I say nothing, but I nod at her, then I watch helplessly as she walks about 30 feet from where we’re standing and sits down on the curb in front of a parking spot. She tilts her body away from me, and I can’t see her face. I worry that she's angry. In fairness,I probably overstepped. But it was within my power to help her, and I’m certainly not going to stand by and watch her struggle if I can take some of the stress off her.
It takes nearly all my self-control to stand in the same spot she left me instead of following her, and I can’t tear my eyes from her. When I think I see her shoulders heave and then she lifts her right hand up to her face and moves her arm in a way that looks suspiciously like she’s wiping tears, I can’t wait any longer. I hurry over to her, and when I’m about six feet away, I stop.
“Delaney? Are you all right?” She doesn’t answer verbally, but she nods, so at least that’s something.
Being sure to give her a wide berth, I make my way around to the front of her and squat so that I’m almost at her eye level.
“Hey,” I squeak. I’m suddenly parched. “Is it okay if I sit next to you?” She peers up at me from under long, dark eyelashes, and her eyes speak of intense emotions, yet I’m not sure what exactly they’re saying. I don’t think she’s mad, but I wish I knew what sheisfeeling right now.
“Yeah. Sure,” she says. She’s so quiet, almost subdued, and that worries me more than if she were outright mad at me. I scoot over so that I’m sitting on the curb with my body angled toward hers.
I give her a few seconds without speaking in case she wants to say something first. Just when I think she won’t, she speaks.
“You can’t just go around buying people new tires.” There’s no fire in her words, but she sounds tired, and it strikes me that it’s not the first time I’ve heard fatigue in her voice. It never stays long; she always puts a sunshiny disposition back front and center quickly, but I recognize her worn-out voice, and I’m sad that it’s there at all. I also wonder if maybe that happiness is really a mask to hide pain she doesn’t want to talk about.
She pivots her head and stares off toward the woods a few hundred yards in front of us.
“Tell me what you’re feeling, please.” I’ll beg her if I have to, but I really hope she wants to open up to me.
When she looks at me again, it strikes me that she’s beautiful even when she’s down. The urge to tell her is strong, but even I know it’s not the right time.
“I’m frustrated, but probably not for the reasons you think. And I’m so embarrassed.” She turns her gaze downward.
The center of my gut clenches when I hear her words. The first emotion—frustration—I understand. I didn’t expect the latter, and it pains me. Without thinking about it, I reach out and tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, then I place my thumb under her chin and am careful to be gentle as I lift her head until our eyes meet.
“You have nothing to be embarrassed about. Help me understand where that’s coming from.”
She doesn’t speak right away but looks up into the sky as if the answers she seeks are there. It draws my attention to the fact that the Ohio summer sun is already heating our surroundings despite the early hour. On these midsummer days, it’s often almost unbearably hot even before the clock strikes noon.
“How can you say I have nothing to be embarrassed about? You’re one of my bosses, Harrison, and I had sex with you last night. Then this morning you gave me a place to live, and you’ve had all four of my tires replaced.”
My annoyance level skyrockets. Does she really assume I did this because we slept together?
“I need to make one thing very clear to you. This,”—I use my hands to gesture back and forth between us—“was there well before I was your boss, and if you feel for me even the tiniest amount of what I do for you, there’s little we could do to fight it. Our having sex has nothing to do with my asking you to stay at the cabin or helping with the tire situation. In fact, I arranged the tires while you were still in the guest room last night. Thecabin is a fortunate coincidence—a win-win. You’re helping us, and it allows you more time to find a place where you want to live. And really, the tires are no big deal; it’s just something I could?—”
“No big deal? Do you even know how much that costs, Harrison? Add in that you somehow got them done on a Friday night while the rest of the world was sleeping, and I’m sure you paid a premium for that. It is abig deal. So you know, I’ve looked into replacing the tires. I wasn’t being irresponsible. I knew they weren’t in great shape, but I also have to—” She abruptly closes her eyes and mouth. When she opens them again, she doesn’t meet my gaze. “Never mind, that’s neither here nor there.”
I inch closer to her, take her hand that rests on the concrete, and hold it in mine.
“I promise you it wasn’t an exorbitant expense. Someone owed me a favor, and I called it in; that’s all.”
The expression she wears makes it clear she’ll need more information than I’ve given to accept the help. I sigh but offer her a small smile.
“I did some free legal work for a guy over in Meadow Creek—estate stuff—and since he’s gotten back on his feet, he’s been trying to pay me back. But I didn’t do it for money. I-I just wanted to help him.”
Talking about this makes me think about what compelled me to help Trevor. It was because I knew what it’s like to sort through estate legal issues. I did it for my mom when Dad died. It was hard, but it was the least I could do for the family. I push the memories to the back of my brain.
“Anyway, he owns an automotive repair service now and also sells tires. He’s offered to outfit my vehicle with a quality set of tires more than a few times.”
“And you’ve never taken him up on it before?”
“No, I’ve never needed to. But last night I wanted to help you, and I knew you would never let me if I suggested it. So yeah, maybe it’s misogynistic that I had Trevor come put new tires on while we slept. Well, we weren’t really sleeping, most likely.” I smile at her, hoping she’ll find humor in my attempt at a joke and that it will lighten the mood. She doesn’t acknowledge the reminder of our time together.
“I don’t like needing help from people. It’s best to handle things on my own.”
“Well, Ienjoy watching out for people who are important to me when I can. I don’t have a lot to offer otherwise.”
Delaney jerks her head back, narrows her eyes at me, and her jaw drops.
