Page 109 of Finding Our Reality

“So, do you ever plan on telling me what we’re doing here? And why we have to wait until midnight to do whatever it is we’re gonna do?” I ask.

“A single mom and her two kids live here. Her oldest was brought into the station for shoplifting. He’s fourteen. He was let go with a warning.”

“What did he steal?” I fully expect him to say a video game or a phone or an expensive pair of tennis shoes.

“Deodorant.”

“Deodorant?”

He rubs his fingers across his lips. “Yeah. His little brother just turned twelve. His hormones have changed, and he was starting to get body odor. He needed some deodorant to carry to gym class. His mom didn’t have the money to buy extra toiletries until her next payday. The little guy was terrified of smelling after gym class, so his big brother tried to steal some deodorant for him.”

My heart skips a beat. How awful. I think I have three different sticks of deodorant at my house right now, simply because I like to change the scent each day. A fog of shame drapes across my shoulders like a cloak. “That family lives here?”

“Yeah. The mom works full time as a receptionist at a small insurance company. Still, her salary alone isn’t enough to pay for all the bills and buy two growing kids everything they need.”

“Do you do this often? Buy things for needy families you meet at the station?”

“I want to, but I force myself to only do it a couple of times a year. If I didn’t limit myself, I would probably go broke.”

The moonlight bounces through the truck, shading him in a pale white light. He’s so handsome. After all these years, he’s done nothing but grow sexier. Edgier. I glance away before my desire becomes too much to bear. “When do you normally do it? Christmastime?”

“I’ll usually deliver one at Christmas, one at Easter, and one tonight.”

I furrow my brow. “Why tonight?”

“Well, I always wait until 12:01 to drop it off, so I guess you can call it tomorrow.”

“Why?”

He smirks. “Don’t you know what tomorrow is?”

I cock my head. “Sunday.”

“No, the date. What’s tomorrow’s date, Lulu?”

My eyes roll back in my head while I think about the actual date. It only takes two seconds for it to click. My hand flies to my mouth, covering my gasp. “Carrie’s birthday.”

He doesn’t say anything, he just reaches across the bench seat and runs his hand across my thigh, leaving tingles in his wake.

“You do this each year for my sister’s birthday?”

“A long time ago, you said you wanted to do something special to remember Carrie each year. And you said you didn’t want it to be on the anniversary of her disappearance, you said that wasn’t something to celebrate. I agree; it isn’t. So I do this each year. On her birthday.”

“Thirty-three. Carrie’s turning thirty-three.” Moisture collects in the corner of my eyes. I can’t believe he does this. I can’t believe he does this for me.

And her.

He picks up his cell phone from the seat and lights up the home screen, showing me the time. 12:00 midnight. I hold my breath, counting the seconds until it turns to 12:01. Wordlessly, he climbs from the truck and pulls the large container from the truck bed. I spin in my seat, watching him. He tries to balance the lid on top and then tosses it to the side when he gets frustrated with it. My giggle is cut off when he grunts loudly under the weight of the heavy box. He walks across the street, up the chipped sidewalk, and gently sets the container on the small front porch. He rings the doorbell—just one time—walks back down the sidewalk, and jumps in the truck. He doesn’t wait for anyone to come to the door. He just drives away.

“You don’t watch them open it?”

He studies the road in front of him. “Of course not, that’s a private moment. Giving a hand-out is one thing. Having people witness it is a completely different thing. Before my grandparents took me, I had some teachers who would try to give me things. They weren’t very good at hiding their efforts, though, and the other kids would make fun of me for being poor. I never want to make anyone feel that way. That’s why I do this in the middle of the night. By the time they get out of bed and make it to the door, I’m gone.”

I always knew Ry was a good person. Even when I hated him, I knew his heart was filled with nothing but pure intentions. But this? Remembering my sister’s birthday? Celebrating it like this? This is something on a whole new level.

With every mile he drives, my nerves and anxiety build. By the time he parks the truck in his driveway in front of my SUV, I’m so on-edge, I feel like either throwing up or passing out. I know he feels the tension, feels the electricity. There’s no way to avoid it. It’s like walking through a minefield, holding your breath, and waiting for an explosion.

How much longer can I fight this? Fight my attraction?

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