into the night, while Elodie rose the next morning and pulled on clothes and ate her breakfast at the kitchen table. I worked until my knuckles hurt and my fingers bled, but it still wasn't enough.
Every day, I came through Corine's door and she smiled at me and asked how business had been, and every day I answered her, "Oh, well enough, I suppose." And every day her smile dimmed and her gaze lingered on my face, and I knew that it was obvious to anyone who looked at me that I was losing this battle. That I was exhausted, and pulled too far in too many directions, and there was nothing I could do to lessen the pressure.
There wasn't anything else to be done, either. If I could make business appear with a wish, Elodie and I would have been living in luxury years before. I couldn't even hire an assistant to take Bansi's place, because the only compensation Bansi had ever desired was my company. Who else in the city had the luxury or desire to work for free?
Elodie took to sitting with me in the evenings, instead of scrambling around on the floor playing. She took the chair beside mine and colored quietly, or laid her head down on the table and just watched me as her eyes grew heavy-lidded and she fought the pull of sleep.
I hated that I had to work during even those hours, that I couldn't sit on the floor with her and play as we had used to. One evening she was watching me work, as she often did. But she lifted her head and broke the silence. "What are you doing, Papa?"
"I'm sorting these out from each other. See?" I showed her a handful of the gears I had been working through, showed her how they were different sizes, and some had square teeth while the others were pointed, and how each must be separated from each.
She took a handful from the box and looked them over with intense concentration, turning them about to study their back, testing her thumb against the points of the triangular teeth or running her fingernail through the grooves between square ones. I watched her make her study, bemused by her fascination.
After a few moments had passed, she spread the gears out on the table and moved them about like game pieces on a board. I smiled and let her play with them, and picked out some more from the box, but I'd barely begun when she interrupted me, said, "Like this?"
I looked over and realized that she hadn't been playing with them idly. She'd separated them into piles like mine, by size and by type.
I stared at them, at her and her proud smile. My heart thunked so hard against my ribs that it hurt. "That's perfect, sweetheart," I said, my voice choked and strangled. I pushed my chair back and stood, scooped her up from hers and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head that was maybe a bit too firm, lingered a bit too long. I had to be sure I'd fought back the tears that burned my eyes before I released her.
"Enough of that for one night, hmm? How about we go play with that puzzle Yvas made you for your birthday?"
She nodded happily and we spent the rest of the evening sprawled out together across my bed arranging rough-cut puzzle pieces to discover the picture that Yvas had drawn upon them for her.
I hoped that would be the end of it. But the next night when I brought Elodie home, she scrambled through the door, wrestled off her coat and scarf, and said, "Are you still sorting tonight, Papa?"
"Yes, just for a little while."
She threw herself into her chair and beamed up at me. "I can help!"
I shut my eyes and shook my head. "No, Elodie."
"But I can!"
I opened my eyes to see her scowling, incensed by the implication that she wasn't capable, when that wasn't what I had meant at all. I didn't want to see her working, when she ought to have been playing and enjoying herself. The thought of Elodie spending her days toiling beside me made me sad beyond measure.
"Of course you can." I crouched down so I was on her level. "You're the cleverest girl in the world. You can do anything. But wouldn't you rather paint, or play with your toys?"
She stuck her lower lip out and sulked at me. "No. I want to be with you."
I sighed and relented. What else was I to do? I could hardly tell my daughter that she shouldn't want to spend time with her father.
The worst of it was that, with a second pair of hands to help me, we made it through the night's work faster than I could have on my own, and with time left over to run about and play and enjoy one another, before it was time to tuck Elodie into bed. It was bittersweet, and I didn't know what to do about it. I hated the idea of putting Elodie to work. She was a child still, and there would be plenty of time for work and toil, but not yet. I was determined to provide for her, and give her the life she deserved.
And yet, it had become a rare luxury to be able to play with her in the evenings, and I knew she had missed it as much as I had. When I'd tucked her into bed, she'd snuggled up against me, her cheek mashed up against my chest, and sighed, "I missed you, Papa," and I'd nearly had to leave before she saw me crying furious, frustrated tears right in front of her.
