Page 68 of We Redeemed the Rain

Before I realized what I was doing, I reached out, taking the plate. “That actually looks pretty good.”

She swiveled away, tucking a wisp of hair behind her ear. “Is there anything else I can do to help you? I feel bad sitting around.”

“You’ve done nothin’ but help me since the moment you got here. I wouldn’t call that sittin’ around.”

I picked up the sandwich and took a big bite for her sake. I foughtoff a groan as I chewed then lifted the bread to see what was inside. How did a turkey sandwich taste so good?

She sidled toward the door. “Okay, well call me if you?—”

Conflict warred in me.

Let her go or make her stay?

“Bea.” I wasn’t even sold on what I wanted to say.

Go or stay?

“Hmm?” She stopped but kept her eyes averted.

It tumbled out. No warning. Just rolled off my tongue before I could backpedal. “Sit with me while I eat.”

She blinked in surprise.

“It’s only gonna take me a few minutes.”

After a brief hesitation, she eased onto the rolling stool, immediately launching into a side-to-side swivel. I would’ve paid my last dollar to know what she was thinking.

Heat rose up my neck as I pondered the possibilities too long. What specifically had I shared with her in our letters? Time obscured the details. If I had to guess, I most likely shared way too much. Because any time I sat down to write—regardless ofwhatorwhoI was writing—I went overboard. It all tumbled out in the most painful, raw way.

Had I told her my Momnevermade us meals? That we were hungry most of the time? Is that why Bea brought the sandwich? Did she pity me? Did I seem hungry or helpless? I felt unnaturally exposed, childlike even, sitting there with her only a few feet away.

Despite the feelings roiling through me, I was glad she stayed. Glad I wasn’t sitting here alone. I tried to focus on something other than the erratic beating in my chest. But the only other thing my brain snagged on was her. She had her hands clasped between her knees, her ankles and toes working to rhythmically turn the chair, left to right and circling back again. Dutifully, she waited for me to finish my lunch.

My social skills weren’t great, sure, but I’d have to be a blind idiot not to see her discomfort. It was written in her movements, the crease between her brows, and the way she chewed her bottom lip.

The sight of her like this shredded my insides. The conflictwarred, violent and loud, within me. On the one hand, I’d be insensitive not to check in on her. On the other hand, would asking her for openness require my own?

I was intimately acquainted with the feeling of being ignored. Of having needs but no one caring. Of craving others but being pushed away. Of wanting connection despite taboo pains. Even as I argued within myself, trying to convince my brain she’d be fine, my conscience pulled toward her.

I mentally cussed my cowardice as I ventured onto new territory.

Even the tone of my voice sounded like a foal on new knees. A wobbly, gentle prod. “Are you alright?”

She looked at me again, and we held a beat of eye contact. Her brown eyes filled with tears faster than she could glance away. I sucked a breath as my stomach dropped. Like the earth had just opened up to swallow me.

Holy shit.

Confirmed right then and there. She wasnotalright.

My pulse jumped for the moon, my adrenaline for the stars. I’d never wanted a sandwich less than I did in that moment. But I took an anxious bite, waiting for her answer.

She swiped a palm across her cheek. “Sorry. I can't seem to stop.”

I kept quiet.

“Life is kind of cruel sometimes, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” I knew a thing or two about that. My voice didn’t sound like my own. “If you wanna talk, I’ll listen.”

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