Page 26 of Come Home to Me

Another dose of crazy that I just don’t need.

She flashes me a look over her shoulder that reminds me so much of Leo that I stop in my tracks. It’s cold and angry, accusatory and rebellious, but underneath it all, she’s begging for help. I don’t know what she’s dealing with, but that look tells me she doesn’t like being this way. In the space of a second, I know that the bright, happy woman I see her trying to be is who she really is and it’s buried deep down under whatever is weighing on her soul.

I watch her come to a decision. That look of angry vulnerability disappears under something much more neutral.

“Thanks for the help today,” she says. “I’ll call my insurance as soon as I get home so I can get you reimbursed.” She pauses in front of me, sucks in her lips, and lets out a long breath through her nose. “Like for real. I mean it,” she says, letting the mask fall away from her face. “Thank you.” She grips my hand, her skin cold and clammy against mine, and then climbs into her car and brings the engine to life.

I follow her back to the hotel to make sure she’s safe. Her gaze meets mine through her rearview as she slows to turn into the parking lot. She lifts a hand, offers a smile, and then gives her focus back to the road. I finish the drive back to my apartment on autopilot as I battle with myself over how to proceed.

Is Sarah worth risking my job for?

My sanity?

Is whatever she’s dealing with big enough to break her, and therefore me, if I stick around?

Or is she big enough to break the habit, as long as she has someone there to help her through the process?

I think of Leo and all the havoc he wreaks on our family. My older brothers are ready to write him off as damaged goods, but I keep fighting for him, even though it feels like we take one step forward and two steps back time and time again.

Can I go through that for a woman I barely know?

* * *

Sarah

“God damnit!” I slap the heel of my hand against the steering wheel. The horn bloops, startling an older woman as she ambles across the parking lot. She whirls in my direction and I raise a hand in apology. “Sorry!” I call out, heat flaring across my neck and face.

Why did I have to take that pill in front of Frank? Why aren’t I strong enough to handle a bump in the road like shitty insurance without the help of medication? Like a normal person? And for that matter, when Frank actually cared enough to worry about my sanity, my safety, why did I have to run away like a fucking coward?

The man deserves better than that.

He deserves better than me.

He deserves an explanation.

Or to be let off the hook.

Or…something.

I dig through my purse in search of my phone until I finally upend the thing on my passenger seat and pluck the device out of the months of receipts and bits of trash I somehow think is worth carrying around with me all the time. I pull up his contact info, my finger hovering over the call button, before I opt to message him, instead.

Me: When we were stuck in the elevator, you asked me about something that happened when I was a kid. Something no one…

I hit backspace until the words are gone and try again.

Me: I know you’re right about the pills. I know I need to stop running from what’s wrong and just deal with it already but…

Again, I hit backspace until the message section is empty and then stare at my phone, at a loss. Finally, I decide on what to say and tap out a message.

Me: Thank you for your help today and I’m sorry I lost control and ran away.

It’s not enough, not by a long shot, but I hit send and then drop my phone in my now empty purse, wipe at my eyes, and then head into the shitty little room I call home to start leaving messages for my insurance company.

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