Page 8 of You Chive Me Crazy
Back when we were students, Zoe had been preparing braised lamb shanks with rosemary, and the recipe had called for a bottle of red wine. The assignment had stressed her out so much that very little of the wine made it into the pot. I ended up carrying a very tipsy Zoe back to her housing unit, setting her gently on her bed, and covering her with a quilt. That was when she had shocked the hell out of me by wrapping her hand around the back of my neck and then pulling me down to kiss me. Then she plopped back down to the bed and passed out cold.
She had always denied that kiss ever happened.
The image of her peacefully sleeping that day was a stark contrast to her current hysteria as she continued to fight my efforts to assist her.
I ignored her protests.
Nothing was going to stop me from getting her to the hospital, not even the small crevice in the ground that had just enveloped my right foot.
I winced as a sharp pain cut through my ankle like a filet knife, but I kept moving forward, determined not to let my discomfort slow me down. I got to the car and put her down gently on a patch of soft overgrowth next to the passenger door.
“Whoa,” Zoe said, grabbing the side of the car for support. “I think there’s an earthquake.”
“See? That’s why you need to get checked out by a doctor.” I opened the door and stuffed her grumpy self into the car.
It was a miracle I could convince her to stay there while I limped back to grab her keys, purse, suitcase, and lock her food truck. Maybe she finally realized that I was right—she needed medical attention.
Still, the tension between us on the drive was prime rib thick.
Zoe crossed her arms and shot me several dirty looks, still angry about being rescued against her will. All I could do was focus on the road ahead while trying to ignore the throbbing pain in my ankle, which was getting worse by the minute.
I was grateful for a moment of silence, but unfortunately, it was short-lived.
“You think kidnapping looks good on a person’s record?” Zoe said. “You’re going to do hard time in jail for this, buster.”
“I’m already doing it right now,” I said.
“I don’t need a knight in shining armor to rescue me. What makes you think you can just show up after all these years and then think I would just forget about the past? No way! Uh-uh. Nice try.”
Her anger toward me from what happened between us ten years ago was warranted, but she acted like she was the only one who’d suffered.
That had been the most horrible period of my life.
I was certain nothing I could say would change her mind, even though what had happened hadn’t been entirely my fault. Still, if she’d refused to let me explain ten years ago, why would she let me now?
I turned on the radio, thinking it would be an excellent distraction.
Or maybe I just wanted to drown out her condemning voice.
Then a song came on the radio that Zoe clearly couldn't stand.
“Ugh—people call that singing? It sounds like someone is sacrificing a rooster,” she said, reaching for the dial.
I swatted her hand away. “I like it—leave it.”
“Are you serious?” Zoe asked, her voice rising.
“She’s singing about letting go of the past and not being held prisoner by her destructive thoughts,” I countered. “It’s a positive song. You could learn a thing or two from her.”
Zoe laughed. “Right. Instead of being held prisoner by my thoughts,youcould detain me. No, thank you. I prefer to hold on to my past mistakes like a precious treasure. It reminds me not to repeat them, and who to avoid.”
“Wow,” I said. “You really hit your head hard. I can’t believe you have a problem with someone helping you.”
“At the moment—I have a problem with everything.” Zoe huffed and crossed her arms again. “I need to get the food truck repaired ASAP. I can’t just leave it up there at the top of the hill. Did you even bother to engage the emergency brake? I’ve got food in there, including a thousand potatoes.”
I surprised myself by saying, “Don’t worry about that—I’ll take care of it while the doctor examines you.”
Zoe appeared equally astonished. “You will?”
