by S Bolanos
“Because that’s how every relationship wants to be defined—sharp and pointy.”
Her mouth fell open then twisted into a scowl. “Smarty pants,” she teased and gave me a playful shove then cursed when I stumbled backwards.
Time seemed to slow as I careened towards the steps. Charline’s fingers passed through empty air as she made a grab for my shirt and missed. Crutches forgotten, my bad leg caught the full weight of my fall and I came to a complete stop at the edge of the landing with only a minimal twinge of pain. I blinked back at Charline whose face seemed to reflect my own astonishment.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
I shifted the crutches back into position and moved away from the precarious ledge. “Yeah?”
Her eyebrows furrowed in skepticism, but she didn’t call me out on the lackluster answer and instead turned to finish opening the door. It swung inward on silent hinges, beckoning me to the sanctuary that I’d been dreaming about since I’d woken in the hospital. She placed the items inside and returned to retrieve me. “Here, let me help.”
“No.” The sharp reply took her aback. I softened my tone and met her worried green eyes, “No. I mean, I need to do this.”
She nodded and stepped back, staying close enough to intervene if needed, but far enough to give me room. I took a deep breath. The familiar smells of Chinese takeout, lemon-scented dish soap, and the spruce candle I loved wafted through the open door and dispelled my lingering anxiety. Balancing on my good leg, I positioned the base of my crutches inside and cleared the threshold in one hop.
Home at last.
Now that my symbolic move had been accomplished, Charline rushed to help me the rest of the way to comfort. I plopped down on the couch and the cushion sank as if trying to embrace me in some form of upholstered welcome. Tension leached out of me while I watched Charline heap everything from the hospital on the narrow island, obscuring the aged blue tile. My gaze slid past her flurry of organizing to the stack of framed pictures leaning against the far wall waiting to be hung. I frowned at the dejected art. It had been waiting two years now.
Like that, my relief at being home turned bitter. Why couldn’t I pursue anything permanent? The art remained unhung, because it would put holes in the wall. I rarely cooked at home, opting instead for delivery. Hell, I’d even bought most of my furniture at a secondhand store. I kept meaning to refurbish most of it, but I…didn’t.
Maybe I should take Charline up on her offer.
“I went ahead and put a few groceries in the fridge for you.” Charline gave me a pointed look as she joined me. “Just a few things while you adjust.”
“I seriously doubt it’s a few,” I said, giving her a look in return. “You shouldn’t have. I can easily order something. Delivery is a thing, you know.”
She looked properly scandalized at such a suggestion. “It was nothing. Besides, fresh food is exactly what you need after a stint in the hospital.”
“Charline, you really shouldn’t have. You have to let me pay you back.”
“Never you mind, I wanted to. And how many times have I told you, you’ve got to stop eating junk? Don’t think I didn’t see all the takeout containers.” Despite the teasing, the smile on her face was genuine. “You sure I can’t convince you to stay with me, just for a little while? There’s nothing here that can’t easily be moved.”
The truth of her words smacked me solidly in the chest. Once more, I seriously considered taking her up on the offer. It wasn’t that I didn’t like the idea of living with Charline. Truthfully, I imagined it’d be the exact grand adventure she claimed it would be, but that wasn’t why I’d moved to the city. How would I prove to myself and to my parents that I could make it on my own if I ended up relying on her generosity?
Bumping into her on my first day at Raleigh Marketing Services had been the break I hadn’t known I’d needed. She was fun, bright, and made me challenge my perspectives on a near daily basis. Despite the fact that I was an extreme introvert and she was obviously an exuberant extrovert, we’d somehow clicked. I was eternally grateful for our friendship, even if I didn’t understand it, and was loath to do anything that might jeopardize it.
“You really do too much,” I said and gently poked her leg with a crutch. She chuckled and rolled her eyes.
