Chapter 7 #3
I nearly rolled my eyes. Here Bonnie was, not even a business owner, getting guilted into participating. She just couldn’t say no. The people-pleasing gene was too strong in her.
The meeting wrapped up shortly thereafter. Neighbors stood and mingled.
A small crowd flocked to the Clarks in the first row, Bonnie surrounded by her adoring fans. I didn’t see any khaki-wearing principals, so at least there was that.
I loitered, unsure why I had the urge to stay.
There was a moment when I considered going to say hi to Bonnie.
You know, in person instead of texting her like a coward.
But it was pretty crowded at the front of the meeting space.
Plus, I had no idea what I’d even say. How are you?
Are you sleeping okay? Want to text later and learn more about each other in bite-sized increments?
Or, Hey, you probably know more about me than anyone on the planet, and how pathetic is that?
A rush of people made for the refreshments, and I sidestepped them, not wanting to lose a limb.
I was ready to turn and walk out the door, but then Sheila Jessup—another local busybody and gossipmonger—shifted, revealing Bonnie. And the look on her face had me pausing. I straightened, scrutinizing.
Maybe I was imagining it, but something about Bonnie’s body language was like a flower wilting, closing in on itself.
Before I’d given myself permission, I was making my way across the room, mumbling excuse mes and avoiding curious gazes. I kept my attention on Bonnie. I could see the discomfort on her face morphing slowly but surely to panic. It was like watching a trauma response in real time.
Someone stepped on my boot, and I ignored it, looking for Judd or Mac or someone. Why was no one stepping in to help Bonnie?
As I drew closer, I heard snippets of conversation from Sheila. “Well, we’ve been awfully concerned. We hoped you and Danny could work things out.”
Another older woman I didn’t recognize offered her two cents regarding Bonnie’s marriage, but I’d heard enough.
“Hey, Bonnie,” I interrupted from several feet away.
Her attention snapped to me, eyes wide and stricken.
The nosy women in the semicircle around Bonnie turned toward me, but I didn’t pay them any mind.
I kept my gaze on her. “Can you help me with that thing we talked about the other day?”
The startled expression she wore abruptly shifted as she processed my words. “Oh, right. Of course. That thing.”
Then I held out my hand and she clutched it like a lifeline. I threaded our fingers together and pulled her toward me, moving us in the direction of the exit as one.
When we reached the double doors leading to the dim interior of the library, I slowed and asked quietly, “What do you need?”
Her breaths were coming fast, and I could see the urgency behind her eyes. “Air,” she begged.
In my reckless adolescence, I’d been impulsive, rarely questioning myself or the decisions I made. Now, as an adult and business owner, I was more circumspect and responsible.
But in that moment, with Bonnie’s hand squeezing the life out of mine and her request still ringing in my ears, shaky and unsteady, I didn’t need to think twice. All I wanted to give her was what she needed.
So I led her to the parking lot, slid her arms into my leather jacket, and zipped it all the way up. Then I popped my helmet on her head and opened the visor.
“Your helmet,” she protested, voice muffled.
I shook my head. “I’ll be fine. We won’t go far.
“Put your feet here or here.” I indicated where she should position herself and helped her climb on behind me.
She sat stiffly, trying to keep distance between us.
“You’ll need to hold on,” I called over my shoulder.
Slowly, carefully, her hands settled lightly on my sides before sliding around my waist, her arms hugging me from behind. It took a moment, but I felt a deep exhale leave her as all her tense muscles finally relaxed against me.
I released a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, refusing to let myself think about how good she felt behind me.
With a gentle pat to the backs of her hands, I let her know we were ready.
Then we were off, the autumn air cold and welcome against my cheeks.
I was careful, driving slower than I would on my own. It was dark, and while I doubted I would get pulled over, I’d take the ticket for driving without a helmet. She needed it more than I did.
And I couldn’t stand another minute in that room with Bonnie slowly unraveling.
If she needed air, I’d give her wings.
Bonnie’s warm body pressed snuggly to mine. Tense thighs bracketing my own. Her fluttering heartbeat, a hummingbird’s wing against my back.
“You okay?” I called over the rush of air as I turned on to the highway.
