The Perfect Present

by Larissa de Silva

  I continue to look at the driver’s door as I wait for someone--anyone--to come out and help me.

  And then there he is.

  Rudy Fuckin’ Steele. In the goddamn flesh.

  Getting out of his late-model Nissan Altima and approaching me with a concerned look on his face.

  CHAPTER THREE

  RUDY

  I honestly never thought I’d see Jess Hart again. Not after what happened between is.

  I am seeing her. Our gazes are locked. I know that she can tell I’ve seen her and I don’t want to make things worse for her.

  Of course I’ve heard about Jess Hart. She is the talk of our town. People often do Tarot readings about her, and sometimes, psychics in our town bicker about whether they have accurately predicted her future. But mostly, it is just straight forward gossip. People talk about her perfect London-life, the fact that she looks like her life was something out of the movies.

  I know that Jess is done with this town. I know that Jess is done with me. I’m not surprised she’s back, not exactly, because she does come back for Thanksgiving and other holidays. She only stays for lunch, or for a few hours, and that is it. That’s all that there is to it.

  That’s why I’m so surprised to see her, especially in the position she is in, half her body inside a wooden board and half her body outside of it. She looks disheveled--beautiful, of course, because she has never stopped being beautiful, but disheveled. Her brown hair is up in a messy bun at the top of her head, little flyaways adorning her forehead.

  But there’s a desperation in her eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before. And, to be honest, something about this is a little funny.

  Here is the most beautiful, successful, interesting girl I’ve ever met, and she’s literally stuck inside her parents’ porch. Of course I’m not going to do anything but help but I have to stop myself from laughing. I bite my lower lip as the seriousness of the situation begins to sink in. I’ve gotten out of my car and I’m walking toward her. She locks her gaze with mine. Immediately, I know that she recognizes me. I know, for a fact, that she’s weighing her options. She’s deciding if accepting my help isn’t too terrible, too humiliating.

  From what I can see, she doesn’t have any other options. She has clearly come to the same conclusion, because she looks at mer, her eyes wide, her lips a straight line. She’s clearly resigned to what is about to happen.

  I don’t know if I should address that at all so I slowly walk toward her.

  “Hey,” I say, trying to make my voice as neutral as possible though my mind is going a million miles an hour.

  “Hi,” Jess replies.

  We hold each other’s gazes for what feels like a very long time. “So...”

  “So...” she replies, her eyebrows shooting up in her forehead.

  I clear my throat. “Do you want me to call the fire department?”

  She tuts. “Doesn’t Kendrick work there now?”

  “He does,” I say.

  She waves her hand in front of her face. “No,” she replies. “No, thanks.”

  “You are stuck.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you need to get unstuck.”

  “Yes.”

  “So I’ll call the fire department.”

  “Don’t,” she says. “I don’t want anyone to know. Especially Kendrick.”

  “Why not?”

  “That boy could never keep a secret,” Jess says. “I don’t want to find out if that’s still true. I don’t want everyone to know about my triumphant return.”

  I shake my head, looking her up and down. She’s well and truly stuck and it looks like it’s painful. I need to get her out of there, and I need to get her out of there soon. “Stay there,” I say.

  She narrows her eyes, then grows. “Where would I go?”

  “Sorry,” I say, then swallow. “I just mean--I think I have a solution. Your parents might not like it, though.”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t care,” she says. “Just get me out, okay? And don’t call the fire department.”

  “I’ll try not to,” I say. “But I’m not making any guarantees.”

  “I don’t care about guarantees. Just hurry, okay?”

  “Okay,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”

  ***

  I’m back after a bit with nothing but a hammer and my coat. It’s cold outside and Jess must be cold right now. Her eyes widen as she looks at me, a hammer by my side. “What are you doing?”

  “What I have to,” I reply. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”

  She blinks. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to use this to hammer around you, where the wood gave in, so that I can open a slightly bigger hole and can help pull you out.”