My gaze was drawn to the fridge, which was now undoubtedly packed with food I didn't have a clue how to cook. I was about to commend Charline on her craftiness when I spotted the calendar hung on the door of my microscopic pantry.
"Shit," I hissed at spying the vibrant red declaration of my parents' annual vacation that ended the day before.
"What's the matter?" Charline asked, glancing about in confusion.
“Think you could grab my phone? It should be plugged in on the counter.”
“Sure thing.” She immediately hopped up to retrieve the small device from the blue-tiled counter top. “Is everything alright? Who do you need to call?” she asked when she passed me the phone that I’d never be able to afford on my own and the lone symbol of compromise with my parents who were probably worried sick.
“My dads. They go to Paris every year for their anniversary and would have freaked at coming home to a message from the hospital. With any luck, they haven't left the house yet.” I flipped open the phone and sure enough, a dozen messages and a full voice mailbox. The groan slipped out even as I dialed the number by heart. It only rang once.
“Sara! Sweetheart, is that you?” Despite the worry in his voice, the low timbre of Peter Sheppard’s voice soothed something inside me.
“Hey, Dad. Yeah, it’s me.”
“Is that her?” a higher pitched voice called in the background. “Is she okay? Tell her we’re packing now. We should be there in a few hours.”
“That’s not necessary,” I immediately countered.
“Like hell it’s not!” Tom’s screech came loud and clear, suggesting he’d picked up the other line.
“No, seriously, I’m fine. I don’t know what exactly the hospital told you, but I’m fine. Charline picked me up today. We’re at the house.”
“Tom and I are coming,” Peter insisted in that no-nonsense dad tone.
“Please don’t. It’s a long drive and you two just got back. I promise, I’m okay. I’m not even in a cast.”
“Sara, honey, a few hours on the road is hardly the sacrifice,” Peter countered.
“What if I have Charline vouch for me? Would you consider at least waiting to drive halfway across the state?” I didn’t wait for a response before passing the phone to a wide-eyed Charline.
“Uh…Mr. and Mr. Sheppard? Hi, this is Charline. It’s true, Sara’s in great shape. A picture? Um, I guess.” She put her hand over the phone though the move would do nothing to block the sound. “Does your phone take pictures?”
I nodded. Phones with cameras were relatively new and expensive as hell, but right then I was more than grateful for the splurge. Charline removed her hand.
“Okay, we’ll send the pic asap. Did you want to talk to Sara again?”
Unsurprisingly, she passed back the phone. “Hey, I’ll email it to you in a few, okay?”
“If we’re not convinced, we’re coming anyway,” Tom threatened.
“Understood. Now I should go so I can eat something. I’m starving.”
“Peter, she’s not eating,” Tom said to his partner through the shared line.
“I am too eating,” I interjected before they could start feeding each other’s over-protective paranoia. “I love you both and I’ll call again tomorrow.” I finally ended the call, but not before another demand to send photographic proof of my well-being. The phone bounced on the cushion as I let out a sigh.
“Your parents sound nice.”
“They are. They worry, but sometimes they worry too much. There’s a reason I moved four hours away. Come on,” I said, shifting to stand up, “let’s get this over with.”
I passed her back the phone with the camera already pulle
d up. She snapped a couple and helped me hook it up to the computer. I picked the one that did the best job of downplaying the injuries and sent it off, though in hindsight, I probably should have ditched all the gauze first. Mission complete, we adjourned to the kitchen where Charline performed a daunting feat of culinary mastery.
After dinner, we gossiped a bit about what I’d missed at work and she helped me get my medications in order. I was surprised to find an anti-anxiety prescription amid the rest. I continued to stare at the prescription bottle wondering why it had been included. Eventually, I set it down with the others on the counter.
“That about does it. Thank you again for dinner,” I said.
“Stop making such a fuss. Any excuse to cook is a good one.” Charline gathered her purse and stepped toward the door. I vacated my seat and followed after her. She paused and turned back to look at me. “Are you sure you don’t want me to at least stay the night? It’s really no trouble. I have more than enough vacation time.”
