Watching Trin by Freya Barker

Chapter 6

Trin

“Can I come in?”

I turn to the door to see Bodhi standing there.

He popped in yesterday morning and is back again today. Something tells me he doesn’t offer this kind of follow-up on all of the victims he rescues.

Vic told me it had been Bodhi who dove into the rapids and found Tucker. She also mentioned he’d been instrumental in resuscitating my son at the scene.

“Of course,” I tell him, watching as he approaches the bed, his eyes on a sleeping Tuck. “Have a seat.”

He’s not wearing his uniform today but a pair of well-worn jeans and a navy sweatshirt with the letters DFR, the acronym for Durango Fire and Rescue, and the department crest printed on his chest.

“How is he?” he asks when he pulls up a stool and sits on the other side of the bed.

“He had a restless night with headaches and coughing, so they gave him a light sedation this morning to help him sleep. The doctor says the coughing isn’t a bad thing, it’ll help clear his lungs. He seems optimistic about Tuck’s recovery but cautioned that some of the effects of a near-drowning may not manifest until after I can take him home.”

“Any idea when that might be?” he asks, his eyes now on me and I’m suddenly painfully aware of my disheveled state.

I haven’t been home since he picked me up. I haven’t even looked in a mirror these past thirty-six or so hours. Vic brought over a clean set of clothes and my toothbrush last night, but I haven’t had a shower or washed my hair so I’m starting to feel pretty grungy.

“At least a few more days.”

One of the nurses walks in and Bodhi gets up to make room for her by the bed. She hangs a fresh bag of fluids and a smaller one that holds the IV antibiotics. Then she checks his monitors, makes a few notes in his chart, and turns to me with a smile.

“Why don’t you go grab something to eat while he’s resting?” I start to shake my head when she adds, “Trust me, you’ll have your hands full with him when he goes home, here I can keep an eye on him from the nurses’ station.”

“Come on,” Bodhi jumps in as he walks around the bed, holding his hand out for me. “I’ll take you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I protest.

He shrugs. “I came hoping I could convince you to let me buy you breakfast.”

I look over at the nurse, who is observing our interaction with a smile on her face.

“You’d be crazy to turn down an offer like that,” she imparts with a wink before walking out.

I glance up at Bodhi and take his hand, letting him pull me to my feet. He lets me go when I bend over the bed to drop a kiss on Tuck’s forehead, but grabs my hand again when I join him at the door.

It’s weirdly intimate, holding someone’s hand. I used to hold Tucker’s, but he stopped allowing that a few years ago. I also, at times, hold my father’s when we go out, but that’s to make sure he doesn’t wander off. This is different, perhaps a tad possessive when he has no cause to be, but I leave my hand in his. It feels nice.

“Cafeteria, or do you want a change in scenery? There’s a new diner in the plaza just up the road. We’d only be a couple of minutes from the hospital and they’ll call you if anything happens.”

I hesitate for a moment before nodding. It would be nice to step outside for a bit.

He leads me to his truck, opens the door for me, and gets behind the wheel.

“We have to stop meeting at the hospital,” flies from my mouth without warning.

I was just thinking both times I ended up at Mercy was with Bodhi.

He chuckles, humor shining in his eyes when he glances at me before pulling onto the road.

“I’m trying, but I’ll take whatever I can get.”

Wow. That’s either smooth or honest, but I’m going with the latter. This man doesn’t come across as a smooth operator, he’s been nothing but kind and helpful. Besides, it feels good to receive this kind of attention from a good-looking guy like Bodhi, even if he’s probably too young for me.

“How old are you?”

Maybe it’s lack of sleep but apparently my filters are gone and every random thought gets blurted out loud.

“Thirty-eight. At least for two more months.” Oh. I guess that’s not too bad. I thought maybe early thirties. “You?” he bounces back with a grin. “And don’t tell me it’s rude. You asked first.”

“Older,” I mutter.

“You know I can always ask your sister,” he teases.

“Fine, forty-two.”

He pulls into a strip mall and parks outside a small restaurant that looks to be doing good business. Then he turns in his seat to face me.

“You don’t look it.”

“Oh please. The wrinkles, pasty complexion, and bags under my eyes disagree.”

Reaching out, he cups the bruised side of my face, gently stroking the pad of his thumb over my cheekbone.

“Those aren’t what I notice.”

The air in the truck feels charged. Everything about this man—the way he looks at me, his touch, his words—makes me feel seen in a way I’m not used to. Anyone else and I’d be running for the hills, or at least pulling back from his touch, but for some reason the intensity feels…right, with Bodhi.

Not sure how long we sit there staring at each other but at some point, he picks up my hand and presses a kiss to my knuckles before getting out of the truck. I’m too stunned to move before he opens my door and helps me out.

The only booth available is by the kitchen but neither of us care where we sit. We’re left with menus and freshly brewed coffee.

“By the way, your mother is amazing,” I mention when the waitress walks away. “Thank you for calling her the other night. Vic says she offered to help out with Pops when she has a shift, but I don’t know if we can accept that.”

“You’d be doing her a favor. My dad is recently retired and driving Mom up the wall. She’s happy to get out of the house,” he assures me, but I still have my reservations.

“It’s very kind and I know she has experience, but my father is difficult. A bit unpredictable.”

