But I can’t just do nothing and lie around hoping my memories return.
“You haven’t asked why I wanted to see you.”
Her line of sight drifts away from me and focuses out the window as her hands nervously finger the diary. “Maybe I’m afraid of the answer.”
I sigh, once again feeling like a failure because I can’t be who everyone wants me to be. “I owe you an apology for running out of the party and then leaving the way I did last night.”
Her eyes snap back to mine. She’s clearly surprised. “None of this is your fault, Trevor. I don’t blame you for what you’re going through. Whatever the rest of us are experiencing, I know what’s happening to you is much worse. Besides, you already apologized yesterday under our—uh… the tree.”
“I did, and then I went and hurt you again when I left last night. I’m appreciative that you don’t blame me for all this, but it’s still not an excuse for treating you poorly. I’m sure you were embarrassed in front of your friends when I ran out after throwing what I can only own up to as a tantrum.”
She picks at a tiny bubble in the veneer of the table top. “The doctors said you might have outbursts. They said it’s normal in situations like yours.”
“I suppose that explains it, but it shouldn’t excuse it. So I’m sorry. Can you accept my apology?”
She nods. Then she looks like she wants to say something, but her lips form a thin line, almost as if she’s having to keep herself from speaking.
My brows cut low. “What is it?”
She gives a curt shake of her head. “It’s nothing.”
“Ava, what is it? You want to ask me something. So ask.” I motion to the diary. “I might not be ready for more of that yet, but you shouldn’t be afraid to say what’s on your mind or ask me what you want to ask me. I promise to tell you if it’s too much.”
“I was just wondering…” She pauses and picks at the bubble nervously. “I was wondering how long you plan to stay at your parents’ house.”
I rotate in the booth so my back presses against the window and my leg is perched up. I glance around the shop knowing I grew up here. I worked here. I lived here. It’s such a huge part of a life I can’t remember.
Feeling guilty as hell that I’m not ready for things she needs me to be ready for, I decide that maybe a compromise is in order. “That might be a little too much.” The hollow look in her eyes clues me in to her disappointment, so I quickly add, “But I was thinking maybe I could do something around the shop.” I hold up my cast. “Maybe not much until this thing comes off. But I could stock shelves or clean. I could do the books. I think I’m pretty good at numbers.”
She cocks her head to the side and studies me incredulously for a long moment. “You… want a job?”
“I’m feeling pretty fucking useless just sitting around doing nothing when I’m perfectly capable of doing something to put food on my table.”
“Trevor.” A slow rush of air escapes her and she looks sad all over again, like my reason for asking her for a job isn’t the reason she was hoping for. “If this is about money, everything I have…wehave… is yours too. You don’t have to work. Not until you’re ready.”
She slides out of the booth and walks across the floor, retrieving her purse from the counter where she left it. She opens it, digs through it, then comes back and holds out a credit card.
“Until we can replace your old one, use mine.”
I contemplate not taking it, but then I think of how Chuck had to pony up money to get me a new cell phone. I’m thirty-five years old, and at the moment I can’t even scrape up the money to buy a candy bar.
“Thanks.” I tuck the credit card into my pocket. “But this isn’t about money. I need to be doing something, anything, other than just moping around waiting for my memory to return.”
She laughs. “With all your medical knowledge, you’d choose to workhere?”
I think I like her laugh. I think I’d like it more if it were a joyful laugh and not such a sorrowful one.
I shrug. “I’m not sure my medical knowledge paired with two quarters could buy me a stick of gum at this point.” I touch my head. “Let’s be real. Nobody is going to hire a doctor with a head injury.”
Her eyes soften. “Of course you’re welcome to help out around here. Whatever you need. There are plenty of us to let you know what you can do and how you should do it. We’re open from six to three most days. Seven to one on Sundays. You canshow up anytime you like and stay as little or as long as you want.”
I scoff. “That doesn’t sound like much of a job, Ava. More like a handout, or a favor.”
“This is our business, Trev. Weownit. You have just as much right to be here as I do. Do what you can and work your way up from there.”
Trev. She calls me that sometimes. But not much since the hospital. I’m beginning to understand it’s a term of endearment more than a nickname. She used it yesterday after she kissed me, when she thought I was the old me again.The old me—that’s the one she wants. I can see it in her eyes thatthisme is not exactly her cup of tea. The me who curses and storms out and doesn’t shave and sleeps in his childhood bed.
Part of me thinks I should suck it up and give her what she wants. That it would be easier to just pretend. But I’m not sure that’s the kind of man I want to be.
