“You okay, miss?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure? You don’t look so good.”
I snort. “Tell me you’re single without telling me you’re single.”
He grins, making him look much younger than the early sixties I pegged him as.
“Trust me, if you’d seen me a few weeks ago, you’d know I look good, considering.”
He’s quiet for a second, as if he’s contemplating his next words.
“My sister never left her husband. She stayed with him for twenty years, gave him two kids, and took every punch, slap, and kick he would give her. She refused to leave, and I felt fucking helpless, you know? There are only so many times I can beat the shit out of her husband before the cops decide I’m the problem. So I took a step back, hoping that if I gave her room to breathe, she’d finally see things more clearly. Now she’s dead, and her husband is already out of jail and living with his latest girlfriend as if my sister never existed.”
Okay, wow, that was a lot. And I have no clue why he laid it all on me. Though I do seem to have a weird confessional effect on people. I can never go to a grocery store or a laundromat without finding myself listening to someone who randomly comes up to me and starts spilling their life story. Makes me wonder if I missed my calling as a therapist. It isn’t until his eyes drift to the scar on my forehead that I realize he thinks I might be a victim of domestic violence.
“My husband is dead. Has been now for many years. He was good to me. The best. Never raised his voice or his hand. He loved me like I’d never been loved before. If he saw this—” I touch the scar gently “—he’d have lost his ever-loving mind.”
I don’t tell him that it was all a lie. That even now, I don’t know if the love he poured into me was a placebo or poison. I know it wasn’t real, that the man I lay beside was akin to a sleeper cell spy, just waiting for Bear to call him up and activate him. The irony isn’t lost on me that the scars I’m wearing are from an explosion that nearly killed me, after I survived years of lying beside a ticking time bomb.
I shake those thoughts away before remembering why shaking my head is not a good idea right now.
“I was in a fight of sorts, though.”
“With what, a car?”
“A grenade.”
His mouth drops open when he realizes I’m being serious. I see the exact second a lightbulb goes off above his head.
“I heard about that. I honestly thought it was one of those bullshit stories that started out as something lame before it took on a life of its own. You know, like an urban legend. That shit really happened?”
“Well now, I’m not sure exactly what you heard, but I did have an up close encounter with a grenade. Not gonna lie, I won’t be recommending the experience to anyone.”
“They said you saved a bunch of people.”
“I don’t know whotheyare, but they’re exaggerating.”
He looks at me, studying my face as if it holds all the answers to his questions. I fight the urge to squirm under his scrutiny.
“Way I heard it, you were in that pawnshop in town, right? Lots of shops and businesses down there. A lot of people could have been hurt. So yeah, maybe they’re exaggerating, but perhaps you’re downplaying it.”
I bite my lip and look away. I get what he’s saying, but I’m nobody’s hero. It sounds all noble when you’re willing to give up your life to save someone else. And yeah, I did that. And I’d do it again. But is it still a sacrifice if I’m not afraid to die?
He doesn’t say anything else—doesn’t pepper me with the questions I see in his eyes. He lets me be as he drives me to the address I gave for the motel. He pulls into a parking space close to the entrance before turning to face me.
“You got someone looking out for you?”
“Of course. Everyone has someone.”
He seems like a nice guy, but I’ve been fooled by worse. Like hell will I be telling him I’m all alone. It’s better this way, anyway.
He pulls out a card and hands it to me. It’s his business card with his cell phone number and relevant information, including his name. Don Rickett.
“You need a ride anywhere, call me. If I’m free, I’ll pick you up and take you where you need to go, free of charge. I can’t guarantee I’ll always be free, though I can get another driver to collect you if you need one.”
“You really don’t have to do that.”
