Page 65 of Sweatpants & Sweet Tea

I nodded and turned my attention back to the highway.

“Thanks again. You didn’t have to stay all day.”

My eyes cut back to hers. “Yes, I did.”

“You didn’t, but thanks.”

“So, if I was the one in the hospital with Grandad, you would have left?” I challenged.

She could deny the connection we that had all she wanted, but she knew it was there. Even if she was seeing Kale Butler, there was still something between us.

Her mouth opened, but then it closed again. When she opened it again, her phone rang, startling her. She jumped in her seat. When she did, her purse tumbled down by her feet. She reached down and scrambled to pick up the call.

“Hello,” she said breathlessly as she brought the device to her ear. “Hello.”

“Oh, hi.”

I glanced over, and saw her shoulders slump.

“No, I thought you were…it doesn’t matter. I was planning to call?—”

I couldn’t hear what the person on the other end was saying, just that she kept interrupting Daphne.

“Yes, my aunt was rushed to the hospital and?—”

“No. I’m not coming in tomorrow. I had to stay?—”

“I know, but?—”

“Well, I can see if?—”

“I don’t know how long I’ll be?—”

“She might need a triple bypass; they are still running tests, and I’m?—”

“No, there’s no one else to take?—”

“Alexandra, between vacation and sick leave, I have four weeks. I’m taking them now. I’ll see you in a month.”

As she hung up the phone, I could hear the woman talking on the other end.

Beside me, Daphne exhaled and slumped back in her chair.

“Are you okay?”

“I might have just lost my job.”

I wanted to say that any job that didn’t understand she was having a family emergency wasn’t worth having, but I didn’t think it was my place.

Instead, I took the opportunity to ask, “So, Rhonda might need surgery?”

“Yeah, triple bypass. Her arteries are blocked. They said the recovery is six to twelve weeks, but I only have four I can take.”

“We’ll take care of her,” I assured her. “You don’t have to worry.”

A tear slid down Daphne’s face as she nodded and turned her head to look out the window. I wanted to comfort her, but I didn’t want to cross any lines. I flexed my hands on the steering wheel in an effort to keep them in place. But when I heard hertake in a shaky breath, I reached out and rested my hand on her thigh.

She covered my hand with hers and squeezed. We didn’t talk the rest of the ride home. I didn’t ask her more about her aunt’s diagnoses or about Kale Butler. We just rode in silence.

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