Page 8 of Under His Skin

“Cliff notes or the unabridged version?” He chuckles, and yes, there’s somehow a hint of darkness in it. Truthfully, I think we might all have a bit of that inside us, whether it comes out and why is what makes the difference.

“We’ll start with the first. At some point, though, I’d like to know the latter.”

“We playing even-steven here? For every piece of information I share, you reciprocate?” He nods, and while it’s not exactly a binding agreement, I take it as such. Simon strikes me as a man of his word.

“My middle name is Renee. I’m twenty-seven and I don’t think I’m cut out to be a waitress.” Crap. I might’ve just opened the door for him to ask what would be a better fit. Then again, I don’t relish the idea of lying to him, except that’s exactly what I’m supposed to be doing.

“Mine starts with G,” he wiggles his brows at that and I halt him before he can continue.

“Back up there, slick. I need the letters behind it.”

“It’s blackmail material,” he says, side-stepping me.

That’s not gonna fly. Taking his hand, I extend his pinkie, wrap mine around it, and inform him, “There. We just pinkie swore. I promise to never tell a soul.”

He stares at our intertwined digits, lifts them, and turns them to and fro, as if it’s something to be explored. Has he never seen or done this before? What kind of life must he have had as a child that…Oh.

At least during the worst of it I had my mom. Who did Simon have? And why does the thought the answer might be nobody break my heart?

He bids me near and whispers in my ear, a shiver wracking me so hard I almost miss what he says. “Garfunkel.”

“You’re making that up.”

“I wish,” he mutters.

“That’s… I have no words except I’m sorry and I see why you keep that to yourself. The jokes alone…”

He shrugs, as if kids can’t be cruel. “Thankfully, when it did come out at school, my classmates had no idea what it meant. The teachers, though? Yeah, they found it funny.”

“How come you didn’t change it when you turned eighteen?”

“My mom gave it to me. She loved Art Garfunkel. It’s a piece of her that can’t be taken from me.”

Well damn. Who knew that words could contain such a powerful impact? They convey so much about what he’s endured, what he’s lost, and that he hasn’t had a say in either. Oh, I’m not excusing him from anything bad he’s done, only that the nature versus nurture argument exists for a reason. “Seems she was a Neil Simon fan, too.”

“Happy coincidence that,” he says only to have sadness fill his face. “Her name was Simone.” Every time he hears his own it must be similar to a knife in the heart, yet oddly comforting at the same time.

Are pinkies are still hooked, so all it takes is a little maneuvering and my palm is against his, the rest of my fingers through his own. I swear I hear him draw in a breath, then another, and a third. Has he never been offered comfort either? Whoever is responsible for the lack of humanity he’s had; I want to kick their asses. They should be locked up for cruelty. Not wanting him to dwell on the bad, and knowing my time to sit and talk with him is rapidly dwindling, I remind him, “You have two more to go.”

“Thirty-five, and I don’t think I’m cut out for my job either.”

Chapter Seven

Simon

March 26th…

After dropping those verbal bombs on Bristol, I waited for the regret to hit. Hers for broaching the subjects she did and mine for answering honestly. But neither came. She merely squeezed my hand, didn’t probe for more, then asked me on a date.

I couldn’t do more than nod, too choked up that such a perfect woman wanted me. I’m a monster. I’ve done things I’m ashamed of, things that have haunted me and will do so until my last breath. Even all the good I’ve tried to do since can’t erase them.

When it was time for her to get back to work, she stood, dropped a kiss on my cheek, and walked away. Throughout the night, she returned to my table, stopping to see if I needed a refill, other times she’d give me another tidbit about herself.

For those few hours, I was able to blank out everything but her. She’s a beam of light and it shines through all the darkness and dissipates it. Call it fanciful, but when I left, after walking her to her car, of course, parts of me felt clean.

During one of her visits, she’d given me her number and I’d promptly dialed it. Not because I doubted it was valid, merely due to the fact I wanted her to have mine immediately. What if she needed me and didn’t have it? I couldn’t take that risk.

When I’d expressed concern over how late it was and her driving by herself at such an hour, she’d assured me that she’d be fine and she was only about fifteen minutes away. I’d requested that she text to let me know she’d gotten home okay and she’d agreed. Saving my sanity. Well, what I still have of it.

---