  She frowns. “That doesn’t sound like a good idea.”

  “I know,” I say. “But I don’t have any others. Do you?”

  She thinks for a second, then shakes her head. “Just...”

  “What?”

  “Hurry up, okay?”

  I nod and go over to where she is, making sure to step over the places in the wood that are rotten. The wooden porch is softer than I’d like it to be, so even as I lean down, I’m pretty worried that the porch is going to give out under my own weight.

  I feel the weight of the hammer in my hand and bring it down, hard as I can, away from her body. I can feel her wince. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’ll try to speed up.”

  “It’s okay. It’s going to hurt until it doesn’t,” she replies, then bites her lower lip. I look at her face, and there are little beads of sweat on her forehead. This might be horrible.

  I nod, saying nothing, and keep working until I find a spot where I know the floor is going to give in. I look at her again. “Just hold on, okay? Keep your body pushed up with your hands. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  She nods, but says nothing. The situation has suddenly become a lot more tense, a lot more real. We’re very close to each other and I can smell her shampoo. She hasn’t changed it, even after all this time. She still smells of coconut and vanilla.

  She looks up at me, expectantly, but I don’t look back at her. I can’t. I need to do this, and I need to do this as quickly as possible, because my heart is fluttering and my concentration is already suffering. I didn’t expect to be so affected by Jess’ presence. No time to worry about that, I thought, as I brought the hammer down on the wooden floor again.

  The hammering was rhythmic and neither one of us is saying anything. I can hear our breathing, which is matching, even though I am the one straining. She is in pain, I tell myself. The hammer makes the wood creak and crack under me, and after a while and a considerable effort, there is a much bigger hole.

  I grab my phone and shine the flashlight on her leg. It looks wedged in, but not quite as badly as it had before. I smile at her, as sincerely as I can. “I’m going to try and pull you out now.”

  She nods, though she says nothing.

  “Can you move your leg?”

  She closes her eyes. I watch her leg move a little bit, then look up at her. She smiles. “I can move it,” she says.

  “Can you move it up?”

  “I don’t know,” she says. She strains, the sweat making her hair stick to her face. “Yes. I think so.”

  “I’m going to grab you now,” I say. “I’m sorry if it’s weird or uncomfortable--”

  “Just get me out,” she replies.

  I nod. I scoot over to where she is and wrap my arms around her chest, trying my best to leverage my weight to get her up. She’s not heavy, but the way her body is positioned make it hard for me to pull her up, despite being a relatively strong person.

  She pushes herself up, which means her body getting closer to mine, and she softly brushes up against me. It isn’t anything--it doesn’t mean anything--but it makes me feel like a teenage boy again.

  I need to push those feelings away, at least until I get her out. It takes a bit of stra
ining, and it is hard, but I manage to pull most of her out eventually. She is halfway out when she starts to be able to help herself, straining as she does so, but when she finally manages to leverage her weight, it is as if the porch practically spits her out. She kneels down on the porch and leans forward, practically heaving as she does. I put my hand on the top of her back, trying to keep her steady.

  She coughs, over and over again, and I don’t know if it’s from the cold, or from the pain, or from the shock, but her eyes are watering and she’s shivering.

  I put my coat around her. “Here,” I say. “Stand up. I’ll examine your leg. Do you want me to call the hospital?”

  She shakes her head, her eyes wide, still brimming with tears.

  “Okay,” I say. “I’ll just examine you inside.”

  “Examine--”

  “Just hold on to me, alright?” I ask. She nods, and puts one of her hands on my shoulder. She wraps her other hand around my bicep and slowly pulls herself up. “Let me know if you feel like you can’t walk or anything. If there’s too much pain...”

  “I’ll let you know,” she says immediately. She winces a little bit as she leans on me.

  “Is the door unlocked?”

  “Yes,” she says. “Everything is open.”