“That’s because you never take a vacation. And, yes, I’m sure. How am I supposed to become self-sufficient if you insist on coddling me?” She looked doubtful. “I’ll. Be. Fine,” I said, emphasizing each word.
“Okay…But call if you need anything. I can be here in a flash.” The door opened and the chill night air wafted into the snug house.
“I know. Phone will be right by the bed.”
“Did you take your antibiotic?”
“You watched me.”
“Oh, right.” She stepped across the threshold at last and almost immediately spun back around.
“I’ll be fine,” I interjected before she could start in on the list again. “Go home, get some rest. I’ve got leftovers if I get hungry, supplies for breakfast, and I’ll call if I need help.”
Her shoulders slumped and she begrudgingly made her way to the silver crossover. “Don’t forget to lock the door!” she shouted back.
“I know, I know.”
She gave me one last look as if hoping I’d change my mind before giving it up as a lost cause. I stood in the doorway waving her goodbye and trying not to second guess my decision to send her home.
When Charline’s car rolled out of view, I turned back into the house and shut the door. I let out a slow breath as the silence of night filled me with a sort of peace that had been elusive in the hospital.
A small metallic noise like a penny bouncing on pavement shattered the quiet. My chest tightened and I held my breath as I pressed my ear against the cool door and strained to hear any other movement. The soft sounds of crickets chirping outside the window raked at my nerves. The hairs on the back of my neck craned in protest at the hollow sound of wind whistling through the eaves.
Never in my life had I been terrified of being alone at night, but that didn’t stop my hand from shaking as I scrambled to lock the door. The heavy thunk of the deadbolt striking home was at once comforting and nauseating. My breath came in short bursts. I backed away from the door while my heart thundered and blood roared in my ears. I wiped slick palms on my overly warm sweater and swallowed thickly.
You’re being paranoid. There’s nothing out there.
I glanced around the empty space devoid of personality.
There’s nothing in here either.
The draft leaching through the sliding glass door to the backyard filled the room with an eerie chill, making my sanctuary feel more like a tomb.
I should call Charline, tell her I changed my mind.
I instantly squashed the thought. No. I can make it a whole night on my own.
I shuffled back to my room, put on my coziest pajamas, then curled up on the bed. My hope that pursuing normalcy would help banish the sudden ache of loneliness or irrepressible bout of fear shriveled in the dark.
I knew I would regret sending Charline home.
Even the admission felt selfish.
I’m an adult and can take care of myself.
I curled around my pillow with only my stubbornness to keep me company.
3
Meat Cute
“Hey, girl.”
“Nice to see you about.”
“How are you doing?”
“Is it true…”
“What was…”
“You’ll be on your feet in…”
I pushed past the throng of well-wishers and at last emerged in the relative safety of my cubicle.
“Thanks, everyone, I appreciate it…I really should start getting back to work… I’ve had my holiday…” I said as I propped my crutches against the fabric wall.
My words failed to appease the masses. I wiped sweaty palms on my slacks and endured the suffocating press of bodies in silence. When it seemed my forced smile couldn’t take a moment more of fake cheer, they dispersed. I let out a relieved sigh and turned to face my desk, eager for the monotonous chore of work, or at least I was until I saw what awaited me.
As I stared dumbfounded at the mass of paper on my desk, a folder slid off the mountain to land with a ruffled thump next to several of its fellows already on the ground.
How many times do I have to tell Bob? This is not my job.
I scowled at the insulting heap and grabbed the chair with enough force to make the plastic creak in protest. No longer looking forward to my mind-numbing task, I plopped down into the swivel chair which promptly rolled out from beneath me. I landed with an undignified “Oof” amid the rebellious folders.
