Page 86 of Years in the Making

“I’ll get the truck—”

“No,” George states firmly. “You will not be getting behind the wheel in this state, young man. You’re not even wearing shoes. I’ll bring mine around. You can come with us as long as you pull yourself together. Nellie is fine, but if you aren’t, that’s not going to help her.”

“Right.” I take a deep breath and finally look over at the old man. “Wait, when did you get here?”

He laughs, his hands slipping into his pockets as he tips back on his heels. “I’ve been here the whole time, kid. Was sitting beside Magpie when you came running out of the woods like there was a grizzly on your heels.”

“I, I didn’t notice you,” I stammer.

“No shit!” He laughs harder. “You looked like you had the love of your life’s life in your hands.”

I did, I think.

“The blood, it, it wouldn’t stop. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Well, you did the right thing, albeit maybe a tad more dramatically than it needed to be done. Maybe bring the panic down a bit.” George pats my arm before gently leading me back towards the house. “Now, deep breath. You good?” he asks, sliding the patio door open when I nod.

Nellie’s eyes meet mine over the rim of the orange juice she’s drinking, the minute I’m through the door I feel myself deflate. She’s fine, but she looks worried,probably about me. I hate that she’s the one who’s hurt and she’s sitting there concerned about my lame ass.

“You okay?” she asks, her head tilting a little to the left.

I breathe out heavily and nod. “I’m fine. I don’t know what that was.”

“That was a bloody panic attack,” George inserts unhelpfully.

Midge sighs, handing me a glass of juice. “I don’t know if that was a clever turn of phrase or inappropriate. Drink that, then we’ll get this one to the clinic.”

Taking a sip, I stand there awkwardly, not sure how to conduct myself now that I’ve calmed down. I feel like the biggest fool. Then I remember that we’re not exactly close to any hospitals. “Where is the clinic?”

“Dr. Arnaud lives about forty minutes away. He has a small practice, but he’ll be able to treat the cut quickly and either glue or stitch it up.”

“Flo and I will manage the library,” Midge says. “Al will drive you. No arguments.” She holds her hand up, stopping the words about to come out of my mouth immediately.

George’s truck is significantly older than Bennett’s, but it has a back bench seat. Nellie sits behind George with her legs across the seat, her injured foot resting on my thigh so it’s slightly elevated. She and George discuss how things have been going with the library and another run-in with Morticia a couple of afternoons ago, and I sit there silently, replaying how I handled the morning.

Nellie and I have grown closer over the last two weeks, and this morning had felt like we were about to push through a barrier. She’d reached for my hand as we floated beside each other, Kevin paddling around our heads biting at the water bugs as they zipped across the surface.

“Remember that day in the pool?” she’d asked, eyes glued to the sky.

“The day you nearly undid my resolve.”

“I did not.” She laughs.

“Nellie, by that day my resolve was being held together by a frayed piece of twine.” I looked over at her to see if she would look back at me. Her attention remained on the sky, but her small smile gave away that she knew exactly what I was talking about. I continued to look at her. At how her tattoos became a little distorted by the water. She has so many new ones, and I’m desperate to explore them. “How many tattoos do you have now?”

“A few,” she said coyly.

“A few more than that day in the pool.”

She turned to look at me, her dark blue eyes traveling down my face to where my chest sat just above the water. “You have at least one more than you had that day.”

My hand automatically covered the small artwork that sits over my heart. “I was wondering if you were ever going to say anything.”

“I wasn’t sure I wanted to acknowledge what it may mean,” she said quietly.

I tightened my grip and pulled her closer, letting my lower half sink and encouraging her to do the same until we were facing each other, treading water.

“What do you think it means, Nellie?”

---