Page 21 of The Problem with Falling
“Oh, that’s easy.” She looked up to the sky. “I was counting the stars. We came from a big city. I never saw stars like this before.”
I glanced at the star-covered sky. The stars always looked more glorious when one was up north. The light pollution in cities made nature not shine as much as it should’ve. She smiled up at the sky as if she’d just met God. I swore, stars were almost sparkling in her irises, too.
“How many did you count so far?” I asked.
“Forty-two,” she told me. She tapped her finger against her bottom lip. “But I fear I lost count.”
“Figures.” I stared at her, and she stared at me. I couldn’t look away for some reason, and it seemed she couldn’t either.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Harry.”
“Short for?”
“Harold.”
“Named after?”
“My father.”
“And he was named after?”
“His father.”
“Ah yes,” she swooned, “We love a good tradition.” She returned to dancing on her tiptoes, and I grumped, worried about her toes on that uneven surface.
“Hey, stop moving for a moment,” I said, bending down as I unlaced my boots.
“Can’t stop moving, too much happiness,” she replied, swaying her hips from side to side.
I snickered to myself. This woman was an oddball in the best of ways.
I stepped out of my boots and then tapped her shoulders. “Here.”
Her brows lowered. “But what about splinters for you?”
“I work in construction. My middle name is splinter.”
She laughed, and I swore it echoed off the moon. I didn’t know laughter could sound so freeing.
She placed a hand against my shoulder and slid her foot into the left boot and right.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Molly.”
“Short for?”
She giggled again. “Molly.”
That giggle brought me to life for the first time ever. Who knew that I hadn’t been alive for the past twenty-some years?
She tilted her head. “Thanks for the boots, Harry.”
“Anytime, Molly.”
“So, Harry…” She held a hand out toward me. “Do you want to dance with me?”
