Page 15 of Wham Line
It was like looking into someone else’s face, someone who was wearing a Bobby mask.The same chiseled good looks.The same control and reserve.But a stranger.I remembered the Bobby I’d met when I’d come to Hastings Rock, the one who had been sure if he was just strong enough, tried hard enough, he could fix anything.
“You need to sit down,” I said.“You’re not thinking clearly.”
He blinked.Once.And then, with an easy turn of his wrist, he broke my hold.He picked up a pair of New Balance, loosened the laces, and said, “I’m fine.”
“Bobby, you’re not fine.”
The sneakers hung from his hand—each one dangling from a finger.He took a deep breath, and for a moment, it sounded like one of those rare moments I’d heard Bobby lose his temper.A hint of it showed in his face, too.The tightness of his jaw.
Then something happened.His face changed, and it was the look of someone who had remembered something.Or understood something, maybe—a problem that he’d been banging his head against.He dropped the shoes, squared himself up with me, and put his hands on my arms.
“Thank you.”
I waited for more, but nothing came.Thank you for…what?
Instead, I heard myself talking again.“Can we sit down, please?”
He nodded, and his hands chafed my arms lightly.“Of course.”But then he added, “Only for a minute; I’ve got to drive to Portland.”
Which—of course he did.He had to be with his family.
So, why was my first instinct to argue?
We sat on his bed, the one only he ever used.It was made perfectly, as you’d expect from Deputy Bobby, and a part of me fixated on how the bedding wrinkled under and around us as we sat.He’d hate that.He’d never let his bed look like that.Bobby took my hand.It took approximately a million seconds for the first minute to pass.He shifted his weight slightly, and a springponged under us.
I didn’t know what to say.Big surprise—that was par for the course in my relationships.I mean, it wasn’t for lack of words.But was I supposed to ask how he was doing?That sounded trite—if not downright stupid.Was I supposed to ask how I could help?I was his boyfriend; shouldn’t Iknowhow to help?It was the kind of thing someone else would have been able to do instinctively, without all these layers of doubt and second-guessing and complete lack of faith in the ability to do something so fundamentally human as comfort someone they loved.
Bobby’s laugh was quiet, and he brought the hand he was holding to his lips and kissed my fingers.“You don’t have to do anything.You don’t have to say anything.”
“Bobby, I love you.Of course I have to do something.I just have to, you know, figure it out first.”
With his free hand, he tweaked the ear of my glasses.He watched me for a moment.And then he said, “I’m so grateful for you.I know you want to help me.There’s nothing you can do right now, but I promise I’ll tell you if there is.And I’m sorry I wasn’t listening earlier, when you were trying to let me know how you felt.”He waited a beat.“But I do really need to get on the road.”
When he stood, I released his hand automatically, and he went to put on the sneakers he’d dropped.I sat there.I smoothed the blanket where he’d sat—or I tried to, anyway.They were there now, the wrinkles, and all I could do was try to make them better.
Bobby grabbed his bag, and somehow, that unlocked me.
I slid off the bed.“Let me grab a few things, and I’ll be ready to go.”
“Dash, you don’t have to go with me.”
“I’m your boyfriend.”
“I know.”
“I should be there with you.”
“You’re busy.You’ve got a lot going on.Indira—”
“Of course I’m going with you.What did you think I was going to do?”
Bobby transferred the bag from one hand to the other.There it was again: that look like something had clicked.“Sure.Thank you.But only if you want to.”
It didn’t take me long; I couldn’t think clearly enough for any kind of list or plan.I had a backpack, and things went in the backpack, my heart beating faster and faster until finally, with no real sense of what I’d done, I yanked the zipper shut and blurted, “I’m ready.”
Bobby nodded.He insisted on carrying my backpack and his duffel down to the SUV.
I hopped into my shoes as I followed.Because I was afraid I’d chicken out—not because I was worried he’d leave me behind.He wouldn’t.Not now that he’d remembered.
