by Gregory Ashe
Chapter 6, Saturday 20 August
“Are you ok?”
Hunched over, hand pressed against the heat of the burn on my leg, I realized I looked like an idiot. I straightened, wished for one fervent moment that I was wearing something that looked cool instead of shorts and a ratty t-shirt.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you,” she said. The cold air from the store was rushing out into the West Marshall heat, and I could see a thin, gray-haired man inside glaring at us.
I nodded over her shoulder and said, “I think he wants us to close the door.”
It was then that I realized her arms were full—one of those outrageously expensive D-SLR cameras balanced in one hand, the strap wrapped around her wrist; a long, awkward looking cardboard box held sideways across her chest. It ran right between her breasts, pressing the t-shirt down to define them. For the second time, I forced myself to look up at her face. I’m a guy, but I’m not a creep.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. She stepped out into the heat, and the door swung shut behind her.
“You mentioned that.”
“I just had all this stuff, and I opened the door with my back, cause I was carrying this.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “Don’t worry about it. You can make it up to me sometime. Let me bash you with a door once.”
She laughed. Thank goodness.
“I’ll think about it,” was all she said. “A good door-smashing seems like it should be between friends. Maybe once we’ve been introduced.”
I blushed again. That’s the thing about coming out of a coma—pale as a ghost, not even a tan to hide the red in my cheeks. “I’m Alex.”
She extended the box—and her breasts bounced as she did—as though in place of a handshake. “Olivia.”
I gently moved the box up and down, as though I were shaking her hand. And then it hit me.
I was flirting. Badly. But flirting.
“I gotta go,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. I felt like I was choking. “Sorry.”
“What’s the rush?” she said. “Or were you just in town to get hit by a door? Errands all done?”
“Something like that.” I was a traitor. What right did I have to flirt, to make her laugh, and let that laughter make me happy?
She stared at me.
“I’m looking for a job,” I said, shrugging. I didn’t want to look at her. Looking at her made me forget, made me think I was someone else. Someone who could be happy.
“Well don’t go here,” she said.
I glanced at her in surprise and saw her hazel eyes focused on me.
“Why not?”
She glanced by at the glass door. It was shut.
“Mr. Canting is a jerk.”
I grinned. It was a reaction; I couldn’t help it. I liked her, remember? And I like people who speak their mind. When I realized I was grinning, though, I wiped it off my face.
“Gotta work somewhere,” I said.
“Are you ok?” Olivia asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Still getting back on my feet, I guess.”
“Why? What happened?”
Stupid. Stupid me. “I . . . there was an accident, before we moved here. It’s why we moved here, actually. I was in the hospital for a while.” Now why had I told her that?
She bit her lip, and I saw tears in her eyes.
“Are you ok?”
She nodded. “Sorry, we had an accident here too, not very long ago. I’m sorry you were in one; I know how bad they can be.”
Right. Her brother. Well, if she wanted to think it was a car accident, that was fine by me.
She cleared her throat and obviously wanted to wipe her eyes, but with all the stuff in her arms, she just blinked rapidly and stared up at that too-bright too-blue sky.
“Anyway,” she said. “You should go down the street a little more toward the high school. Mr. Wood’s garden store. He’s a little rough on the edges, but he’s got a good heart. He donated all the flowers for the . . . after the accident. I know he’s looking for someone to help out part time.”
“Yeah, alright.”
“If you, um, need anything,” Olivia said. “Just let me know. I know how bad accidents can be.”
“Yeah, thanks.” A part of me wanted to tell her right then. That I wasn’t the victim of the accident. I was the one who had caused it. That I didn’t deserve sympathy, I didn’t deserve kindness. But the way she talked to me, it was like fire to a man dying of cold. I couldn’t tell her.
She shifted the box one more time, and I caught my wandering eyes.
“Do you want to come over for dinner?” Olivia said. “I could show you around town afterward.”
“Tonight?”
“Yeah, tonight.”
“Won’t your parents be, you know . . .”
“No,” she said and laughed again. “They love having people over, and with Brady out of town, there’s always an empty seat at dinner. Please come. It’s got to be lonely, being new in a small town.”
Did she like me? It seemed impossible; she was beautiful, smart, and clearly did not fit into this hick town. She was being nice, I decided. Felt bad for me, new and injured. Like a wounded animal.
That irritating part of me wanted to take her up on the offer, wanted to go to a place where people would like a new me, who would not see the carefully layered memories, the guilt, that I wore. I wanted her to like me. And I knew I didn’t deserve any of that. Not after what I had done to Christopher. Not after what I had done to Isaac.
“No thanks,” I said. “I better not. I think my parents have plans.”
She cocked her head; I think she wanted to take a picture of me.
“But thanks for the tip about the job. I’ll go check it out right now.”
“Alright,” Olivia said. “No big deal. Another time.”
“Yeah, another time.”
“Nice to meet you, Alex. Seriously, let me know if I can do anything to help.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
What can I say? I liked her too much; being around her would make me feel better, make me happy, and I didn’t deserve that. She turned up the street, and I let my eyes trace her for a few yards before I made myself head down the street, toward the garden supply shop. I didn’t want friends, didn’t want to know anyone in this stupid town. I just wanted to earn money and get out of here, so I could start a new life somewhere else. But even as I said it, I knew I was lying to myself.
I wanted friends more than almost anything in the world. And I knew there was nowhere I could go to escape from myself.