Page 16 of New River Gorge(ous)
I hate that I’m instructing her to ride improperly as an E.R. doctor, but there’s no way she can sit comfortably with her cast in the tiny space behind the front seats.
I help June into the cab, and when she smiles at me, I’m filled with an odd sense of gratitude for the eccentric woman who is my neighbor andhadto bake cookies in the middle of the night and bring her granddaughter with her to the E.R. It doesn’t hurt that June just told me her granddaughter is single.
I turn and watch Peony walk with Brooke to my truck. The two women are similar in height and stature, but my eyes are drawn to Brooke. Pink pajamas and fuzzy slippers do not do great things for my pulse.
“Take care, Brooke,” Peony says as she grabs the wheelchair handles and takes it back into the hospital.
“Thanks, Peony,” Brooke replies before meeting my gaze. She shifts uncomfortably and looks at the ground. “Thanks for giving us a ride home. We came in the ambulance.”
In a normal world, where Beck Whistler is functioning as a normal human being and not someone whose fiancée left him at the altar, he would say something like ‘no problem,’ or ‘happy to help,’ or ‘anytime.’ Instead, because this is the world where Beck Whistler does not function like a normal human being around women after being left at the altar, he says nothing.
Suave.
I motion for her to climb into the truck before I shut the half door to the backseats, then her door.
When I climb into the driver’s seat, I’m aware of how close Brooke is. I’m also aware of how she’s taking in every little detail of her surroundings as I drive to our houses.
“So,” she says through a yawn. “I thought doctors liked the finer things in life—fancy houses, fancy cars, all that.”
I grunt.
“I take it you do not. Unless you’re hiding something. Like a mega yacht.”
“Some things are finer than stuff.” I retort. Brooke is silent for a moment, and I take the opportunity to change the subject. “I guess you were tired.”
She says nothing, and awkward silence builds.
That was the wrong thing to say.
Finally, she breaks it. “Meemaw.” She turns in her seat and addresses June. “Did you hear from Matt? He hasn’t called in a while.”
Alarm bells ring outCAUTIONin my brain, but Iamtired, and I just finished my shift, but didn’t June just say she broke up with him?
“I thought you broke up with him,” I blurt.
If the silence was awkward before, now it is palpably painful.
“Broke up with Matt?” Brooke asks, enunciating each syllable. “Why on earth would I do that?”
“He seemed like a loser. Didn’t even kiss you goodbye.”
I chance a quick look at Brooke. Her brow is furrowed, and her eyes blink slowly.
“Why on earth would I break up with and—ewww, gross—KISSmytwinbrother? And who told you I broke up with anyone?”
I’m an idiot.
Brooke turns and stares daggers at her grandmother. I keep my eyes on the road, glad that her glare isn’t directed at me.
“Meemaw.” She draws out theaw. “You don’t need to discuss my personal life with strangers.”
“He’s not a stranger, he’s a neighbor, and one who wants to get to know you better. I’m just helping.”
“Is that what we’re calling two a.m. trips to the E.R. now? Helping?” she quips.
“Well, you two certainly aren’t doing anything about what’s obvious to everyone else.”
“I don’t need your help, Meemaw. I’m here to helpyou,” Brooke huffs and faces forward before turning to stare out her window.