And possibly violent. Although I don’t say that out loud. The thought of Pops hurting Bodhi’s mother—a tiny woman—makes me sick to my stomach.

“Have you talked to your sister about that?”

He lightly touches the bruise on my face before covering my hand on the table, giving it an encouraging squeeze. I know he’s guessed what happened and despite my first instinct to deny or repeat my excuses, I shake my head instead.

“It happened Friday morning and things have gone a bit crazy since then. I haven’t really had a chance. It’s why I don’t feel comfortable accepting your mother’s help. I’d never forgive myself if he hurt her.”

“Trust me, she’s well aware of the risk,” he insists. “She’s been down that road before and could be a good resource for you as well.”

It would be nice to talk to someone about my worries and fears without it becoming about pointing fingers. If I’m honest, that’s what has been holding me back from telling my sister. Granted, she’s looked after him longer than I have, but since coming home I’ve seen a clear deterioration in his condition. Vic might make this latest escalation into another fail on my part, which would detract from the real issue: continuing to care for Pops at home may not be feasible.

“Let me think about it.”

* * *

Bodhi

At least she’s eating.

The bruise stood out in stark contrast to her pale and drawn face, but I’m glad to see some pink returning as she finishes her bacon and eggs. At least she didn’t try to deny how she got it this time. I’ll need to resist the urge to talk to Vic myself. I have a feeling that won’t go over too well with Trin.

I’m eager to learn more about her, but I get a strong sense she’s not accustomed to sharing. Still, I’m unable to hold back my curiosity when she talks about the brief police visit with her son yesterday.

“Where’s Tucker’s father in all this?”

Despite never actually saying as much, I assumed she was divorced. She doesn’t wear a wedding ring, the boy carries her last name, and neither she nor her sister ever mentioned his father.

Her pretty eyes glance up at me from behind the pale fringe of her lashes. She appears to consider her answer before speaking.

“He died before Tuck was born.” She carefully folds her paper napkin until nothing but a small square is left. “Tyler was a foreign correspondent in Kenya during the aftermath of the presidential elections, when I was there doing a story on the illegal ivory trade. The poaching of elephants,” she clarifies.

“You’re a journalist,” I conclude.

“Freelance now, but yeah. Anyway, we enjoyed each other’s company for a brief time before I moved on to Tanzania. I found out through a mutual friend he got caught up in violence between rival tribes a few weeks later and was killed.”

“I’m sorry.”

She throws me a little smile.

“That was a long time ago. January of 2006. I didn’t find out I was pregnant with Tuck until I got back stateside in early March. Tuck was born in October.”

“He has a birthday coming up.”

“Fifteen in three weeks.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.” She shakes her head. “He used to be such an easy kid. A little charmer, always smiling, but that happy-go-lucky boy seems to be gone. He barely even talks to me.”

Tucker is half-black, and being bi-racial myself, I remember being maybe ten or eleven and suddenly being made aware I was different. Or at least looked different. My mom is Indian, my dad Caucasian, but I have my mother’s coloring.

I imagine Trin’s son is suddenly getting comments, jabs, and taunts from other kids, just like I remember being subjected to. It was tough to deal with at the time, but at least I had both parents to balance me. Other than his unexpected blue eyes, Tucker looks like a black kid, except that part of him is not represented in his family.

“It can be tough growing up a bi-racial kid,” I offer carefully. This can be a sensitive subject and the last thing I want to do is offend her. “I was one myself and struggled, you can ask my parents. Teenage years tend to be an identity struggle anyway, but for someone from two different ethnicities, that becomes more of a challenge.”

She contemplates my words and I give her time to process.

“He’s always been able to talk to me. About anything.”

I shove my empty plate out of the way and grab her hand across the table.

“I have no doubt, but he may be hesitant to talk to you about this because he thinks you won’t understand.”

She instantly pulls her hand back and drops it in her lap. I can see I upset her.

“Of course I would understand,” she sputters.

The momma bear comes out and I try not to smile.

“How could you, though?” I question her cautiously. “I’m not saying you can’t empathize with what he’s feeling, but you’re a white woman with a different frame of reference. How are you supposed to understand the experience of a person of color?”

The waitress shows up with the bill and I quickly take care of it.

“Ready to head back?”

My question startles Trin, who seems to be deep in thought and simply nods.

She’s still quiet when we get back to the hospital and I help her out of the truck. But when she takes a step toward the entrance and notices I’m not moving; she stops and turns to look back at me.

“You’re not coming in?”

“No. I have a few errands to run.”

It’s not a lie. This is the second of my two days off before the next workweek, when I usually get groceries, do laundry, run errands, and hit the gym. Besides, I figure after my lecture at breakfast she may need a break from me. That wasn’t exactly the casual getting-to-know-each-other meal I’d planned.

Hope I didn’t overstep.

“Okay.”

Her smile and nod are a little stiff.

“If you’re still here on Tuesday, I’ll pop in after I get off shift. I’ll bring you some real coffee.”

A dimple appears when the smile widens on her face.

“Sounds good.”

I mock-salute her and turn to the truck. I’m about to get in when she calls out.

“Bodhi?”

She’s still smiling when I glance over at her.

“Thanks for breakfast.”