Blood Rubies by Jane K. Cleland

“That’s why I went for a walk. The woods are pretty—but you know that. It’s your woods, right? I like the shushing sound pine needles make when you walk on them.” She paused to eat another grape. “I didn’t care where it went. Then the path ended and poof, here I am. Like magic. He also said to keep talking.” She shrugged again. “What is he going to say, right? ‘Snap out of it’? ‘Pull yourself together’? ‘Time heals all wounds’? It’s hopeless. I’m hopeless.” She closed her eyes for a moment, the muscles along her jawline bullet hard. “Sorry. I’m not myself.”
    â€œNo need to apologize. You can say anything you want to me.”
    â€œReally?” She opened her eyes and finished the grapes. “Now there’s an offer I ought to take advantage of.” She wrapped her arms around herself and leaned forward. “The Josie confessional.” She sighed. “I’m not religious. Isn’t that funny? I’m not religious, but when I wanted to talk to someone, I didn’t think of a therapist … I thought of a pastor.” She reached for her glass and finished the whiskey, then poured another portion. “I’m a mess.”
    â€œYou’re not a mess. Grief is messy.”
    She stared at her drink as if she were having trouble recognizing what it was, or perhaps she was hoping the amber liquid held the answer. After a few seconds, she raised her eyes to mine. “I don’t miss Jason at all. Not even a teeny tiny bit. Isn’t that odd?”
    â€œMaybe you’re missing him so much you’re angry, and all you can feel at this point is the anger. Later, you’ll feel sad.”
    â€œDo you think so?” she asked, sounding dubious.
    â€œI don’t know.”
    She sighed again, heavily, then swigged the whiskey, finishing it in one gulp. She coughed, a small one, then placed the glass neatly on the tray.
    â€œTime to go.” She unwrapped her legs and reached for a boot, nearly toppling off the couch. “Whoa. I better take it slow.”
    Her motions were methodical, as if she were thinking about each step first, then doing it. Pull the boot toward me. Straighten it so the toes face out. Put my foot in. Tighten the laces. Tie a bow. She got her boots on, then stood and clutched the sofa’s back to steady herself. She experimented with walking, and when she didn’t collapse, she smiled.
    â€œAll right, then,” she said. “I’m on a roll. Thanks, Josie, for your above-and-beyond hospitality to a near stranger.”
    She was having trouble with sibilants. “Hospitality” sounded more like “hoshpitality,” and “stranger” came out as “shranger.”
    â€œHow about topping off that whiskey with a coffee before you go? We can make cappuccino or espresso, if you prefer.”
    â€œNo, thanks. I have to go. My mother will be worried. I didn’t tell her I was leaving the hotel. I just slammed out of the room. Chuck and Sara will be worried, too. I blew off lunch.”
    â€œNo prob. I’ll drive you.”
    â€œNo need. I left my car at the church. I’ll walk back and drive myself.”
    â€œBetter not. Whiskey and steering wheels don’t mix.”
    She glared at me. “You’re so judgmental, Josie.”
    â€œSorry about that … but I can’t let you drive.”
    â€œIt’s none of your business!”
    â€œIt is, actually. Since I served you whiskey, there’s a liability thing. I can’t let you get behind the wheel.”
    She walked toward the door, stepping carefully, trying to hide her sway, keeping her chin up. “I’m fine.”
    â€œI’m sure you are. Regardless, let’s agree to let me do the driving.”
    â€œNo.”
    I suspected that trying to reason with someone in her condition was a waste of time.