to lock my black Land Rover and jog toward where Katie said she would be, scanning the area under the evening light. When I finally spot her, standing by her car, talking to an elderly lady, seeming unscratched, the breath I had caged inside me gushes out in relief.
“Reeves,” she says to my chest, burrowing under my arms. I kiss the crown of her head and give her the comfort she seeks in a tight embrace.
“Are you hurt?” I pull her back to run a closer inspection over her. She shakes her head.
“She is fine, we both are,” says the lanky lady in the oversized pants suit standing next to us.
“What happened?” I ask, returning my attention to Katie. It’s more than evident she is making an effort to stay composed. I wonder if it’s for my benefit. Strangely enough, she is the one person I’m not able to read. Maybe it’s because what she represents or whom she belongs to, but when it comes to her I’m almost blind.
“I spaced out and bumped into her car sideways,” she answers in a thin voice, her eyes gesturing to the lady beside her. She claps her pink glossed lips together, her big blue eyes decorated by an apology return my hard stare. She reaches for a lock of her blond, wavy hair and nervously twirls it around her finger. My lips stretch to a grim line.
“Did you exchange papers? Is there anything else you’d need from us?” I ask the lady beside us who eyes me curiously.
“Yes we did. I am fine,” she responds.
I nod. “I’m sorry about your car,” My eyes, followed by hers, zero in on the serious scrape to the side of her vehicle. “If there’s anything else you might need, Ma’am… Here are my numbers.” I fetch a business card from my wallet and hand it to her.
“Let’s go get something to drink,” I tell Katie who just bobs her head in agreement.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” she says to the lady who already has her back to us, entering her car. Katie adjusts her purse on her shoulder and threads her fingers through mine. I twist my mouth but let her have it her way. I always do.
“Chamomile tea, and…” Katie turns to me in question while the waitress waits, tapping with a pen on her open notepad. “Coffee?”
“Draft, whatever you have on tap is fine,” I say, and the brunette server sends an enthusiastic, inviting smile my way, which I disregard, turning back to Katie. Katie gazes at me carefully, biting her fingernail. I reach for her hand and place it on the table, stopping her anxious self-defiling, and slouch back into the red and white vinyl booth.
“What really happened?” I ask. She swirls a lock of hair around her finger, and when her beautiful eyes gloss over I cover her palm with mine. She raises her eyes to look at me fleetingly, and casts them down.
“I was thinking about tomorrow and got distracted,” she says. My heart squeezes viciously in tandem to the tear leaving her left eye. I abandon my side of the booth and move to sit next to her. She leans her head on my shoulder and whispers, “Will you drive me there tomorrow?”
I need to swallow the lump in my throat before answering. “Of course I will.”
“Reeves, it’s so hard.”
“I know, doll,” I say, and wrap my arm around her.
“And it doesn’t get any easier. I thought that with time it would, but it doesn’t. I miss him so much.” She can feel my empathy and agreement by the nod of my chin on the center of her head.
“Three years,” I say, and futilely attempt to block out the snaps of visions too vividly taking form before my eyes.
The last knowing glance we traded.
The smoke of the gun.
The perpetual pain that follows doesn’t take long to show. I release the tight hold I realize I have on her. She lifts her gloomy eyes to mine, and our stares link in unified pain. For a long beat, our eyes convey sorrow, memories, and loss.
It takes me a moment to grasp what Katie does next, a moment too long. I snap out of my momentary lapse when her lips on my mouth part and
“Reeves,” she says to my chest, burrowing under my arms. I kiss the crown of her head and give her the comfort she seeks in a tight embrace.
“Are you hurt?” I pull her back to run a closer inspection over her. She shakes her head.
“She is fine, we both are,” says the lanky lady in the oversized pants suit standing next to us.
“What happened?” I ask, returning my attention to Katie. It’s more than evident she is making an effort to stay composed. I wonder if it’s for my benefit. Strangely enough, she is the one person I’m not able to read. Maybe it’s because what she represents or whom she belongs to, but when it comes to her I’m almost blind.
“I spaced out and bumped into her car sideways,” she answers in a thin voice, her eyes gesturing to the lady beside her. She claps her pink glossed lips together, her big blue eyes decorated by an apology return my hard stare. She reaches for a lock of her blond, wavy hair and nervously twirls it around her finger. My lips stretch to a grim line.
“Did you exchange papers? Is there anything else you’d need from us?” I ask the lady beside us who eyes me curiously.
“Yes we did. I am fine,” she responds.
I nod. “I’m sorry about your car,” My eyes, followed by hers, zero in on the serious scrape to the side of her vehicle. “If there’s anything else you might need, Ma’am… Here are my numbers.” I fetch a business card from my wallet and hand it to her.
“Let’s go get something to drink,” I tell Katie who just bobs her head in agreement.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am,” she says to the lady who already has her back to us, entering her car. Katie adjusts her purse on her shoulder and threads her fingers through mine. I twist my mouth but let her have it her way. I always do.
“Chamomile tea, and…” Katie turns to me in question while the waitress waits, tapping with a pen on her open notepad. “Coffee?”
“Draft, whatever you have on tap is fine,” I say, and the brunette server sends an enthusiastic, inviting smile my way, which I disregard, turning back to Katie. Katie gazes at me carefully, biting her fingernail. I reach for her hand and place it on the table, stopping her anxious self-defiling, and slouch back into the red and white vinyl booth.
“What really happened?” I ask. She swirls a lock of hair around her finger, and when her beautiful eyes gloss over I cover her palm with mine. She raises her eyes to look at me fleetingly, and casts them down.
“I was thinking about tomorrow and got distracted,” she says. My heart squeezes viciously in tandem to the tear leaving her left eye. I abandon my side of the booth and move to sit next to her. She leans her head on my shoulder and whispers, “Will you drive me there tomorrow?”
I need to swallow the lump in my throat before answering. “Of course I will.”
“Reeves, it’s so hard.”
“I know, doll,” I say, and wrap my arm around her.
“And it doesn’t get any easier. I thought that with time it would, but it doesn’t. I miss him so much.” She can feel my empathy and agreement by the nod of my chin on the center of her head.
“Three years,” I say, and futilely attempt to block out the snaps of visions too vividly taking form before my eyes.
The last knowing glance we traded.
The smoke of the gun.
The perpetual pain that follows doesn’t take long to show. I release the tight hold I realize I have on her. She lifts her gloomy eyes to mine, and our stares link in unified pain. For a long beat, our eyes convey sorrow, memories, and loss.
It takes me a moment to grasp what Katie does next, a moment too long. I snap out of my momentary lapse when her lips on my mouth part and
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