The other end of the line goes silent and Jeff curses under his breath as he puts his blinker on to head for the Lincoln Tunnel. His shoulders have dropped two inches and his jaw is so tight I can hear his teeth grinding.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask softly.
At first, I think he’s going to say no. His eyes glaze over as if he’s pulled the curtain down between me and his emotions. But then he meets my gaze and his entire face relaxes back into the soft and open Jeff I’m used to seeing.
“My mom is struggling with her finances and my sister refuses to answer my questions. Or let me help.” The sentences come out on one breath, like he’s been waiting to release them.
“I’m sorry, Jeff. I can’t imagine how that must feel to be so far away and so?—”
“Useless,” he finishes for me.
“I was going to say out of the loop. You are the farthest thing from useless.”
“It’s maddening. They’ve never cut me out like this before.” His voice is quiet and it’s obvious he’s no longer with me.
“It seems like your sister has it under control,” I point out. “Teacher power.”
He nods, but the way he pushes his lips together tells me he doesn’t agree.
“Is it just your mom and sister?” I ask.
“Yeah. And Sammy.” He hesitates, like he’s deciding whether or not to say something else. “My father left us when I was thirteen. And Sammy’s father was never in the picture. The men in their lives just keep leaving.”
My heart drops onto the floor.
“I hate not being there for her—for them,” he whispers.
My heart rolls out the door onto the NJ turnpike.
“I’m so sorry, Jeff,” I whisper. My eyes are already glassy. I blink hard and fast.
He looks over at me and I try to look away before he sees the tears.
“Jesus, Devon. Are you crying?”
I shake my head only to let more tears loose.
“I’m an empath,” I tell him, voice thick. “And it’s sad. Crying is an appropriate reaction.”
His hand reaches out and finds mine. I let him curl his fingers between my own.
“You are incredibly kind,” he whispers. “Everything will be ok. Thank you, though. For caring.”
I should pull my hand away, but the pressure of his fingers on mine is making my head spin. His hands are so strong and warm—skilled hands. Surgeon’s hands. I shut my eyes and try to get control of the way my heart is skittering around in my chest.
“It’s why we are all so close,” he tells me. “Stuff like that brings you closer—ya know?”
I shut my eyes and squeeze his hand harder. I get that. Man, do I get that.
“My mom holds it all together. The riding center. The house. Jenny and Sammy. She’s the glue.”
He’s forgotten I’m in the car, his eyes far away as he stares out the windshield. I watch him chew on the inside of his cheek and I know for my own sake not to push any further. I need to let go of him. The way his thumb is stroking my palm is making me feel like I need to tuck and roll out of the car to save myself. Slowly, I pull my hand from his.
“Your mom must be incredible,” I say.
He sighs. I can’t take my eyes off of the side of his face. The softness of his expression as he thinks about his family. His vulnerability has my head spinning—a blender filled with compassion and something else—something I need to bury deep before I drown in it. Sirens are blaring in my head and I can’t tell if they are coming from the opposite side of the turnpike or from my self-preservation instinct.
“She is,” he murmurs.