The death glare I gave the chair should have burst the damn thing into flames. Instead, it sat there mocking me, remaining perfectly untouched. I pulled myself up, mindful of applying too much pressure to either my arm or leg. This time when I sat down, I made sure the chair was truly captive. It gave a small squeak of challenge, but nothing more. My miserable groan filled the tiny cubicle as I rolled up to the monitor and yet another folder plunked to the ground.
Today is going to be awful.
The door immediately opposite my workspace clicked open. I closed my eyes and awaited the inevitable.
“Sheppard. Take these down to Marketing.”
I turned to face the opening of my cubicle and the source of the demand. Robert Hargrave hung half in my cubicle, the object of his request clutched in a pudgy hand. Per usual, his button down seemed half a size too small and his thinning hair was combed over in a style that easily made him appear ten years older. He thrust the big stack of folders in my direction, his perpetually sour expression stamped on his face.
I stared blankly at him.
He can’t be serious. How the hell does he expect me to carry all of that?
He waved the stack impatiently. “Today, Sheppard.”
This is what Hell looks like.
Bob raised his eyebrows expectantly when I didn’t move. Unable to come up with an excuse he’d hear, I grabbed a crutch and hoisted myself upright. Bob, of course, offered zero assistance, nor did he acknowledge my injuries.
He dropped the stack into my waiting arm, then turned back into his office without so much as a thank you. I winced at the sharp smack of blinds hitting the slammed door.
Stupid pig of a man.
I took a moment to balance the stack, mildly amazed at how much lighter it was then I’d anticipated.
Maybe the crutches are building my upper body strength.
I took a hesitant step out of the relative safety of my cubicle. Off to the left, the walkway stretched before me with its wall of pale gray on one side and beige cubicles on the other.
How am I going to navigate three hallways and overt potential disaster?
I took a fortifying breath, shifted the stack to a more comfortable position, and set out. With the speed of a snail, I crept out of the PR department, snuck past the major juncture that would take me straight to Accounting, and didn’t die when an office door opened unexpectedly in my face. Hope swelled in my chest as I eyed the final stretch.
I’m going to make it.
I inched around the last corner, wary of unseen people.
Just a little farther.
The path spread out before me, miraculously clear of people. I quickly moved to take advantage of the rare opening before it could disappear. The rubber tip of my crutch caught on a snag in the carpet. My heart leapt to my throat while adrenaline shot icy cold down my spine. All semblance of coordination abandoned me. Fragments of paper and lint embedded in the carpet fibers leapt into focus as my face raced to meet the spotted, sand-colored floor and the promise of rug burn that was undoubtedly in my future.
Then, it wasn’t. Rather than the questionable carpet, my face slammed into navy broadcloth while an exceptionally warm arm slid around my back to steady me. The owner of the arm smelled of a deep, woodsy scent reminiscent of the forests I’d played in growing up. I relaxed into the comforting smell, then it clicked that I was resting on a muscular chest and I pushed away. The bracing arm was replaced with a firm hand under my elbow.
I swallowed my mortification and looked up to thank my rescuer—that’s when my hormones betrayed me. Michael Howell, resident office hottie and notorious flirt held onto me as my heart landed in my stomach with a sickening thud.
This isn’t happening.
I stared up into deep brown eyes framed by equally dark hair that seemed to twinkle with amusement. My focus was drawn to his mouth as his lips curved into a good-humored smile.
“It’s good to see you back, Sara.”
Holy shit. He knows my name.
“You alright?”
“Uh…” I repositioned my crutch to give my brain a chance to reboot. My rebellious gaze left his face and traveled over his strong fingers wrapped around my arm, to the smooth back of his exceptionally tan hand. Then to his own arm where the muscles were clearly straining against the confines of his dark blue button down.
Small wonder he was able to stop my fall mere inches from the ground.
“Thanks,” I managed.
So much for being eloquent.
“You’re welcome. Should you really be carrying all of this while you’re healing?”
“I’ve got it,” I grumbled.