  “Let me get you to the sofa,” I say. “Then we can talk about what to do next.”

  Her eyes widen. “What do you mean, what to do next?”

  “You’ve been hurt,” I reply. “We need to make sure you’re okay.”

  “We?”

  I open the door. Her parents’ house has always smelled like vanilla pudding, and I haven’t been in here for many, many years. It’s always been immaculate, even when it seems like it shouldn’t be. It’s still immaculate, though a few things seem to have changed. We walk very slowly toward the living room, until I finally manage to deposit Jess on the sofa.

  She groans when I do, but then she looks up at me and smiles. “Thank you,” she says. “I really do appreciate it.”

  “You’re very welcome,” I reply, then grab a few throw pillows. “Raise your leg here, please. I’ll take a look at it.”

  She furrows her brow. “You can examine me?”

  I nod. “I mean, if you’re okay with it.”

  She stares. “No, I just mean... like... how could you examine me? Do you have medical training?”

  I smile at her. “Yes,” I say. “Something like that.”

  She swallows. “Fine,” she says. “Whatever. Just make it quick.”

  “Can I roll your pants up?”

  “Sure,” she says.

  She’s wearing pajama pants that come in at the ankles. They’re extremely soft and they look kind of fragile, with little wooden splinters on the fabric. “I’m going to pull this up to your thigh,” I say. “It might hurt.”

  She looks at me for a second. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just take it off?”

  “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

  “It isn’t something you haven’t seen before,” she replies. “You might have to help, though.”

  I nod. I’m trying to see her as just as body, as just another patient, but our history weighs heavy between us. It does, whether I want it to or not. Just a person you’re helping, I tell myself. This isn’t Jess Hart. This is just a person you’re helping.

  I grab the waistband of her pajama pants and pull them down, just looking at the skin on her leg. The first thing I noticed is that her body has changed a little bit. She’s put on some weight, she doesn’t look like a teenager anymore, and I can’t help but think about how much more beautiful she looks.

  I tell myself to get a grip. This is inappropriate. I’m supposed to be helping her. I pull her pants completely down and begin by doing a visual inspection. She already has some bruising and I think her leg is going to swell up.

  “Do your hips hurt?” I ask as I begin to examine her leg with my hand.

  “No,” she says. “Not really.”

  “Okay, well--”

  That’s when I hear someone clear their throat behind me, and my heart drops to my stomach.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  JESS

  I instinctively grab the throw blanket on the back of the sofa and throw it over myself when I see my dad standing behind Rudy. “Daddy,” I say.

  My father’s gaze darts between Rudy and I. I don’t know if he’s too sleepy to have a reaction. I would run after him and explain what had happened, but I couldn’t. Instead, I watch as Rudy straightens up immediately, standing on the floor, looking as if he is at attention with his arms by his side. “Mr. Hart,” he says. “I... I...”

  I watch as my father turns around and walks back upstairs. I feel my cheeks burning, the blood going straight to my face. I open my mouth to explain but he’s long gone.

  Rudy meets my gaze. I can tell that he’s trying not to smile.

  “Stop,” I say. “This isn’t funny.”

  “You’re right,” he says. “If he’d caught me about a decade ago, though, he’d be kicking my ass. So I’m trying to see the bright side of things.”

  I groan, but I can’t help but smile back at him. “Stop it,” I say. “This isn’t--”

  “Funny? It’s a little funny.”

  I shake my head. “My mom should be coming down in a minute. And she’s going to be asking for an explanation.”

  “Good things it’s all innocent.”

  “Right,” I say, then glower at him. This is awkward, but he’s handling things way better than I had expected him to. This isn’t what he was like when we were teenagers. He was shy and he always seemed afraid of my dad. He was temporarily taken aback, but he’s clearly regained his composure, and he’s seeing the bright side of things now, which I simply can’t understand. This isn’t what he was like. I guess he’s grown up, and there’s something magnetic about the way he carries himself now. Something fascinating.

