Chapter 41

In Her Absence

It was not good to be alone. That was what Chip had decided.

Not at a time like this, at least.

He was alone right now, recumbent on Catherine's sofa, propped up on its accent pillows. He had drifted off Monday evening soon after indulging in a cozy dinner for two: homemade vegetable soup and apple bread. A single hand pie filled with minced beef had been saved especially for him. Janice had provided the meal, having shown up at Catherine's apartment mere minutes after he and Catherine ended their calls with their respective mothers, proclaiming she was happy to share the food with them. Chip's appetite had improved greatly since Saturday morning, and he managed to eat a fair amount of everything with gusto. The resulting fullness had been as good as a sedative. Fresh from his doze, Catherine had once again walked him to the bathroom and stood sentry in the doorway while he urinated, making Chip feel like a tiny child who was potty training under his mother's watchful eye. He would never get used to this new bathroom routine. Catherine had then settled Chip on the sofa again, made sure he did not need anything else, and then disappeared down the darkened hall to take a shower, leaving him on his own for a while. After a minute or two, he began to grow uneasy. A pattern had developed over the past couple of days. Uneasiness was usually how it always started.

When he was alone, without Catherine's presence to distract and—all right, he could admit it—comfort him, Chip was aware of just how vulnerable he felt. Worry invaded his thoughts, and he did not like it one bit. With a fuzzy, tender head, the worries grew heavy and seemingly physical, like a weight on his brain, and his stress doubled. How was he supposed to rest, relax, heal when rent was due soon and no money was currently flowing into his bank account? He was not broke, but this would be the closest to broke he had been in five years once his bills were paid and he replaced all the groceries that sat spoiling away in his kitchen while he recuperated at Tarver Ranch and Rescue. Then there was the matter of Catherine's big surprise, the gift that was sure to blow her away. It was not exactly cheap, and Chip could not exactly back out of it. Workers' comp was in the bag, or so Trevor had said. But what was Chip supposed to do in the meantime? He had credit cards, but he considered them tools, things he could take advantage of for welcome bonuses and cash-back benefits. He never used them to splurge. It was possible he could rely on them to get by for the next few weeks, but the idea of carrying a huge balance and tanking his credit score, which had been a not-too-shabby 741 the last time he checked, made him cringe. What if he needed a loan in the near future?

A loan, he thought. Could I just skip the cards and apply for a loan?

He needed to cover his ass, but the idea of accumulating more debt also made him cringe. As he guesstimated interest rates, weighed the pros and cons of his options, a dull ache developed in his forehead. Chip blew out a frustrated breath and forced himself to stop thinking about money. Catherine had been right about stress causing strain. She would be so mad if she knew he was agonizing over this right now, hurting himself. His mind easily conjured the lecture she would give, complete with her familiar vocal inflections, and he smiled in spite of his discomfort.

Amusement fell away to a feeling of longing that was stronger and more persistent. Catherine was just down the hall, but Chip wanted her right now. He could not wait until she was next to him, warm from the steamy water, scented with coconut lime shampoo and the lavender baby oil she liked to massage into her shoulders at night because she swore it helped her fall asleep more quickly. Anticipating her warmth made him realize how chilly the room was, and Chip snatched the knitted throw draped over the back of the sofa and covered himself. In the distance, the shower was still running. There was no telling how long she would be.

He squinted against the dim light of the lamp perched on the far end table. It was made of angular, Tiffany-style glass in ivory and deep jewel tones, matching the sconces and various other light fixtures scattered throughout the apartment. When he had helped Catherine move in, Chip commented on how her place was a "fricken palace" compared to his basic Avalon apartment, and he was still taken with its extravagance from time to time. Every room was decorated with frontier furniture, rustic yet comfortable. The main living area boasted a state-of-the-art home theater and stereo system as well as an impressive natural gas fireplace encased in fine stonework and carved wood, serving as the sole barrier between the living room and kitchen. This place screamed "custom-made", which was not surprising now that Chip knew it had been built on Ed Crosswire's dime. He did not understand why the big guy had willingly shelled out so much money for Tarver, an establishment he had virtually no connection to save for a so-called mutual acquaintance, a friend shared with Rudy and Janice: Mrs. M, or whatever her real name was. There must have been an angle, but it would likely remain a mystery along with his father's motivation for other recent and overly-charitable acts. It was not Chip's problem, and he needed to let it go before his headache got worse. One thing was for sure, and that was he could not resent Catherine for her involvement with Tarver. She had no connection to the big guy; it had been a crazy twist of fate that she ended up working here, living here. If anyone deserved to dwell in such luxury and comfort, it was his girlfriend. She had earned her place here as well as the perks that came with it, and Chip would be happy for her. He had just pulled up the throw to shield his eyes from the lamp when he heard his phone. It was buzzing on the coffee table. He sat up slowly to see that it was Muffy calling. He had to answer, for it had been days since he had spoken with his sister. Ignoring her and taking a chance on raising her suspicion was not a good idea. Catherine was not here to disapprove of his phone use, but they could argue about it later if she found out.

"Muffler?"

"Hey, Chip," came Muffy's cheerful voice. "Long time, no talk. Did you get my text?"

"Been busy," he said, speaking quietly and hoping he was not being too obvious. "Sorry about that. You're talking about Sunday's text? Yeah, I got it, and I talked to Mom this afternoon, woke her up from a nap and everything. We're all caught up."

"Aw, you woke her? Daddy said she really needed the sleep. He even took a call on the patio in the freezing cold this afternoon so he wouldn't risk waking her. She's really gone all out for Thanksgiving. That, and planning holiday stuff—no wonder she's so tired. Oh well…I'm sure she was thrilled to hear from you. She certainly seemed full of energy at dinner. Your conversation was probably better than a cup of coffee."

"Cool-cool. Listen, Muff…it's awesome to hear from you, but Cat's going to be here any minute, if you know what I mean."

"Oh…." she said. "Don't worry, I know exactly what you mean. I'll talk to you again soon. Love you! Mean it! And have fuh-un!"

Chip returned his phone to the coffee table and covered up again just before Catherine opened the bathroom door. She entered the living room wearing a Tarver tee over pink plaid pajama bottoms, damp and wavy hair framing her face, exuding that familiar bouquet of nighttime fragrances. She glanced at Chip with a sympathetic frown as she passed and said, "I'll get the Tylenol," continuing into the kitchen and adding, "I recognize that face," before Chip could ask how she knew he had a headache. It made him love her even more.

After downing the medicine, Chip and Catherine decided to turn in for the night. Catherine curled up with a book light clipped to an Amy Tan novel, while Chip lay with his back as close to her as possible so he could steal some of her radiating warmth. He wrestled with his headache for a while before falling asleep. The pain had nagged at him along with Muffy's phone call. Maybe it was just the rushed and secretive nature of his conversation with her, but something about it definitely bothered him. Days would pass before he finally realized what that something was.

To be continued…