“Yes, please!”
I run across the road, elated, and slide onto the cream bench seat beside him. “What are you up to?”
“I was checking on the Johnsongrass under the transmission towers.” He nods back at the electricity pylons in the distance, skeletal giants clutching cables with outstretched hands. “We can’t get the sprayer under them, so I’ll have to do them by hand once this wind dies down.”
“Is Johnsongrass a weed?”
“Yep.”
Suddenly, he goes rigid, turning to stare at me with wide, disturbed eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I ask with trepidation.
“What’s that perfume you’re wearing?”
“It was in the grocery store in town.”
Laurie wore this perfume.I know it instantly. My mouth goes dry.
“I’ll get out.” I’m about to step out of the open doorway, desperate to take his pain away, when his fingers snag my wrist, stopping me. Almost as quickly, he lets me go.
“It’s okay,” he says unsteadily, reaching for the keys in the ignition.
I felt that touch all the way to my bones.
We can’t arrive back at Wetherill soon enough. The feeling of his hand on my skin lingers as though I’ve been branded and I don’t like it. How much more proof do I need that Andersis not over the death of his wife? The fact that I’m still this affected by him makes me feel dirty.
“It reminds you of Laurie, doesn’t it?” I say as I get out.
He nods, his expression pained. “My mom used to buy it for her.”
“I’m going straight inside to wash it off. Thank you for the lift.”
“Wren, wait.” He looks mortified.
I hesitate, feeling sick.
“We have that spare tire for you at home. Can I bring it over now?”
“Are you sure you want to? I mean, that would be great, but only if you’ve got time.”
I remembered to pester Jonas about paying him last Sunday. He resisted, but finally gave me a price for three tires that sounded way too cheap. He point-blank refused to let me pay for the labor.
He nods. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
“Thank you.”
I go inside, drop the limes in the kitchen, and rush upstairs to take a shower.
Anders is alreadyworking on the spare tire by the time I get back outside. He notes my freshly washed hair and winces.
“That was weird. I’m sorry,” he mutters.
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
I’ve had time to pull myself together. This is the reality check I need.
“You don’t have to wait if you’ve got somewhere else to be,” he says.
