I can’t tear my eyes away from the sight of her hand over mine.
When was the last time someone touched my prosthetic willingly? Someone who wasn’t required to as part of their job?
When was the last time I gave someone the opportunity?
It feels strange. Not physically, because I can’t feel Bea’s hand at all. But in my gut. My chest. My heart.
It feels…
Right.
“So…” Bea releases my hand and slides off her stool, coming around to my side of the counter. She starts moving the groceries around, setting aside the tomatoes, the olive oil, several containers of spices, a box of spaghetti and a package of ground beef. “We can start with this.”
She starts gathering up the rest of the food. “The rest I can put away for later.”
“Wait.” I take the food from her hands and set it back on the counter. “What part of resting did you miss? You sit.” Lightly grasping her shoulders, I guide her back over to her stool. “And I’ll put what we don’t need away.”
In the minutes that follow, Bea watches me with a contemplative look in her eyes. Finally, she says, “It’s really okay, Indy. If you’d rather not cook. I don’t want you to feel… obligated.”
I set the milk carton on the shelf and close the fridge door, then turn around to face her. “I don’t feel obligated. Why would you think that?”
“Because I know it’s not your thing. And you probably have ten other things you’d rather be doing.” Her chin takes a defiant jut. “I know I haven’t been acting like my normal self lately, but Ican handle being alone. You don’t have to keep visiting me if you don’t want to.”
All the air squeezes from my lungs.
Is that what she thinks? That I don’t want to see her?
I’m about to deny it when another unwelcome thought intrudes.
Of course, she thinks I don’t want to be here. After how I acted at the hospital… How could she not?
Sinking onto the stool beside her, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.
I don’t like talking about the past. Or how I felt back then.
But of all people, Bea deserves to know. Deserves the long-overdue apology I never got up the courage to give.
“I do want to see you,” I say. “Yes, I come by to make sure you’re okay. But it’s not just that. I like talking to you. Spending time with you. I know that’s hard to believe, given my behavior when you knew me before?—”
Her brows screw up. “Your behavior?”
“Yeah. I was an asshole, Bea. I know I was. Always complaining, grouching, never saying thanks…”
“You didn’t have to thank me. That was never a part of it.”
“But I should have. All the things you did… the food you’d bring in, the graduation cap…”
Bea’s face jolts. “You remember that?”
“Of course. I even kept?—”
Shit. Too much.Waytoo much.
Her gaze pins mine. “You kept what?”
“The cap,” I admit. “I still have it. And I should have thanked you. You didn’t have to do that. Especially not when I was such?—”
“Indy.”It’s soft. Thick with emotion. “You weren’t an asshole. You were hurting. Everything was different. I didn’t expect you to be all smiles all the time.”