Her answering squeeze to my midsection had me nudging the throttle.
The overlook wasn’t far, but there wasn’t much to see in the dark. Thankfully, that meant there wouldn’t be any tourists around.
I parked the bike near the grassy rest area where picnic tables were scattered along the edge of the overlook platform.
I felt Bonnie shift to stand and lent a hand to keep her steady as she climbed off the bike. Then I joined her.
She tugged at the helmet. I detached the chin strap and helped wiggle it the rest of the way off before placing it on the bike.
Her expression was a little wild. Bright and alert, she gazed at me in amazement. She wasn’t panic-stricken anymore, so that was something.
“That was . . .” she breathed, voice thin. “I can’t believe . . .” And then, as if noticing the thin long-sleeved shirt I wore, her eyes widened in alarm. “Your jacket. You’re probably freezing. Here—”
Bonnie worked to bring the zipper down in order to presumably return my coat.
But I stepped forward and stilled her hand. “It’s okay. Leave it on. It’ll keep you warm. I’m fine.” She made to protest, the selfless martyr reporting for duty, but I ignored her. “Let’s go sit down.”
After a moment, she followed me to a picnic table nearby.
I sat on the tabletop, my knees bent, boots resting on the bench seat as I faced the mountain view. Currently, it was just layers of indigo and midnight blue going dark and fuzzy in the distance beneath a sea of stars.
Bonnie settled beside me, bringing with her the sweet scent of honeysuckle. She was close enough that she was probably determined to warm me with her body heat if I was going to force her to keep the jacket.
I fought a grin as I stared out over the horizon.
The inclination fled as soon as she said, “Thank you. For that back there. Saving me.”
I couldn’t pinpoint why her gratitude irked me so much. But just like with the muffins and the drunken night at Magnolia, I found myself shrugging off her politeness and manners. I didn’t want to be one more person on Bonnie’s grand tour of appreciation.
Maybe I wanted an explanation instead.
“What happened?” I asked, but I made sure my voice was measured and even, hiding the irrational irritation simmering behind my sternum.
She was quiet long enough that I looked over at her. Bonnie was staring down at her hands, fiddling with her thumbnail.
“You don’t have to do that shit with me,” I said. “I’m not judging you or whatever it is that you’re worried about. I’m the town fuckup, remember? Juvenile delinquent, troublemaker, hellion, all-around asshole.”
She finally met my gaze. “Don’t say that.”
I gave her a sad smile. “The truth has never bothered me, Clyde.”
After a moment, she confessed, the words rushing out like they were racing through a yellow light. “I get anxiety attacks sometimes. A couple of panic attacks. Everything just builds up and then . . .”
“What does it feel like?”
Bonnie stared at me, considering. “My thoughts start coming fast. All the what-ifs stack higher and higher until I feel like they might collapse on top of me. My brain speeds up, everything rapid-fire. Then my body joins in. My breathing goes too fast, and my heart rate skyrockets. And for whatever reason, my nose starts to tingle, like it’s falling asleep or going numb.
Then I start to cry until I can’t catch my breath.
Feels like something heavy is sitting on my chest while my heart pounds against it, trying to battle its way out.
You caught me before the tears but after the nose tingles. ”
“I’m sorry I didn’t step in sooner.”
“Don’t be,” she said stiffly. “It’s not your job to look after me.”
Rationally, I knew that. But I still didn’t like the way it sounded.
Bonnie and I were . . . I didn’t know what we were.
But I knew I liked her, and I hated that she felt like looking after her would be a hassle. Hearing her talk about her struggles with anxiety gave me a new piece of the Bonnie puzzle. I could imagine how much she’d hate being out of control, having her own body fight against her.
“How did you know?” she asked quietly, interrupting the way I was taking this new piece and turning it round and round, trying to fit it into place. “I’d thought I was hiding it well from everyone.”
“Not from me,” I said before I could think better of it. So I quickly added, “Plus, I don’t think Sheila Jessup or Vera Sterling would notice anything that didn’t directly impact them. The busybodies.”
Bonnie smiled.
“Is it always about your divorce? The anxiety?”
