Page 50 of Rear View
It rang once. Twice.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Mom answered.
“Hey.”
A brief pause. “What’s wrong?”
Leave it to her to notice. “Nothing, why?”
Another pause, as if she were analyzing those words. “You sound upset.”
I couldn’t tell her abouthimwithout making myself a burden. All that’d do is scare her. My parents didn’t deserve what I carried—a fear they couldn’t contend with—or control.
My eyes darted across those shadows surrounding me. “I’m just exhausted. The last few days have been a lot.”
“Is it your thesis?”
Sure. Why not. As good a topic as any. “I seriously cannot wait until it’s over.”
“Soon enough, and it will be. You’re almost at the finish line.”
Only a few months until graduation.Only a few more months.
“Your brother mentioned you both went out with that Xavier fellow from the hospital twice now.” There was a smile in her voice, as if she was proud.
The pang of disappointment that hit me had my shoulders falling, but I didn’t have the heart to tell her about his vanishing act. Instead, I brightened my voice. “Yep.”
“That’s so good, sweetheart. I’m happy you’re getting out again.” She giggled. “And it doesn’t hurt that the boy’s a looker either.”
“I heard that,” my father called in the background.
She laughed harder. “Miles seemed quite impressed, and you know how protective your brother is when it comes to you.”
He was, which felt wrong on so many levels. I was the older one. It should’ve been my job to protect him.
There was a shuffling on my mother’s end of the line.“Your father and I are just headed out the door. It’s date night,” she said, her voice light. “Do you mind if we call you tomorrow?”
I fought the tension in my tone when I replied, “Of course. Have fun!”
“We will,” she replied before they said in unison, “Love you.”
“Love you too!” The call ended.
The crunch of tires approached me from behind and I whipped toward it. My pulse kicked up as the mini golf-type cart security used rolled along the path, then stopped a few feet before me.
“Hello, Miss Nolan,” the officer said.
My spine seized so tight, pain shot down my arms and the air froze in my lungs. He knew my name. My gaze snapped to his name tag. Stan. I knew Stan. Kind of. In as much as you could know someone you’d physically met once. I offered a rigid smile only to avoid seeming dismissive.
He climbed from the machine and strode to the lamppost opposite me, then eyed a small placard on the side, jotting something from it down. “Just need the number here so I can get maintenance out to fix the correct one.” He tapped his notepad with the end of his pen. “Safety first.”
“Safety first,” I repeated shakily.
Headlights streamed over us when my bus drew up. Its brakes shrieked as it pulled to a stop, and I maneuvered myself before the door.
“You have a nice evening,” Stan called.
“You too,” I replied, my breath clouding the air as I scurried forward and climbed on.