After that I tried to bring home less, so that Elodie wouldn't feel obliged to help me for so long in the evenings. I tried to think of ways to make a game of it, so she might at least have a little fun with it. I surprised her with little trinkets hidden inside boxes of parts, and showed her how to make tops that danced across the kitchen table out of just a gear and a bolt. And when she looked at me with her earnest gaze and said, "Papa, I could help you at the shop, too, couldn't I?", I shook my head and hugged her tight, and asked Corine to keep her busy so she wouldn't spend the day preoccupied by the notion of working with me.
But when winter was just beginning to release the city from its grip and edge toward spring, Corine and Yvas both came down with a fever that had them bedridden and vomiting. Usually, I left Elodie with Corine's mother, Ilis, if Corine was indisposed, but Corine needed her there to help with her own family, and so I found myself at loose ends one morning. I couldn't keep the shop closed until Corine and Yvas had recovered, but I had no one else to watch Elodie on short notice.
I was lingering over tea at our kitchen table, trying to decide what to do, when she came out of her room already bundled up in coat and hat, hands shoved into her pockets and looking me over like I'd done something wrong. "Papa. You aren't going to work dressed like that."
My feet were bare and my shirt still unbuttoned. "I'm not? Are you sure?" I wiggled my toes at her and made her laugh. "I suppose not. But where are you going, all dressed up and looking pretty?"
She notched her chin up, looking as proud as the day she'd first dressed herself unassisted. "I'm going with you."
"Elodie--"
"No!" She stomped her foot and balled her hands up into fists. Tears dripped down her cheeks, and her whole face turned the color of a radish. "Take me with you! I want to come with you, Papa!"
I covered my eyes with a hand and prayed for patience, for the wisdom to know what the right thing was to say. "Elodie. You need to stop right now."
Usually, she was a remarkably well-behaved child. But today, she threw herself down in the kitchen chair, buried her head in her arms, and sobbed like I'd broken her heart. "You never let me come!"
I made another cup of tea, and sat in my own chair, and drank it quietly until the tears had run their course. She drew a wet, hiccuping breath and lifted her head, looking at me with eyes stained red and swollen. Her lip still trembled, as though she might dissolve back into tears and sobs at a moment's notice.
"Do you feel better?"
She propped her chin on her crossed arms, lower lip thrust out. "No," she said sullenly.
"No, I don't imagine you do. I always feel wretched after I've been crying." I swirled the contents of my cup about and sipped at it. "Would you like some tea?"
"No," she said again, just as before, and glared at me as though I'd offered her poison.
Not yet done with her sulk, then. I settled back in my chair and drank some more, pretending I couldn't hear every hitching breath she took.
When I'd drained my cup and rose to refill it, her head lifted and she tracked me across the room. "Would you like some?" I asked her lightly.
She heaved a great sigh and mumbled something that sounded rather like, "Yes, please." It was near enough, anyway. I poured her a cup of her own and brought it back with mine. When I set it on the table before her, she curved her hands around the cup and said, softly but clearly, "Thank you, Papa."
"You're welcome, sweetheart." I watched her over the rim of my cup as I blew on the tea to cool it off. Her face was still red, but her tears had dried. She was still staring down into the depths of her cup as though she were the saddest girl in the city, though. "Would you like to talk now?"
"You're not going to talk." She threw herself back in the chair and crossed her arms over her chest. "You're just going to say no."
"No," I said automatically, without thinking. And then, "I mean-- Devils." I muffled the oath in my hand. I didn't want her picking up on any of my bad habits. "You'll find it horribly dull, darling."
Her face brightened, uncertain hope kindling in her eyes. "No, I won't." She scrambled up onto her knees and leaned across the table, wrapping her fingers around the edge as though it were the only thing keeping her from flying out of her chair with enthusiasm. "There will be people. And I can help you. I won't be bored, Papa, I promise."
I didn't believe her. She may have meant it, and that was all very well, but she didn't know the first thing about what it would really be like. The last time she'd been to my shop, she'd been small enough to put in a bassinet and keep by my side. But I needed the business. We needed it. I was going to have a hard enough time figuring out how to pay for her schooling as it was. There'd be no chance of it if I didn't keep the shop open and business coming in.
"All right," I said. "You can come." I held up a hand before she could start whooping with excitement. "You'll stay quiet, and out of people's way. There won't be any playing there, El."
