***
After three hours of bland conversation, I rode home with Brent. As we drove through the neighborhood, I fastened my seatbelt and felt the brochure crinkle in my pocket. Pulling it out, I stared at the quaint scene on the front.
“What’s that?” Brent asked.
“Something my mom gave me. She thinks I should work here.”
I stared at the colossal homes as we passed by and realized I would never be happy in a place like this. I needed wide open spaces—beaches, mountains, or trees—and enough room to breathe.
If I took the job at the new hospital, making more money than I knew what to do with, I wouldn’t live here. I’d move somewhere with mountains. A lake would be nice. I’d build a log home with a back wall made entirely of glass just so I could wake up every morning to that view. In my daydream, Brent woke up beside me, though he looked out of place wearing his khakis and polo.
“So, what do you think? Would you like to work there?” Brent asked, attempting to sound casual.
I knew better. “Mom already talked to you about this, didn’t she?”
He cleared his throat. “It would be a good opportunity.”
“Would it?” I thought about Elmore. I thought about the countless others I’d helped out of their repressed memories. I thought about Jeremiah.
“Decent paycheck, brand new hospital. Research opportunities. I don’t see what’s holding you back.”
Of all people, I thought Brent would understand. But how could he? How could anyone understand if they’d never been to Faythander? Maybe I was being too critical.
“Brent, surely you know I can’t work at a place like that. The people I’m helping—they’re suffering, and I’m the only person who can help. I can’t turn my back on them because I want a bigger paycheck, or because my mom wants me to.”
“Or because your boyfriend wants you to?”
He turned onto the highway and headed for the island. We didn’t speak much after that. We usually didn’t.
When he pulled into my apartment’s parking lot, he stopped the car and gave me that intense look he saved for moments like this. “I wish you’d think about this job. Just for once, you might find it useful to take your mother’s advice.”
I glanced at the brochure. My knuckles turned white as I clenched it. “I’ll think about it,” I mumbled, knowing I wouldn’t.
Brent leaned over and brushed a kiss across my cheek. He took my hand and smiled, but I wasn’t in the mood for smiling back. “Don’t stay mad for too long; you know how much I love you.”
I stared at the storm clouds brewing overhead.
“Besides, I’m taking you out next week. My treat.”
“You don’t have to.”
“But I want to.” He squeezed my hand.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, long and pealing. I wondered why I was here—not just with him, but what I was doing with my life. I wondered if he really had a place in it.
“Why do you stay with me?” I asked.
He raised an eyebrow.
“I’m a terrible partner. I can’t keep up with the laundry or dishes, I’ve forgotten every anniversary we’ve ever had, and you can’t say it’s because I’m attractive, because I know—”
“Olive,” he cut me off. “I’m here because I want to be. Okay?”
I stared into his eyes. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
How could he want to be with me? It didn’t make sense.
“Besides, a guy at my age… I’m not getting any younger, if you know what I mean. Girls have ignored me my entire life, but when I met you, it was different. You talked to me. You acknowledged me. How could I pass on a chance like that?”
Ah, this explained it. He thought I was the only girl who would have him. I supposed I should have been upset. Instead, I felt relieved. I felt tempted to tell him that there were other girls out there. That not every girl in the world would ignore him. That maybe we should go our separate ways. But I’ve never been good at communicating my feelings to Brent.
Bill Clinton reminded me of the absurdity of the situation, although he offered no solution on how to fix it.
I opened the door.
“Take care,” he said as I climbed out.
“You too.”
He drove off. I don’t know why, but I watched his car until it disappeared down the road.
Dreamthief Page 8