at my face, her eyes are full of indecision that in direct contradiction to the certainty that’s building in me.
“I don’t bite, Beth,” I lie.
“I know that,” she smiles a little too brightly, her pretty white teeth gleaming, as she walks toward me like she’s walking to the edge of a cliff.
She plucks the keys from my fingers and I stifle a chuckle at the way she’s so very careful not to touch me.
She glares at me and drops the keys in her pocket and takes a step back, straightening as she smiles from her safe distance.
But whether I’ve been on two thousand miles away or right here, I haven’t stopped thinking about this woman since the night we met. And I have to know if there’s a chance to get things right.
“You know you can touch me. I’m not contagious.”
She throws her head back, and laughs to herself.
“Share the joke.”
Her expression sobers, but her eyes grow even warmer.
“It’s not really funny. It’s just that you’re so wrong. You’re highly contagious.”
I laugh because she’s damn delightful and I reach out for her. “Beth—”
“Let me turn on the machines for you,” she turns and walks over to the first of the huge machines lined up against the wall.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say, and turn to follow her.
“I do actually. They’re really temperamental. Hold on,” she mutters and reaches behind the computer to fidget with something.
I walk over, too. But I stop far away enough to respect the space she clearly wants to keep between us. For now.
“So, you’re an IT expert volunteer?” I ask
This time her laugh comes easy, and I wish she was facing me so I could see her face. She's so pretty when she laughs.
“Hardly. There’s a wire back here that always comes loose. We used to let people plug it back in themselves until a lady electrocuted herself. I think these machines are like fifty years old. So, we keep it locked so no one can just wander in inadvertently start a fire or something.”
The machine beeps and the screen lights up.
“There you go. All set.” She straightens, and runs her palms down the front of her skirt. My eyes follow their path, greedy to do the same thing with my own hands.
“Thank you. Do I need to get someone to lock up when I leave?”
“No, you can lock it from the inside.” She’s looking everywhere but at me.
I can’t look anywhere but at her. And I don’t want her to leave before I’ve said what I need to.
“Are you in a rush?”
“So, how’s your family?—”
We speak at the same time.
“You go first.” I urge.
She smiles, looks up at me through her lashes, and my breath catches at the first direct eye contact we’ve made.
“I just wondered how you’re all doing. I was so sorry when I heard your father had died. It was already months later, and I hated that I hadn’t been there for you. I mean, not that you needed me. I know you have your family, but I just wished I could have told you how sorry I was. And I don’t know who sent that text. But, I asked after you showed it to me. My stepmother says that my father cancelled the service. So maybe the number was reassigned?”
I didn’t expect her to bring it up so soon. But I’m glad she did.
“What happened, Beth? We talked that morning and then you never answered your phone again.”
She looks down at the floor, and bites her lip.
“My father sent me to live with my grandmother.” I don’t miss the way her breath leaves her in a shuddering exhale.
“Why?”
“Um, lots of reasons.” She says quietly.
“Was I one of them?” I hold my breath for the seconds the tick by before she responds.
She nods, her head still bent, but her finger swipes quickly at her cheek and I hate myself.
“I’m so fucking sorry. Is that what your message was about?”
She nods again and then lets out a long breath before then looks up again. If those were tears she was wiped away a few seconds ago, there’s no sign of them now.
She’s smiling and clear eyed. “It’s all in the past. There’s nothing to be sorry for. It was bad timing.. You’ve had your own stuff. How’s your mother? Is she in New York?”
I’m not done asking questions, but it’s clear she’s done answering them. So, I let her switch roles with me.
“My mom’s okay. Everything feels different without him. But,