He shakes his head. “Nah, not really. I’ve looked around a time or two and wondered if I’m in the right place doing the right thing.”
“If you don’t want to be here, I’d be happy to escort you out.”
He chuckles, pointing a finger at me. “You’re not getting out of this that easy.”
The distinct sound of Hartley’s truck heading up the driveway does the work for me. I sigh, a mixture ofdisappointment and relief, as it grows louder and effectively ends our conversation. Brooks stands, takes a bandage out of the box, and then squirts some of the cream onto his cut. I bite my lip and turn my head, unable to watch him tend to his wound.
“Thanks for helping me out today,” he says, tossing the tube on the table. He takes our empty glasses, rinses them quickly, and places them in the dishwasher.
“You can’t sue me if you have to get your arm amputated. And please,pleaseget a tetanus shot.”
“I’ll think about it.”
He heads for the door—still shirtless—and seems to ignore my plea. He pauses with his hand on the handle and holds my gaze for a few moments. It’s as if he doesn’t know what to say and is struggling with words … just like me.
Finally, he gives me a smile that feels a lot like a hug that I desperately need. “Later, Doc.”
“Bye, Brooks.”
The door opens and closes before the sound of his boots rattle against the porch. I don’t look out the window like I want to. Instead, I wait by the sink for Hartley’s truck to roar to life. And when it does, I sag against the cabinets.
I have a lot to think about, and I have no idea where to start.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Brooks
“I think it needs to be pushed down a little more.” Mom tilts her head, swiping a lock of hair out of her face. “A little more—there! That’s it. Don’t touch it anymore.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, taking a step away from the peach silk flowers.
Our breath billows from our lips as we stand in silence, looking at the large black stone. Mom designed the artwork herself. An image of her and Dad walking down a path into the forest beneath a full moon is etched into the headstone just above their names. It was the only thing Mom requested when I cashed my first big check. She didn’t want a big house or a fancy car, though I got her both. All she asked for was a nice headstone to replace the small metal sign marking Dad’s grave. I would’ve said no. I don’t want that motherfucker to benefit from me, even in death. But Mom will be buried there someday, and she deserves the world.
The thought of not being able to give her that if my license isn’t renewed is a shot straight into my heart. It hurts so bad I can’t think about it. It would be the ultimate failure.
“What do you think?” I ask, wrapping an arm around her narrow shoulders.
She rests her head against me and sighs. “I think it looks nice. Don’t you?”
I bite back a smart-ass remark because this is important to her. She cares. I don’t understand why she gives a shit about a man who made her life hell, but she does.
“Yeah, it looks great,” I say. “I like this wreath better than the one you had for Christmas. It’ll hold up better against the wind.”
“I think you’re right. I got this one from Etsy, and the quality is amazing.”
“Do you want to do anything else while we’re here?” I look around the cemetery at the stones lined up like soldiers. Despite the bright flowers and colorful flags hanging from garden hooks, it’s still the most depressing place in the world. “We could hold hands and sing a song.”
She snorts, shoving me gently. “Why do you always have to be a shit?”
“It’s nature versus nurture. Bet you’re hoping it’s nature, huh?”
Mom shakes her head, ignoring me. “We changed the flowers and the wreath, hung the new flag, and installed the new solar lights,” she says, taking in our handiwork. “I don’t think there’s anything left to do.”
“Sounds good to me.”
I gather a few scraps of trash from around the base of the headstone and shove them in the shopping bag we used to bring the decorations from the car. Mom kisses her palm, pressing it onto the top of the stone, then she follows me through the cemetery to my truck in silence.
