Not that my attention has ever really wavered from them. Not entirely. Not with her wearing that dress. It doesn’t matter how she treats me. It doesn’t matter that I’m driving her to a hospital. It doesn’t matter that she’s clearly a spoiled brat. I can’t turn off my awareness of her. In the cramped cabin of the vehicle, it’s probably impossible. Not with the air conditioning blowing her perfume in my face. She smells like magnolia blossoms, freshly peeled oranges, possibilities. Intoxicating. Tempting. It calls to me. I want to taste her. I imagine burying my face between her tits and drinking her in.
“Not the type that reads books,” she continues finally, killing my fantasy.
And that’s what she thinks of me.
“Did you think I got to college because of my looks?” I ask.
“Well, it wasn’t because of your charm.” She shakes her head. She seems to realize she’s offended me, because she quickly adds, “Most guys I know haven’t read anything besides what’s assigned in school. Actually, they don’t read that either.”
“I like books,” I confess.
“Even Jane Austen?” She still doesn’t believe me.
“The more I see of the world, the more I am dissatisfied with it,” I quote.
“And you memorized it?”
Is it just me or does she sound a bit impressed? “I remember bits that strike me.”
“And that struck you?”
“I can relate to that sentiment.” I’m not about to explain why.
Her mouth hangs open for a minute before she shuts it. She wants to ask why. Maybe she’s scared of my answer.
Now she’s learning.
This is how it should be between us. Shallow and meaningless and utilitarian. I drive her to the hospital. I distract her. We stumble into each other’s circle on occasion. More than that? No way. Adair MacLaine is money. I’m only here because someone like her pays full tuition. I’m the charity case. She’s the debutante. It’s as simple as that.
A green highway sign reads Davidson General. Its arrow points ominously at the off-ramp. I glance over to find Adair staring at it, too. This is the end of small talk and polite conversation. Her eyes shift to the floorboard and linger there.
“I don’t have shoes,” she says quietly.
I hear what she’s really saying. She isn’t ready.
“It’s going to be fine,” I tell her. It’s a lie. What is it about her that makes me want to pretend like life doesn’t suck? Like the world isn’t one big disappointment after another?
“Promise?” She turns wide, round eyes on me.
“I never make promises,” I say quietly. Promises are too easy to break even when you don’t mean to. I’d rather lie than break a promise.
“Please?” The request is so small, so desperate that all my reasons go out the window.
I know I’ll never be able to keep it, but I say it anyway. “Promise.”
Davidson General is packed considering it’s nearly midnight. It’s the first sign that Nashville might be a real city, after all. A dozen or so people wait in uncomfortable chairs under harsh fluorescent lights for their turn to be seen. The hospital smells like bleach and hopelessness, as though it’s been scrubbed free of not just germs but life altogether. I consider offering to carry Adair again but I know she’d never allow it. Still, I can’t help but stare at her bare feet as she makes her way across the linoleum floor to the help desk.
“I’m here for the MacLaines,” she tells them. “My brother… called me.”
The crack in her voice breaks me open and it’s all I can do to barricade the memories threatening to flood from me.
“There should be information soon.” The woman doesn’t look up from her files. Business as usual. “Have a seat.”
Adair pauses and I expect her to unleash unholy fury upon her. She doesn’t. Instead, she starts toward a bank of blue plastic chairs.
“Where’s your brother?” I ask, joining her.
“D.C.” A hysterical edge taints her words. “He’s interning for Senator Woolritch. He lives there with his fiancée.”
I didn’t expect this. I thought she had someone waiting for her. But she’s alone, left to wait for answers. How long will that take? Minutes? Hours?
“He’s getting the first flight out,” she explains.
“I’ll stay with you,” I say, surprising both of us.
“You don’t have to do that. Poppy texted. She’s on the way with…”
I stop listening. Her friends are sobering up. She doesn’t need me, and I can’t blame her. But it chafes a bit, especially since I can’t leave until they get here. “Then I’ll wait until she gets here.”
Indecision races over her face before her expression settles into a mask of indifference. “Suit yourself.”
Fine. It’s easier than pretending or making small talk. I can sit here and ignore her. In the chairs across from us a woman cradles a toddler, murmuring things we can’t hear before kissing his forehead. She brushes his downy hair from his eyes and begins to hum softly. Adair watches them with hungry eyes like all she wants is to climb into the mother’s lap and be small and safe again. My arm’s around her before I consider what I’m doing. I stiffen, expecting her to slap me or jerk away, but she settles against me. I breathe in her scent, but I don’t let myself kiss her forehead. I don’t know where the boundaries are between us. We’re racing too fast into unknown territory. I can’t afford to cross the line.
“What if…” She doesn’t finish the thought.
I don’t need her to. This is nothing more than survival for her.
“Close your eyes,” I command her. “Take a nap. When you wake up, everything will be fine.”
She peeks up at me from behind thick, black lashes. “Promise?”
I sell my soul for a second time, hoping it’s not a lie, and nod.
A gentle hand shakes me, and I startle to find tired eyes staring down at me. Deep lines etch the man’s face but he wears a comfortable smile.
“Son?” His accent is so thick it takes a second for me to process. He presses
