“How are you gonna go back to the house at all?” I reply, looking at his ankle. “You can’t walk.”
“Blast,” he says, trying to flex it. “I hope I didn’t break it.”
“Let’s take a look,” I say, kneeling on the floor in front of him.
I take his right foot in my hand and rest it on my lap. “Tell me if I hurt you.”
Then, I carefully peel off his shoe and then his sock. The laughter is gone, and suddenly, it’s silent between us. The only sound is the pitter-patter of the rain on the roof of the gazebo. It’s a delicate, quiet moment as I hold his bare ankle in my hand, inspecting it for anything blue or swollen.
“Does this hurt?” I ask quietly as I squeeze the joint.
He shakes his head. Then his eyes lift to my face, and we’re staring at each other, me holding his foot, softly running mythumb across his ankle. As I slowly massage his leg, he winces in pain, and I stop.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right,” he replies. “I think it’s just sprained.”
“Let me carry you back to the house,” I say as the rain starts to lighten up.
“No, you can’t do that,” he replies.
“Yes, I can.”
“Do you really want to?” he asks.
“I don’t want you to be in pain,” I say.
His eyes linger on mine before he responds. “I’m not ready to go back with them yet. I think I’d rather stay here for a little while longer.”
With that, and for no good reason at all, my heart lurches with hope.
“Okay, Shakespeare,” I reply, sitting comfortably on the ground in front of him, his foot still resting in my lap. “We’ll stay here for a while.”
* * *
The rain won’t stop. Even as it lightens to a drizzle, it never fully stops. Colin is sitting across from me on the cold, wet ground. Our clothes are still soaked, and his foot is still resting on my lap to keep it elevated.
“I really can’t stand him,” he mutters coldly while staring out into the rain.
“Your father?”
He nods. “You know, the only reason he’s even here is because he’s impressed by my movie star fiancé.”
I tilt my head and furrow my brow. “That can’t be true.”
“It is,” he replies solemnly. “He never came to a performance of mine. Or my graduation or any awards ceremony. Apparently, hisotherwife is pregnant again, and they take priority.”
Hanging my head back, I let out a disgruntled sigh. “Do youhear yourself? Hisother wife? Why do you and your mum put up with him? It’s ludicrous.”
“Why do you think, Declan?” His expression is deadpan.
“Money,” I reply sadly.
Again, he nods. “I have his inheritance, but my mum has nothing. If they divorce, she’ll be left penniless. And deep down, I think she’s holding on to a fantasy. I don’t know… Maybe he is too, and that’s why he hasn’t divorced her.”
We return to silence, listening only to the rain. I can’t help but look up at him, watching the solemn sadness wash over his features. He always was a hopeless romantic, clinging to the idea of love in a way that was never quite realistic.
Or maybe I’m just the cynic.
