Eric found Jaye face down in the mop bucket and heard the all-too-familiar chant, "OhmyGodlemmedielemmedieOhmyGodlemmedie, please."
"Are you keeping your head above the water? I'd hate to lose my favorite customer, even after what you did."
Jaye did not so much as flinch. Finally, echoing inside the plastic bucket, she said, "I never really saw myself dying like an addicted rock star." Her head lifted, and she squinted at Eric. "I'm really sorry."
Then the tears came.
It could have been the booze. It could have been the embarrassment. It could have been the raw stench coming up from the mop bucket. No matter what the reason for the crying, her tears pulled him to her.
"Come on. It's okay. It's not like this is the worst thing that's ever happened, Jaye."
He lifted her up, making a point not to look into the bucket. With his arm around her waist, he supported and guided her to his cot. Once she was sitting, he reached around and grabbed a nearby roll of paper towels.
Her sobs were soft and weak, though her face was awash with wetness. As he wiped her cheeks and mouth, Eric noticed she looked more pale than normal.
He tilted her face up. "Jaye? What is wrong? I've seen you drink alcoholics under the table."
Jay blinked her eyes clear and looked directly at him for the first time since he walked in. His face…so beautiful, and the expression on it was one she had hoped to see one day directed at her. Care. Concern. His total attention. She wanted to give herself up and let him inside her life, her mind and her feelings. It wasn't the alcohol thinking for her, of that she was sure. How could a face that sweet not offer a safe place to unburden herself?
"Eric, I…."
"Strike a match."
In Jaye's mind, she saw Eric moving rapidly away from her as if she suddenly looked at him through the wrong end of telescope. The soaring sensation of freedom and release shriveled and crashed deep in her torso, and if stunned numbness hadn't cushioned the impact, Jaye realized she probably would have wanted to die – no, just instantly cease to be, period. To be stricken from history. To have never existed for the pain to happen.
"Jaye, what are you thinking? Something just happened. I saw it, in your eyes."
She touched his face and focused just on the experience. She pushed down everything and let herself feel the warmth of his soft skin, the scratch of his beard and the crinkle of his eyebrows. For a few moments, all she existed as in the universe was the point of contact with Eric.
Then came the excuse that her mind cobbled together from a snippet of truth here and a panel of reality there.
"I just haven't been taking care of myself. Not enough food or sleep. Can't seem to feel at ease. Can't focus."
"You seemed pretty focused out at the bar a bit ago." He smiled again and cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand. His thumb wiped at a stray tear.
"Yeah, a moment of clarity, inspired by being pissed off. I really shouldn't have done that."
"Well, it gave me an excuse to sling you over my shoulder, so I can mark that off my list of life goals. Good news, none of the women are going to press charges or demand you be banned from the bar."
"I wouldn't like that, either."
"But the bad news is that your sister apparently knows the one you were aiming for."
Jaye chuckled. "You must mean Ms. Meat Hooks. And how do you know Sharon knows her?
He shrugged. "Well, they seemed to be friendly when they were talking to each other."
Jaye shot up and off the cot. "Sharon is here?"
Eric nodded.
"Oh shit." She reached down, grabbed the lion and stuffed him in her pocket. "Can I go out the back door? Please?"
"There you are."
Eric and Jaye turned their heads together to see Sharon, straightening her suit jacket, click-clacking towards them with a smile on her face.
