Her eyes widen and she pauses, the steam from her tea rising up and clouding her expression. “Really?”
It’s too late for me to pull back now. Besides, what will this detail give her? I run through my mind, trying to remember if I ever told the press about this. In years of interviews and friendly conversation, sometimes it’s impossible to remember everything I’ve ever said publicly.
I tell myself that it doesn’t matter. Plenty of kids are afraid of storms at one time or another.
“Yeah,” I whisper, watching with some satisfaction as she takes a sip of her drink. “I was a small kid. Easily frightened. Didn’t like loud noises, bright lights, that sort of thing. Then, when I was seven, a tree outside was struck by lightning. It fell on our house.”
She gasps, a bit dramatically, but I appreciate the immersion in the story and smile at her, shifting a bit and pulling a blanketinto my lap as I do. The fire is going again, but the living room is still chilled through from the storm.
Cheese once again begs for access to Lola’s lap, and she once again grants it, taking the whole mass of my dog up onto her lap as though Cheese is nothing more than a Yorkie, rather than the sixty pounds of golden retriever she actually is.
“That must have been scary.”
“Everyone was fine,” I say, waving my hand, thinking of Belle’s screams that day. How the tree had fallen on our playroom — the one right next to her bedroom. After that, we’d had to share my room for a while, but I didn’t mind. I liked having her there on the bunk below mine. Like it would help me to keep her safe.
“Yeah, but it probably didn’t help,” Lola shivers, takes a sip of her tea, and seems to settle down a bit. More empirical evidence about the effects of a warm drink, especially caffeine-free tea. “I actuallywasn’tafraid of storms as a kid. It just kind of… started. When I went to college.”
“It didn’t help,” I agree, thinking of the counseling my parents put me through, the therapist recommending I make a safe space during the storms, crawling into the closet. My mom and dad didn’t like that, but eventually I was able to sleep in my bed again, so it worked out. “Where did you go to college?”
Lola jerks her head in the opposite direction of the city when she says, “Seattle.”
It makes me smile — against my will — into my mug. Camping out here by herself with no instinct for the cardinal directions. I’ll definitely have to go with her, make sure she finds her car again, so she doesn’t get lost in the woods.
She tells me about living in Seattle, about her roommate, who’s a med student. I share more about my childhood — which seems the safest topic — though she wants to know more about my background.
Each time the thunder claps, it’s further away, and eventually Lola doesn’t jump at all at the sound of it. I keep things vague, and eventually, she stops pushing, just sleepily talking to the ceiling, holding her hands up like she’s framing a painting there.
“…and it’s like, thisdream, you know?”
I don’t really because I’ve gotten too sleepy to follow the conversation, but I like the sound of her voice.
Eventually, the fire dies down, and stretched out in the recliner, I start to drift off, my head lolling. Through the dim light of the living room, I glance at her, marveling at the fact that I met her just hours ago. Gently, I call for Cheese, but my dog insists on sleeping in Lola’s lap.
Hours later, in the gentle blue light of the morning, I wake to find Cheese still curled up with Lola. I blink sleepily at her — her fine nose, the spattering of freckles over her cheek, the tangled and mussed honey blond hair in a loose halo around her head.
She has one arm thrown up on the arm of the couch, the other buried in Cheese’s fur, and despite being in a stranger’s home, she looks completely at ease. Despite accusing me of being a murderer the night before.
Maybe it’s naivety, or maybe it’s just something about her. The ability to know another person soon after meeting them.
I get the feeling that Lola can blend in wherever she wants, finding comfort in many situations. She strikes me as the kind of woman who’s adaptable, a sort of chameleon.
Blinking quickly, I sit up, pushing against the chair and getting to my feet, though it makes me briefly dizzy. I tear my gaze away from her and turn, stumbling to the bathroom.
What was I doing, staring at her like that? Thinking about her, categorizing her features? There’s only one other woman I’ve ever felt like this about so soon after meeting her, and that turned into a total disaster.
I decide I need to forget about the weird, intimate conversation last night. I know better than to let her in, especially considering the fact that she’s leaving today. I’ll be getting her things, helping her to her car, and seeing her off.
After she goes home, I’ll never see Lola again.
And that’s for the best.
CHAPTER 7
LOLA
Iwake to the sound of thunder cracking, but this time, it doesn’t bother me quite as much as it did last night.
Last night, I was reminded of the storms out at my dad’s place. Loud and consuming, oppressive. In the city, when a storm comes through, it’s almost quaint. Maybe muffled by the other buildings, or just by the feeling of there being other people around.
