Now it’s my turn to not look in his direction as I answer. Do I? “No, but it makes me wonder why you’re here. Is it so I won’t press charges?” If that’s the case he should know I won’t, so he’s free to go.
I glimpse his face as he shakes his head no. “If you want to press charges, I’ll drive you to the police station myself. They’re going to ask you for a statement anyway. I deserve whatever you do to me and more.”
“So you’re here because you feel guilty?”
“Yes,” he says rolling his eyes. “But that’s not the only reason why I’m here. Although I do have a selfish reason for helping.”
I swallow and it takes more effort than it should. The dread of finding out the truth slides down my throat like a ball and plops into my stomach, causing waves of nausea. Why is it that I haven’t learned to stop asking for the truth?
5
“Ifeel horrible about what happened, Josie, and I would be here making sure you and Emma were okay regardless, but the driving force pushing me is because I want to learn more about you.”
“Me?”
“You have no idea. Do you?” he asks around a grimacing laugh, but he’s the only one who gets the joke. “I hit you because I was staring at you when you were standing in the parking lot. I can’t sleep at night knowing I almost hurt Emma anddidhurt you.”
“Excuse me?” How did he hit me if he was checking me out? “What?”
“I ran into you at the grocery store about three weeks ago. You didn’t even glance in my direction. The day in the lot I saw you standing next to Winnie and I couldn’t believe you were talking to someone I’d met. Small fucking town. My eyes were glued to you. I couldn’t pull them away and then you ran right out in front of my truck. It was like my worst nightmare happening in slo-mo.”
He takes a deep breath before continuing. I couldn’t stop him even if I wanted. Which I don’t. “You’ll hate me after telling you this and you’ll probably kick me out, but I need to get it off my chest. The guilt is eating away at me. Because I was stupid and wasn’t paying attention and I could’ve seriously hurt Emma or you. I want to help you get well because I take responsibility when I mess up, but the selfish horrible part of me saw it as an opportunity to get to know you better, too. I am a terrible person and deserve to go to jail.”
It takes me longer to figure out exactly what he’s saying since I’ve been sluggish the last few days. The story still doesn’t make total sense. Regardless, I believe Nate… likes me.
Wow.
At least he finds me pretty. How long has it been since someone admitted to almost hitting a woman because they were so taken with her that he couldn’t stop looking at her?
“Why didn’t you just talk to me at the grocery store?”
He smiles, shaking his head. “I tried, but you never even looked up in my direction.”
“You could have gotten my attention and said hi.” Thrown a pineapple or something. Nate is good looking, like hella good looking. He could have smacked me in the face with a piece of fruit and I would have gladly asked for more.
His smile grows but not necessarily in a good way as it resembles a grimace. “I hit you with my shopping cart.”
“That was you?” I can’t believe he’s the man who hit my shopping cart so hard I thought he cracked my big jar of pickles. I’d been so furious. I’d almost told him off, but I was late to pick up Emma from daycare and didn’t want to face the five-dollar-a-minute fee they impose when you’re late. Plus Barry had called to give me crap about dressing Emma in too much pink and my mother wanted us to come for a visit. I’d kept my head down and scowled the whole way to the register mumbling about assholes with penises.
It’s absurd, but as I picture Nate pushing his cart into mine in the middle of the grocery store and then hunting me down to hit me with his truck, I laugh. “Stop hitting me with things!” I yell with a smile on my face and toss my ripped-up napkin at his forehead. He catches a few pieces of paper an inch before they connect his face.
“Then start paying attention to me,” he says back, a hesitant smile across his features.
“Momma!” a loud shrill comes from the bedroom. Emma is upset. She’s never had a problem waking up before, but since moving into the apartment she’ll get scared if she wakes up alone after a nap or in the morning. I’m hoping it goes away when she gets used to our new life.
Nate’s laughter fades and he eyes my crutches with one perched against an empty dining room chair and the other on the floor. “I’ll get her,” he says jumping up and not waiting for me to offer. It’s a good thing because I wouldn’t have. I need to process a lot of things while he’s gone dealing with Emma and I prefer to process them alone.
Less than a minute after he left the phone rings, and even though I hear it, I can’t see the ancient cordless model I keep somewhere in the apartment. I would never have considered a landline for myself, but my mother insisted. She said it was for safety. So each month I write a check of wasted money to the telephone company. I didn’t want to press any more of my mother’s buttons than I did by moving so far away, so I agreed to get the service installed. But ever since then it’s been a pain in my butt. Who even calls a landline phone anymore these days?
The phone stops ringing and I shrug, giving up on whoever had been trying to call — probably a telemarketer.
“Yeah, it’s no problem. She’s right here.” Nate comes around the hallway corner with the phone clutched between his shoulder and ear with Emma resting on his opposite hip. Where did he find the phone? And what is he doing answering it for me? First keys and now this?
Emma reaches down to the floor, trying to get her dolls, and Nate puts her down before bringing me the cordless contraption I try to lose.
“Hello?” I ask. I hope he’s smart enough to hang up on a telemarketer.
There’s static on the other end of the phone and then the voice of my realtor cuts through so I can hear her. “Josie, I tried your cell first, but I didn’t want to text this. I’ve got bad news.”
