Page 36 of The Words We Lost

“Wendy? Hi,” I say in way of greeting.

“Ingrid, hello, I’m so sorry I missed your calls earlier. I was already out on the beach when I realized I’d left my phone at home. Are you still free this afternoon? I’m not planning on going out again today, I’ve taken on a bit of a project in my yard. But I’d enjoy your company if you’d like to join me.”

“Of course, yes. I’d like that very much.” I glance at my watch, wondering if we’d still have time to stop by the nursery before itcloses this evening. By the sounds of it, she’s already knee-deep in the garden beds lining her backyard. “I can be there in about thirty minutes or so if that’s good? I’ll be coming from the hotel, on foot.”

As we finalize plans and as I ask what I might pick up from the corner market on my way to her place, Joel makes no attempt to avert his gaze. Instead, his interest in my conversation only seems to intensify the longer I stay on the phone with his aunt.

He digs into his pocket after I hang up and places something cold in my free hand.

“What is...”Keys.

“Take my car,” he insists. “It’s parked in the staff lot below.”

I shake my head and try to give them back. I’ve seen Joel’s fancy, made-to-look-vintage sports car, and I’m not about to be responsible for something that valuable. But he stuffs his hands into his pockets and rocks back a step. “That walk is almost entirely uphill. It will take you way longer than thirty minutes, especially if you’re planning to stop by the market first.” He seems to read all the excuses I’m compiling in my mind when he adds, “Let’s not make this into a bigger deal than it needs to be. It’s only a car. And you need it more than I do today.”

My palm is still open, the keys still there as if I have some right to them or to their owner. Only I have no rights to either. “I haven’t driven anything but an automatic in years, Joel.”

“The clutch on my old Honda would take deep offense to that after all you two went through together,” he says with a hint of amusement as we share a knowing look that throws me back in time to the night Joel tried to teach me how to drive a manual after working the late shift at the hotel. I stalled out so many times I worried I was doing irreparable damage to his transmission, but he refused to give up on me until I was comfortable shifting into every gear with confidence. “But even so, you’re in luck. It’s not a manual.”

“It’s not?” The revelation is so unexpected I feel my eyebrows revolt. “But you always said automatics were made for lazy, distracted drivers.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I was wrong about what the future held.”

I close my fist around the keys, press the cool teeth into my flesh. I have nothing to say to that. Thankfully, Joel doesn’t wait for a response.

“I can get a ride over to Cece’s place in the morning to pick it up. Maybe we could get in another chapter or two if you’re up for it?”

I nod slowly.“As long as you’re sure.”

“Positive,” he says, his gaze reflective with thoughts I wish I could still read.

I retreat a step and offer a wave as I backtrack to the library doors. “Well, thank you. I appreciate—”

“Ingrid.” His tone is so arresting, it locks my knees in place. “There are a few things you should know about Aunt Wendy before you go.”

Something like acid pools in my abdomen. “Okay?”

He pushes a hand through his hair and grips the back of his neck. “Up until about three months ago, things were pretty dark for her. There were times we weren’t sure if ...” He pauses, closes his mouth, then seems to redirect the avenue of his thoughts. “There was very little light to be found in Aunt Wendy’s eyes, and I wasn’t sure if it would ever return or even if it could return. And then one day, she found something that lit a spark. And every day that spark seems to grow a bit brighter.” He stares at me. “I know she’ll want to show you everything herself, but I think it’s only right you know the tremendous progress she’s made over these past few weeks and months. She’s taken a lot of steps to get healthy. She’s eating again, going on beach walks again, and my mom told me she went out for dinner last weekend with a couple of girlfriends from her grief group. They’ve been a good support to her.”

And by the concern etched onto Joel’s face, it’s obvious they aren’t the only ones. “You have, too.”

In typical Joel style, he doesn’t pause to credit himself. “I know it will be good for her to see you, to spend time with you....” He stops, his unspoken words dangling just inside my reach.

“But you’re worried about a setback.”

His nod is painful. “She can’t lose the light again.”

The raw conviction in Joel’s voice takes me back to that day on the beach with him, to those tense moments after we left the attorney’s office when he’d described his involvement in Cece’s estate, all the requirements he met for reports and documentation. “And I’ve done every bit of it for her, for Cece.” For the first time, I’m beginning to understand the burden he’s been carrying since her death. All the days, weeks, months of taking on extra work, extra responsibility, extra stress loads so that others in his family wouldn’t have to. I know the weight of the loyalty he wears well. I know its strength and its depth and its overwhelming chokehold of control. Because it was Joel’s loyalty to me that kept me from saving my father from himself.

When I can finally form an adequate reply, my throat is hoarse. “I promise I’ll be careful with her.”

“I believe you will.”

13

It’s rare a person has the opportunity to sit in the driver’s seat of someone else’s life. But that’s exactly what I’m doing now: sitting in Joel’s fancy driver’s seat. Over the years, I’ve driven my fair share of rental cars for out-of-state meetings and writers’ conferences, but most of those cars were economy selections leased on my publisher’s dime. I’ve never sat in anything so pristine, much less anything with a touch-screen display on the dash. The black leather interior is polished and pristine, as is the dark woodgrain around the chrome control in the center console. It’s immediately apparent that no “new car smell” air freshener hanging in a Quick Mart can duplicate the real thing.

Even still, despite the newness, my entire body prickles with nostalgia as I click in my seatbelt, start the engine, and pull out of the hotel parking lot. It’s not only remembering the night Joel taught me how to drive from the passenger seat of his old Honda that has my mind drifting back to the past, but the trademark way he positioned his hands on the steering wheel and how he always kept the classic rock station set a notch below what could be deciphered by the human ear. Just like how it’s set now.

---