She had her lips pressed together, her face turning red again, this time from barely-contained excitement. She nodded eagerly. "No, Papa. I'll be good. I promise!"
I nodded and pulled her close for a rough hug. "Good girl. Help me find my boots, will you? I think you're right after all. I can't possibly go out looking like this."
She smiled against my shirt, then pulled away and ran off to look for them. I followed after, a little slower.
I didn't expect her enthusiasm would last very long. Once we reached the shop and she realized what it was really going to be like, she'd change her mind. She'd probably be bored out of her mind by the time I closed up and took her home. But hopefully the next time I warned her she'd find something dull, she'd trust me, instead of wasting the morning with a tantrum.
The morning started off well enough. Elodie settled in at my side with a box of bolts that had nuts screwed onto their threads, and I needed them separated so that I didn't have to stop half a dozen times during every project in order to do it myself. She hummed her own silly nonsense tunes to herself as she worked at my side, legs swinging to kick her heels against the stool's legs, and we talked as we worked side-by-side, and it was much as it was at home in the evenings when we did this at our kitchen table.
As the morning grew later and customers came more and more frequently, the level of noise in the shop prevented us from being able to hold a conversation. Too often, I was occupied with questions and matters of business with my customers, and couldn't keep up with what Elodie was trying to say to me. I worried for her, and kept a close eye on her and how she was working, whether she was showing signs of tiring or growing bored with the tedium. But all morning long, she remained upright and attentive in her stool. Her gaze was alert, flitting about the room from one customer to the next. Occasionally, she forgot her work and leaned across the counter to see someone better. "I love your dress, green is my favorite color," she'd say, or "My Papa has boots just like those," or "Oh! Your hair's so pretty. I wish mine curled like that."
I cringed, at first, and apologized to them for her interruptions. But for the most part, they seemed to be charmed by her, not irritated. Often, they came over and leaned down to see what she was working on and complimented her own hair, or her dress, or the brilliant sea-green of her eyes. One harried-looking woman came in with a toddler in tow behind her, who promptly tried to play with everything in the shop that was low enough to reach. She tried to tell me what it was she needed, but had to stop every two words to scold him for getting into something, or pulling him back from walking underfoot of someone else.
I feared he would get himself hurt here in my shop, or he'd poke himself on a bit of sharp metal, or pull something over and break it so badly there'd be no fixing it. But before I could bring myself to suggest that the woman might find it more productive to come back later when there was someone else to keep an eye on the child, Elodie slipped out of her chair, scurried around the counter, and led the boy over to sit at the counter's end, where they were mostly sheltered from being trampled on. She showed the boy her toy tops that I'd taught her how to make, then showed him how they whirled about on the floor. He squealed and clapped with delight, and they busied themselves chasing the tops across the floor, and his mother and I were able to conduct our business without any further interruptions. When she left, she scooped her son up into her arms and offered Elodie a proper kiss on the cheek. Elodie bounced on the balls of her feet and turned so pink she looked as though she might take off like one of her spinning tops.
I lifted her back up into her chair and kissed her cheek noisily, until she laughed and protested, "Papa!"
"Elodie," I said, "you're so clever I can't stand it. What do you say we close up for a bit and go get some lunch?"
She nodded eagerly, and we did just that, wandering hand-in-hand through the streets.
Somehow after that, Elodie didn't end up going back to staying with Corine while I worked, though she and Yvas had recovered within a few days and they both professed to miss her terribly. Once or twice a week, she would ask to spend the day with them instead of at my side, and I always let her. With her help, we were back to making enough at the shop that I was able to save little bits here and there for when she would need to start school, but I didn't want her to feel she didn't have a choice in the matter.
Winter passed, and spring came and went, and my savings grew in dribs and drabs, but never fast enough. I didn't know where I was going to find the rest of Elodie's tuition, but I was determined to find a way, even if it meant begging the school to let me pay them what I had now, and the rest throughout the year as I had it.
I was not thinking about the time of year, beyond a slightly-panicked realization of how quick it was passing and how soon school would start, so when my door scraped open one day and I glanced up to acknowledge the customer, I was thoroughly unprepared for the sight of Bansi in my doorway, arms crossed, leaning one shoulder against the door frame and smiling at me fit to split his face in two.
