CHAPTER 7 #2
“I watch a lot of YouTube.”
Smiling at me, he makes a mystified noise and shakes his head. Gale trots past me and stops at the door to go inside, giving an impatient huff.
“Excuse me, Your Highness. It’s not my fault you didn’t finish your lunch.”
Opening the door of the house, I let her run inside. I don’t think anything about reverting to the casual conversations I have with my dog until I hear a soft laugh behind me.
“She’s cute. Why Gale?”
“Sayers,” I say plainly, not expecting him to understand.
“You named her after a football player.” He chuffs, nodding with his head down as though he’s embarrassed he didn’t guess sooner. I didn’t need to discover one more reason why I like clothed, older Remy.
“She runs like the wind and can stop on a dime,” I babble matter-of-factly.
His smile is warm when he meets my gaze. It feels like sunshine to my soul. I want to move closer to it like a starved houseplant and let it heal the empty parts of me.
Clearing his throat, he shifts in place.
“So…about the exercises.”
Nothing like a splash of cold water on an out-of-body experience. Scrubbing my hand down my face, I glance out the window.
“I told you. I can’t do all of that anymore.”
“I don’t mean like you used to…”
The warning look I flash him is a dare to finish that sentence with the deprecation I’m sure is about to follow.
Mom is always telling me that people don’t think about the impact of the words they choose, which I translate as my being sensitive.
It’s difficult not to be when people have no concept of what your day-to-day life is like.
“You know how to work out better than I ever would, Chris.” The confusion I find on his face isn’t what I expected to see, nor is the sincerity in those words.
“But maybe you don’t know how to work out with a broken back.
There are still some things you can do that might help with your quality of life. ”
“If this is a peace offering for the other night, don’t worry about it. I’m a big boy. I can handle it.”
A rush of pink tints his cheeks. His mouth parts, but then he presses his lips together and shakes his head. “It’s not about the other night.”
I believe him, but damn, that rubs an entire bag of salt in my self-inflicted wound. An awkward explanation would have been better than this reality check. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I face the wall of windows, my pride refusing to let me look at him anymore.
“Well, newsflash—I’ve tried it all. Surgeries.
Nerve ablation. Hot tubs. Hot stones. Massage chairs.
Therapy pools. Acupuncture. If there were a fix, I’d have found it by now.
And excuse me if I don’t sound grateful, but if you came all the way over here just to make me your pity case, then you can scratch me off your list and keep hunting for a different project. ”
I wait for the sound of his feet to scrape against the floor and make his exit. They scrape, but the noise comes closer. Why is my body still so in tune with him that I can sense his presence at my back?
“It’s not pity,” comes a subdued voice, and yet there’s conviction behind it. “That’s not why I came, but I get it. You don’t want anyone to feel sorry for you.”
I will never understand how this fractured shell of mine that fails me almost every single day can also be as strong as prison bars, holding in the boiling pressure of my endless frustration.
Sometimes I think I could combust from having no outlet for my misery.
I count to ten, hoping it will make the air easier to breathe and keep the moisture in my eyes from turning into tears.
My silence and complete lack of acknowledgement must be the breaking point for Remy to give up on his offer.
The sound of his shoes crunching over the concrete grit on the floor comes as he heads out the door.
Will it be another fifteen years until I see him again—or never?
Friday night was probably as awkward for him as it felt for me afterward.
Common sense tells me that a person would actually have to truly care about someone else to come all the way over here after an uncomfortable meeting like we had.
I don’t ever remember him being a liar. If I never see him again, the least I can do is leave him with the truth.
“No,” I call out. “I don’t want to feel sorry for myself. That’s more dangerous than what anyone else thinks.”
The understanding in his eyes when I turn around both releases the pressure in my chest and has me feeling gutted. Hedging a few steps back in my direction, he stops at a safe distance as though I’m a frightened animal caught in a trap.
“I don’t know if anyone but yourself can help you with that, but if you let me, I think I can help you feel at least a little better physically.
” I want to say yes just so I can find out what he’s been doing for the last fifteen years, but it’s difficult not to see it as charity.
“And,” he adds, doing that blushing thing again and stuffing his hands in his pockets, “I wouldn’t mind the company. ”
He flashes me a nervous smile that clearly required some courage on his part. Am I really seeing this? If his idea of good company is a man who makes involuntary grunting noises every time he moves, I almost feel sorrier for him than I do for myself.
“You must have some pretty tiresome friends then.”
Screwing up his face, he shrugs. “Well…have you met Jamie?”
I snort because I’m still not capable of laughing at the moment. My reward is the smile that cracks on his face.
“I go for a jog at six o’clock every morning, or…if afternoons are better for you, I get off work at four.”
I’m too baffled by the hopefulness in his tone to form words.
He wants to help me…just because. And he’s what?
Lonely for company? Who wouldn’t want to spend time with him?
I want to say yes, but doing so would commit me to subjecting him to more of me.
He’s only seen a fragment of this Chris.
If I show him more, he might stop looking so excited about the prospect.
“I’ll think about it.”