Page 16 of Remembering You
3
Jim drove the entire way back to the artist residency center in complete silence. A silence I didn’t try to break. He didn’t need empty platitudes and words of encouragement from a woman who’d barely had a prom date, let alone any other kinds of dates. He needed silence.
Snow drifted from the sky in big, fluffy flakes. It was so quiet, I could practically hear each one land on the hood of the car.
I shifted a glance to Jim out of the corner of my eyes. His grip was tight on the steering wheel, his jaw set in a hard line of muscle, tensed all the way down his neck. Veins raised up from beneath his flesh on his forearms, disappearing beneath the sleeves of his sweater which was pushed up to his elbow, despite the thirty degrees outside.
“I’m sorry you had to witness that,” Jim said quietly, startling me.
I blinked in surprise. “You’re not seriously apologizing for what Sheila did, are you?”
His lips twisted into what some might call a smirk. Or maybe it was more of a grimace.
“It’s your first night here. You’ve sprained your ankle. You don’t know anyone in town. And then on top of everything, you had to watch… that.” It was almost as though he couldn’t say what happened. Couldn’t put words to it and admit: Sheila cheated on him.
Was he seriously worried about me right now? About me having to “witness” their break up. “Jim,” I said quietly. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Not to me. Not to... anyone. What happened back there is terrible. And it’s not your fault.”
Tentatively, I reached across the car and placed my palm on his shoulder which immediately released from where it had been tensed up below his ears.
“Thank you,” Jim said.
I wasn’t sure how I was going to face Sheila in a couple of weeks when I returned to the hospital for my internship, but hopefully life would sort itself out before then.
Just then, a low, growl escaped from my stomach, echoing in the quiet night of our silence.
Jim’s eyes widened. “Oh my God. You haven’t eaten dinner, have you?”
I shook my head, but shrugged. “Not yet. But that’s okay. I had that croissant—”
“And you just arrived off the bus when you twisted your ankle. You’re not even going to have groceries back in your room to make something.” Jim groaned. “I should have thought of that. I should have grabbed you some bread, peanut butter and jelly so you could have something.”
I laughed. “Jim, you’ve done enough. Seriously… you saved me today.” He darted a quick glance at me before returning his eyes to the snow blanketed roads. “I mean it. What would I have done without you? I would have had to hobble my way to the residency center and I probably just would have spent the night in pain, icing my ankle in the smallest room there on the fourth floor. There’s no way I can repay you for your kindness today.”
He chuckled. “You wouldn’t have made it to the café, let alone to the residency center. Not in those boots and not with your bags.”
“See?” I laughed. “Hero material. Sheila’s an idiot.”
Oh, God. What did I just say? My cheeks immediately heated and I dropped my gaze to my clasped hands in my lap, squeezing my eyes shut. I sound like child. Talking about heroes and everything.I cleared my throat, directing my gaze out the window once more. “Anyway, I’m sure the center has some vending machines. I’ll get something there to tide me over.”
Jim cleared his throat after another moment of silence, turned the car into a supermarket parking lot. Hitting the brakes, he shut the car off and turned to me. “What do you like? Or rather… what don’t you like?”
I blinked, momentarily confused. “I could just come in and shop with you.”
He smirked, his eyes flicking to my crutches in the backseat. “You could. But it would take twice as long, Turtle.”
I rolled my eyes, a sigh pushing through my pursed lips. “Really, this isn’t necessa—”
“If you don’t tell me what you like, you run the risk of me grabbing you something you hate. And wasting money and food.”
“Fine,” I snapped. “I eat almost everything. Except canned tuna. I hate the stuff. Everything else is good. Eggs, bacon, peanut butter and jelly and bread. That’ll tide me over until I can get to the store myself.”
I opened my purse and pulled out a ten-dollar bill, gulping at how little cash I had left.
His gaze seemed to fix on my hand, clutching the bill. “Is there any way I can convince you to let me treat you to these groceries?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No way. You’ve done—no, you’re doing enough already.” Having him buy my food? It just felt… wrong.
He nodded and gave a resigned sigh, taking the money from my hand. It only took him about ten minutes to grab my groceries and when he returned, he held a single paper bag, hitched onto his hip.