She sighed, the smile slipping away by degrees, and I hated myself for asking. “Yeah. Well, I’ve probably had anxiety my whole life. But the attacks didn’t start until this year . . . and all the stuff with Danny.”
Danny Jensen. The ex. The man she still loved and would take back if he asked her to.
It wasn’t my business. Marriages were personal. But I couldn’t help hating the guy who’d made Bonnie doubt herself so much. Who didn’t even have to be in the same room to hurt her.
Love made people vulnerable, and here was the proof, sitting next to me, wearing my jacket, her hands still trembling.
“Why didn’t your family notice or swoop in to get you away from those gossips tonight?” I wondered.
“I never let them see me that way. Mac is the only one who might have noticed, but she and Brady had already taken off. And my mom and aunt, well, I’m sure they didn’t realize. They’re not bad people,” she rushed to assure me.
“I know.” I bumped her shoulder with mine. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
“It’s just easier if they think everything is fine.”
My gaze lingered on the side of her face, and I could see from her expression that she really believed that. Like she might be too much trouble for the people who loved her most.
“You should let them know you, Clyde. They might surprise you.”
But she was already shaking her head. “I already feel like I’m walking around with a neon sign over my head that says damaged goods.
It would make things worse if they knew I was seeing a therapist. They would treat me even more carefully.
And I couldn’t take that. You are the only person—” She cut herself off abruptly.
“I’m the only person what?” I asked, suddenly desperate to know.
She sighed, but admitted, “You’re not nice.”
Oh. Well, maybe I didn’t want to know.
Then she turned to look at me, expression serious. “You’re not nice, but you’re good.”
A bitter laugh escaped me. “There’s a difference?”
“Stop it,” she said, placing a staying hand on my tense forearm. “Yes, there’s a difference. You took care of me when I was drunk. You never bring it up or hold it over me. You snapped at me about the muffins and gave me shit at the sheriff’s office.”
I rubbed an uncomfortable hand along my scruffy jaw, feeling my cheeks heat. “I’m not sure that screams good.”
“It does because it was what I needed. You kept me company when I couldn’t sleep. You are the only person in this town who doesn’t treat me like I’m . . . fucking broken.”
I watched her, suddenly afraid I’d say the wrong thing.
And then I’d no longer be the one she looked for in a crowd, the person whose hand she’d accept without question.
I wanted her to keep looking at me like that, soft and fierce at the same time.
Like I was the glue holding all her pieces together.
So I tucked away what I really wanted to say. That she was so much stronger than she realized. And that she was better off without that piece-of-shit ball and chain dragging her down.
Or something altogether more dangerous, that she was the only one who bothered to see that goodness in me. And it might only be for her.
Instead, I gave her the response she needed, not the one I wanted. “Was that the first time you said the f-word out loud?” I teased.
She laughed, her hand coming up immediately to cover her mouth.
“Just curious because you kind of stumbled over it,” I added as she whacked me on the stomach with the back of her hand.
I kept her from pulling away, threading our fingers together again. Standing, I tugged her down off the picnic table.
“Shut up,” she said, but she was still laughing.
“That’s okay. We can practice. You can tell me to shut the fuck up or fuck off.”
We were facing each other, separated by hardly any space at all. Her hand was clutched in mine, but I felt like she was the one holding me.
“I don’t want you to fuck off,” she whispered, smiling and taking a half step closer until her shoes grazed mine.
I found myself leaning in, knowing it was one more bad decision on a mile-long list of ones I’d already made.
Bonnie met me halfway as I slipped my hands around her waist and drew her close enough that I could count every single one of her dark eyelashes.
“Yeah, I don’t want to fuck off either,” I confessed roughly.
Before she could even push up onto her toes, I leaned down and brushed her lips with mine. Just a brief touch. A question awaiting an answer. I didn’t want to rush her or misread any signals. I knew she was hurting and maybe not ready for more than a motorcycle ride and a half-assed rescue.
But as I hovered there beneath an ocean of stars, waiting and hoping as my nose grazed the length of hers, I felt a warm hand slide into the hair at my nape.
Then Bonnie tugged me back down and slotted her lips against mine.