Page 53 of The Calendar of New Beginnings
“I can’t wait,” she said, hearing the breathless quality of her voice.
His nostrils flared like he’d heard it too, and everything inside her stilled. His hands tightened on her waist beforefalling away. He stepped back, and she could have sworn he shook himself.
“How about a beer?” he asked, putting his hand on the edge of the open door.
“Sounds good,” she responded, aware he was looking over her shoulder.
Somehow they’d both forgotten they were standing in the doorway for all his neighbors to see. Oh, how the Dare Valley gossip mill would turn if someone squealed that the now-eligible Andy Hale had kept his arms around Lucy O’Brien for a couple of minutes.
“Anyone see us?” she decided to boldly ask.
“I think we’re safe,” he said with a wry twist to the mouth. “Come on in. This is Rufus. He’s a good dog, but he’s a handful. I’m going to put him in Danny’s room so he won’t bother you and then grab us a beer.”
The minute Andy closed the door, he took her hand and led her down the hallway to what was clearly the family room.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, sitting her down on the tan couch and leaving the room with the dog.
Trucks, trains, and books lay in a makeshift circle on the floor in front of a dark bean bag chair, clearly Danny’s perch. Next to it sat an adult-size one as well—green, she thought. Lucy liked the image of Andy sitting beside the boy as he played. The fireplace was bare, but to the right sat a basket piled with fresh-cut wood ready for the cooler fall nights approaching.
She glanced at the clock. Just after seven o’clock. All she wanted to do was go home and crawl into bed. Right now, she felt like giving up. It wasn’t her usual, but she decided she was entitled to a pity party. Cold glass touchedher shoulder, and she turned to see Andy handing her a bottle of Guinness.
“I know it’s not as good in the bottle,” he said, coming around to sit with her. “But it’ll hit the spot.”
Her two sips of her cosmopolitan didn’t count as mixing, so she took the beer and drank while he sampled his IPA.
“Feeling pretty sad, aren’t you?” he asked, putting his arm around her after setting his beer aside.
She turned her head. “How can you tell?”
“Please. When you’re sad, your shoulders sag.” He kneaded them. “Plus, it’s written all over your face. Who can blame you? You had a fight with your mom, and your visual acuity and color vision has worsened with no clear explanation. That’s what I’d call a pretty bad day.”
“I hate feeling sorry for myself,” she admitted, kicking her legs out and crossing them at the ankle. “But I’m feeling a truckload of self-pity right now. I just want my eye to get better. I want to take pictures again. I want?—”
“Everything to be like it used to be,” he finished for her, kissing her temple. “I know. I have my days too.”
“What do you do when it happens?” she asked, glad she’d made the decision to come to him. She didn’t just need a ride, it turned out—she needed a friend.
He blew out a breath. “Well, you saw how I got the other night, which I’m still a little embarrassed about.”
She set her beer on the coffee table, and this time she was the one who leaned closer to him. “Don’t be. I’m glad you can share how you feel with me. We never held back in our chats online.”
“Seems a little different in person,” he said, pressing her head to his chest. “Right now, I’m happy to be the one comforting you. Don’t laugh.”
He’d always been sensitive about people laughing at him. Why, she could remember how upset he’d been in third grade when the class clown made fun of him for wearing brown cords to school in May. Lucy had shoved the boy later on the playground and told him she’d beat him up if he ever made fun of her friend again.
“I won’t laugh. I know it’s hard to be the one bleeding out.” If only the human body had a shutoff switch to flip when it was hurting.
“I look at stupid stuff online like lawnmowers or power washers instead of going to bed,” he said. “I sometimes can’t face going to bed alone. I miss…”
“What?” she asked when he trailed off.
His inhale sounded like an airplane engine firing up. “I miss hearing someone breathe next to me in the dark. I’m better now, but I have nights. After Kim died, I couldn’t sleep in our bed. I slept on the couch when I wasn’t sleeping by Danny’s bedside. After Kim died, he’d wake up crying for her.”
“You never told me that,” she said, trying to imagine the kind of toll that must have taken on him. On both of them.
“I’d lie in bed for hours, and even though I was exhausted, I couldn’t fall sleep. When I did my residency, I didn’t sleep much, but this was different. It was like I was numb or something.” He kicked out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. “Shit. This is pretty depressing. I should be trying to cheer you up.”
“You don’t have to cheer me up. Do you have a quilt? It’s stupid, but I’m suddenly cold.”
