Page 3 of Trial Run

“Are you all right?”

Her voice came from far away, down a tunnel of sound. He shook his head, brain buzzing with white noise. He couldn’t breathe. All the air in the world had gone somewhere, and that gasping sound in his ears was coming from him.

She removed the broom from his hand gently and leaned it against the wall.

“I think you got all the glass now. Let’s go sit down for a minute.”

A moment ago, she’d been distressed, but now her entire demeanor changed, her voice softening. She was talking to him like a lost puppy, and it should have been humiliating, but maybe that part would come later, because for now, all he felt was grateful someone else was in charge.

Her cool hand slid into his, and Ben let himself be led to his porch swing, where he hadn’t sat in months. He sank down onto the weatherproof cushion, and her soft weight landed beside him. He dropped his head into his hands and tried to catch his breath.

A minute later, the soft pressure of her hand landed on the back of his neck. He startled at the touch, then settled. It had been a long time since anyone had touched him, but he didn’t mind the contact in this moment.

“Is that okay?” she asked. When he gave a slight nod, she continued. “My grandma used to get panic attacks. That’s what it is, isn’t it?”

Ben managed another movement of his head, which he hoped indicated something like “yes.”

“Keep your head down. Do you need me to call someone?”

“No. No need.” He was more winded than if he’d been running, and all he’d done was stand outside for a few minutes. But it was passing now, the panic leaving his body like a storm moving off on the horizon.

The swing rocked as the woman pushed it back and forth with her foot. The neighborhood sounds faded in intensity, and the world came back into focus.

“What do you normally do when this happens?” she asked after a moment. “What does your doctor tell you to do?”

He huffed a humorless little laugh. “Funny enough, I am a doctor. I should know what to do. But I seem to be having problems going out.”

He hadn’t meant to say it. The truth he hadn’t told any of his family or coworkers, he’d just blurted out to this stranger.

“Oh. Well … What do you do to help it?”

“I wait for it to pass, and it does.” Or he avoided certain situations entirely. At least up until now, the strategy had worked.

He kept his eyes on the ground as his vital signs returned to normal. Maybe there was something to be said for waiting out the anxiety, or pushing through it. Or for having someone there to keep you company. And hold your hand like a toddler.

Heat washed into his face, crawling up the back of his neck. The embarrassment he’d been missing a few minutes ago roared to the forefront. He wouldn’t be able to look her in the eye again.

He straightened his posture, searching for something resembling his usual control.

“Give me another minute, and I’ll be fine.” His gaze raked over the spilled flowers. “And I’ll pay to replace the flowers.”

“Oh no, you don’t have to—”

“I insist. I’ve taken extra time from your morning. And you … helped me out.” He cleared his throat, still not looking at her. “Give me the name of the florist and I’ll call them with my card.”

He scanned his driveway for the florist’s van, looking for the name of the business.Tillie’s Flowerswas printed in green on the side of the vehicle, in a scrolling font.

His eyes stopped when they reached the passenger window. Through the glass, a boy’s face watched him, brown eyes round with curiosity.

Chapter 2

“Well, I’ll get out of your hair.”

Nell slapped her hands on her thighs, jumped off the porch swing, and grabbed the broom and dustpan. She quickly swept the pile of glass into it, moving the spilled flowers off to the side one by one, while avoiding the man’s cold stare.

The minute he’d seen Marco’s head in the window of the van, he’d straightened, eyes narrowing. The last thing she needed was one more person judging her parenting choices, so it was past time to get gone.

She set the full dustpan by the door, picked up the ruined flowers, and straightened, looking anywhere but at the man on the swing.

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