Panic dropped into my gut like a stone. I came around the counter, caught the arm of Selva, who ran an apothecary a few blocks away and whom I had known for years, and gestured to Elodie. "Watch her for a moment?"
I didn't wait for acknowledgment, just strode right up to Bansi, gripped him by the arm, and dragged him outside.
He laughed as though delighted and caught a hold of my shirt, making me stop when I would have propelled him right on down the street. "Missed me, have you?" There was a hoarse edge to his voice, a roughness that sounded an awful lot like sincerity. "Good. Me too. Terribly."
"Shut up." I shoved him by the shoulders, so hard he bounced off the wall of my shop. "You can't be here! What are you even doing here?"
"I told you I was coming back, Ren." He reached a hand as though he meant to cup my cheek. I pulled away from the gesture. He froze, then dropped the hand down to my shoulder instead. "Ah. I'd forgotten about that."
His hand was warm on my shoulder, heavy and just a little bit rough. I shivered beneath its weight and tried to ignore the way my body yearned to lean in to him. He was sun-warmed, giving off heat like a wood stove, and his skin was a few shades darker from the journey, or perhaps just from being home. He'd told me once that the sun over there baked the land like an oven, hotter than I'd ever experienced it. He felt like he'd carried that sun back with him, like it burned inside him and made his skin a brand against mine. Winter was not so long gone that it had faded in memory, and it made me want to wrap around him and soak that warmth up straight from his skin to mine.
I moved back a half step and brushed his hand from my shoulder. It was somewhat dismaying to learn that I was still as easily addled as before, that my own primal needs could still drive me into his arms. Even if I was just using his body for the pleasure it could bring mine, the way he brought it out in me with the slightest touch, with a look, still made me feel like the instrument, and he the musician.
"I don't want you here. Go away."
He just pressed his shoulders back against the wall and grinned at me as though what I'd actually said was, It's so wonderful to see you again. I've been miserable without you. I wish you'd never gone. "But how could I stay away, with such a warm welcome awaiting me?" He caught me by the elbow and tried to turn me away, to lead me down the street. "Come take a moment with me. I'm sure you've been working yourself into the ground the past six months without me here to keep an eye on you. You can spare a few moments. I've something to ask you."
"No, Bansi." I had to get him out of here. If I didn't go with him, he would insist on coming inside. And Elodie was there, and I wasn't prepared to face the questions that her presence would raise. I wasn't going to justify my daughter's existence to this man who had walked out on both of us. "No. Go away. I'm not coming with you."
Gods knew, he'd ignored my protests any number of times before. I didn't know what had changed now, but this time, he hesitated and looked at me, his brow creased and his gaze speculative. "All right," he said at last. I could scarcely believe my ears. "I've clearly come at a bad time. I'd have sent word ahead, so you knew to expect me, but I still don't know your address." There was a faint note of accusation there, in that last bit, but I ignored it and he kept on without waiting for me to acknowledge it. "I'll leave you to it, then."
I moved toward the door, but before I'd gone more than a step, he caught me and swung me around, one arm about my waist as though we were dancing. The end of the circle that he swept me in brought me up close against him, pressed together from chest to thighs. My pulse tripped and sped, and my body threatened to soften and melt in against him, just from this.
He threaded his fingers through my hair and leaned in. I fought, fearing he meant to hold me still and make me kiss him, but in the end, he only leaned his brow against mine and breathed into the space between us, too soft, too sincere, "Ah, I have missed you, Renad. It's good to see you again."
I jerked back when he released me, then spun about and stalked back inside. Only once I was within the shop did I stop and look back, waiting with a crushing sense of foreboding to see if he would follow me in here uninvited all the same.
He didn't. When I stepped outside a minute later to be sure, the street was empty and he was nowhere to be seen.
"Papa?" Elodie looked up at me when I took my place beside her, her round face solemn and worried. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing, sweetheart." I clasped her close and ruffled her hair to make her laugh. "What do you think of staying with Corine tomorrow? I told her what a good helper you've been for me lately, and she wondered if you mightn't want to learn how to card wool, like she does, for spinning."
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