  I am staring at him for too long, until I hear footsteps coming downstairs.

  It is my mom’s turn to clear her throat. Our gazes meet again and I look away from her, choosing instead to focus on the blue pattern on our sofa.

  “I can explain.”

  She approaches us. Her gaze is darting between me and Rudy. She is holding a cup of cocoa in her hands—my mom doesn’t drink coffee—and staring at us. She is still not saying anything, just waiting for one of us to explain. I don’t know if I can find my words, but I’m going to try. I look away from the sofa and at her face. “You shouldn’t go out.”

  She cocks her head, still saying nothing.

  “Through the front door. The wood gave out, and I fell through it.”

  “You what?” My mom replies. She walks over to where I am and looks down on my leg, which looks pretty terrible. Not broken or anything, but clearly about to bruise, great spots of green and yellow just under my skin. “When did this happen?”

  “Literally a few minutes ago. I was going to your car to get something and as I stepped on the porch it gave in. I thought maybe you guys could hear me but I was shouting and you couldn’t. Then Rudy happened to drive past and he saw me, luckily, and so he pulled me out.”

  “She forgot to tell you I destroyed your porch, Mrs. Hart.”

  My mom waves her hand in front of her face. “It doesn’t matter. You saved my daughter. Thank you.”

  “Save is a strong word,” I mutter quietly.

  My mom looks at me. “Jessica Anne Hart,” she says, “you could learn to be a little more grateful.”

  “Sorry, Momma,” I say. “I do appreciate it. I was just in kind of a precarious position there for a bit.”

  “I think you need to take her to the hospital.”

  “No,” I say. “No hospital. I don’t want anyone to know about this, and if I go to the hospital, everyone is going to find out.”

  My mom exchanges a look with Rudy. “Do you think it’s necessary?”

  “I wouldn’t recommend it if I didn’t think it was necessary.”r />
  I chuckle quietly. “Look, Rudy was really nice to pull me out of that, and to help me, and I thought I’d let him take a look at my leg because he’s here and I’m still a little hurt, but shouldn’t I be the one that gets to decide whether I go to the hospital or not?”

  My mother’s silence is pointed. “I think a doctor should decide that.”

  “Right,” I say. “A doctor. Fine, let’s see if a doctor...”

  I trail off when what she was saying finally sinks in. This makes no sense. Rudy Steele was always going to be an HVAC technician. Just like his father, just like his uncle, just like the rest of the men in his family. I would’ve never thought that Rudy was a doctor. Particularly because nobody has told me, and it isn’t as if the town gossip takes a long time to reach me. It doesn’t matter where I am in the world. The town of Cassadaga has an antenna that seems to beam interesting and not-so-interesting town news straight to my head.

  And Rudy Steele being a doctor instead of an HVAC technician is extremely interesting. But nobody had told me that and I hadn’t asked. I had wanted to forget Rudy. I suppose that people were respecting my wishes or something, but right now, I can’t help but feel like my mother has been keeping something important from me.

  I clear my throat before I speak again. “Are you a doctor?”

  “Yes.”

  I know he’s thinking about saying something else, something smartass, but he doesn’t.

  “What kind of doctor?”

  “Family medicine, mostly,” he says. “At least before I came back.”

  “What do you do now?” I ask. I mostly just don’t want him to think that I didn’t think he could be a doctor, though I didn’t. It isn’t that he’s not smart. Rudy was always one of the smartest people I knew. However, every opportunity in our town is limited, unless you have a lot of money. My parents are a blessing, I understand that every day. But his parents, well, they did everything they could for him. They always have. But what they can do for him is limited, because they have limited means. So they idea that they helped put him through school or anything is a little preposterous. The idea that he himself decided to go to med school is kind of ridiculous in itself. He wanted to make money, as quickly as possible. Something good, something decent; an honest living. Something that didn’t require years of training and thousands of dollars in debt.