“Thank you.” The words come out of her mouth as a whisper. She smiles, but it isn’t enough to hide the sadness that keeps taking over her expressions.
“Of course.” I focus on keeping my voice calm even though I’m anything but calm right now. This woman does things to me that I want to explore. But I have to proceed with caution. If I screw this up, I may never get another chance. “It should be warm for you in a few minutes.”
She turns away from me and stares out the side window. Her breathing increases, and her hand is clenched into a fist. The air in my cab suddenly weighs down on me again, and the silence is harsh. I’ve never understood the phrasedeafening silenceuntil now.
Camille takes a deep breath before she speaks. “I’m sorry. I’m being silly. You cleaning my windows and starting my car for me shouldn’t be a big deal. But to me, it kinda is. No one’s done those things since Mark died. It just feels weird having someone help.”
“No need to apologize. I get it. After Irene left, there were certain things that were harder than others to accept help on. It takes time.”
“But how much time? I feel like I should have moved past some of these things by now.”
“You can’t put time constraints on dealing with loss. When you’re ready, you’ll move past it. Until then, you keep living. That’s all you can do.”
When she looks back at me, the spark returns to her eyes. “So, you’re not only a talented architect, you’re also a wise counselor?”
“I don’t know about wise.” I chuckle and rub my hands together until the numbness is almost gone. “Just experienced, I guess. Loss of any kind does crazy things to our emotions. A few years after Irene left me, my dad passed away unexpectedly. I hadn’t accepted the loss of Irene, and then I had to help Momma deal with the ranch, my younger siblings, and my business. There was so much to help with that I pushed my emotions aside and didn’t deal with them for the longest time.”
“That sounds awful. I’m sorry that happened to you.”
“Thanks, but it's no more awful than what happened to you. My point is, don’t be too hard on yourself for taking time. Time is good as long as you're still living.”
She nods and looks back out the window. How many times did my friends and siblings tell me I had to keep living back then? I mourned the loss of something I never had. I was upset Irene left me, but what I was really upset about was the loss of a family. The chance to have children and grandchildren. I still mourn that loss today.
“How many siblings do you have?” she asks without looking in my direction.
“Three. Two adopted brothers and a sister.”
She snaps her head in surprise. “Really?”
“Yep. I was eighteen when my parents gave up on trying and chose adoption. They just finalized the adoption papers for an infant when Momma found out she was pregnant. My sister was a complete surprise. Didn’t think she could have more. It ended up feeling like raising twins with two infants only a few months apart in age. Matt came along later. He was twelve when he came to live with us. We’re an interesting bunch.”
“Sounds like it. Are you all close?”
“Very.” I chuckle. “We’re probably in each other’s business too much.”
“I can’t imagine what that’s like. I’m one of seven, and we’re not close at all. I haven’t seen most of my siblings in years. They didn’t even come to Mark’s funeral.”
I drop my smile and pinch my lips together to keep my chin from dropping in shock. “Now, I can’t imagine what that’s like.”
“My family is … How do I say this? Selfish and cold. No one but my daughter supported my decision to move here. So, I’m really on my own.”
“Just one kid?”
She nods, and I think I see tears in her eyes before she hides her face by turning away from me. “Elizabeth, but she prefers Lizzy. She’s twenty-five. We’re close.”
Her voice cracks, and I definitely hear a sniffle. It takes every ounce of strength to keep to my side of the truck. The urge to reach for her and hold her is overpowering. I open my mouth to ask her if she’s okay a few times, but nothing comes out. I don’t know what brought on her tears, but it doesn’t feel right to ask her.
She lets out a low breath and wipes her face before grabbing her purse from the floor. “Before I forget, I had an extra key made for you. I’ve got some travel planned in the coming months for work, and I don’t want my absence to hinder your ability to keep working.”
I stare at the key in her hand a few seconds too long before I reach for it. Not because she’s giving me a key—lots of clients did for similar reasons. But because I have no clue what she does for work. We’ve talked about a lot of things, but never about her career. “Can I ask what you do for a living?”
She leans back and pulls her bottom lip between her teeth before she answers me. “I’m a writer. A novelist, actually.” Ashyness I haven’t seen before breaks through her otherwise confident demeanor.
I don’t know what I’m expecting, but that isn’t it. To be honest, I haven’t spent any time thinking about her profession. All my thoughts have beenotherwiseoccupied. “Wow. I’ve never met a novelist before. What do you write?”
“Mostly science fiction.”
“Oh, wow.” Can this woman get any more intriguing? “Anything I would’ve read?”
