Page 62 of If All Else Sails
I suddenly find myself thinking about Wyatt’s family, about his brother. Peter, I think his mom said? And the barely mentioned Mr. Jacobs of Jacobs Restaurant Group. There has to be some kind of bad blood there. I can’t think of any situation in which you see one of your parents and don’t ask or even mention the rest of the family. Unless you’re not on good terms.
I almost work up the courage to ask, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I do, however, manage to free the final splinter from his first hand.
“Ooh—all done with this one. Time for your other hand. Gimme. We’ll be done soon as long as you don’t make it more difficult.”
With a sigh, he offers me his other hand. “I’m notthatdifficult.”
“Says you.”
I pick up his right hand and examine it. To my relief, only three splinters are visible when I brush away a few specks of dirt.
“Maybe you should have chosen the librarian path.”
I get started on the first splinter, which immediately breaks apart as I try to tug it out. “Maybe. But this is pretty satisfying.”
“Says you.”
There are a few moments of quiet where neither of us speaks and Wyatt doesn’t grumble as I manage to pull a whole splinter from his palm.
“I have a question,” Wyatt says.
“You’ve had a lot of those tonight.”
There’s a pause. “Not just tonight. I simply asked them tonight,” he says, and I have no idea what to do with this statement.
So, I do nothing. I focus on my task. I remove the second-to-last splinter.
“My mom brought up the trip I planned,” he says.
“I remember you didn’t seem to want to talk about it.”
He’s quiet. Then he says, “It was supposed to be a solo trip like I used to take with my uncle in the summers. Obviously, I can’t do it alone. Even once I’m off crutches it would be iffy. I think it would be feasible if I had another person with me.”
Even if he were in full physical health, the thought of Wyatt taking the trip alone that he used to take with his uncle makes me ache.
He clears his throat. “I don’t know if you’d consider it,” he says, and it takes me a solid ten seconds to realize Wyatt is asking me to come on a sailing trip with him.
I drop the tweezers. Again.
He’s askingme. To go withhim. On asailing trip.
Me. Him. Sailing trip.
At least, Ithinkthat’s what he meant.
“What are you asking?” I force myself to look Wyatt right in the eyes as I ask this.
The expression on his face falls somewhere between severely constipated and waiting to get four fillings done at the dentist.
“I’m asking if you’d want to go with me. Sailing.”
“To where?”
“Georgia.”
“Sailing to Georgia,” I repeat, like saying the words aloud will help all of this make sense in my brain. It doesn’t. Or maybe I’m still reprogramming my brain from thinking Wyatt can’t stand me to...I don’t know what.
So pretty, I hear him saying again while in his fevered state.
