Chapter 30
Willow didn’t pause to collect her coat from the attendant. The cold air outside hit her like a wall, but she didn’t stop. She was halfway across the parking lot when she remembered that she had picked up Scottie and couldn’t just leave her behind.
Her steps slowed as she tried to think. What was she supposed to do now? She couldn’t go back inside.
By the time she’d reached her car, she still didn’t have an answer. Her hand hovered over the door handle, then dropped to her side.
The streetlights cast dim pools of light across the asphalt, and the faint hum of cars in the distance filled her ears as she tried to slow her racing heartbeat.
She realized she was still clutching the bronze plaque of the jammed printer, its edges digging into her skin.
Before she could hurl it across the parking lot, hurried footsteps approached.
“Willow?” Scottie’s breathless voice came from behind her.
Reluctantly, Willow turned. “I’m here.”
Scottie jogged toward her, Willow’s coat clutched in one hand. She held it out to her.
“Thank you.” Willow shrugged into the coat without making eye contact and stuffed the damn plaque into one of its deep pockets, never wanting to see it again.
“Are you okay?” Scottie asked softly.
“Yeah. Just a little queasy. Probably drank too much.” Willow pulled her car key from her clutch. “Why don’t you take my car home? I’ll order an Uber. Please tell Barb and George I wasn’t feeling well.”
But when she tried to press the key into Scottie’s hand, Scottie refused to take it. “No. I’m not letting you go home alone when you’re clearly upset. Talk to me. Please. What’s going on?”
“Nothing’s going on,” Willow said, still unable to look at her. “I just had a bit too much champagne.”
“Bullshit.” Scottie’s tone managed to be gentle yet no-nonsense at the same time. “This isn’t about the champagne. It’s about the award, isn’t it?”
Willow stared at her feet.
“Oh, Willow.” Scottie reached out as if about to squeeze her arm but then stopped. “Forget about Mr. Haggerty’s silly award. No one takes them seriously. A couple of years back, I got a medal for most coffee being consumed in a single workday. It’s just a joke.”
A rush of emotions swept over Willow—anger, frustration, and the raw ache of no one understanding, not even Scottie.
Her gaze jerked up, and she glared at Scottie with burning eyes.
“It’s not just a joke to me! This is my life!
” She slammed her fist against her own chest. “Printers jamming, batteries draining, computers glitching…”
“Yeah, I know you had a string of bad luck with tech lately, but—”
“No! You don’t understand. It’s not just lately, and it’s not just bad luck!” Then she realized what she’d blurted out and snapped her mouth shut.
“What do you mean?” Scottie took a step closer and reached for Willow’s hand, even when she tried to withdraw, afraid of zapping her again.
When the expected jolt went through them, Scottie held on, never even flinching.
“Please,” she said softly. She tilted her head in that characteristic Scottie way, ready to listen. “Talk to me. I want to understand.”
Her words broke down every barrier Willow had erected.
She was so tired of hiding her secret, of carrying its burden alone.
Her shoulders slumped, and she hung on to Scottie’s hand as if for dear life.
“I break things,” she whispered. “Electronics. Computers, printers, cash registers, TVs…anything.”
“You mean…by zapping them?”
“No. Yes. I mean, that’s part of it. I seem to build up more static electricity than other people, but it’s more than that.
Devices just start glitching whenever I’m around, especially when I’m anxious or upset—sometimes without me even touching them.
Something inside me drains their batteries or fries their parts, and I can’t stop it.
I’m like a walking, talking electromagnetic pulse, destroying everything in my path. ”
And now she had likely destroyed whatever it was that was growing between them too. Scottie probably thought she was making things up.
Silence stretched between them. Scottie didn’t say anything for several moments.
“Jesus,” Scottie finally whispered.
Willow’s heart plummeted. God, how naive had she been—to think, even for a second, that Scottie might believe her? That she could do this…date Scottie for real? She ducked her head and tried to pull away.
But Scottie held on.
“I know how ridiculous that sounds,” Willow said without looking at her. “Like an episode of The X-Files or something.”
“Hey.” Scottie squeezed her hand. “I love The X-Files.”
Willow slowly raised her gaze. A spark of hope grew in her, despite her half-hearted attempts to smother it. “You do?”
“Yeah, of course. I mean…Gillian Anderson…hello!” Scottie let out a playful whistle.
“No, I mean… You believe me? You don’t think it’s weird…that I’m weird or—”
Scottie stopped her with another squeeze of her hand. “Of course I believe you. Why would you make something like that up? And if you’re weird, that just means you’re a perfect fit. Um, for Portland, I mean.”
A raw sound escaped Willow, and even she couldn’t tell if it was a laugh, a sob, or an attempt to whisper Scottie’s name.
She covered her mouth with her free hand, trying to hold everything inside, but it was useless.
The tears she’d been fighting broke free and ran down her chilled cheeks in hot tracks.
Scottie pulled her close by their joined hands, then let go and wrapped her arms around Willow in a protective embrace, shielding her from the world.
Willow’s clutch slipped from her fingers and hit the pavement.
She clung to Scottie with both hands, pressed against her solid form, and buried her face against Scottie’s dress shirt.
Little broken noises tore from her throat as she sobbed against Scottie’s shoulder—first at the pain and loneliness of hiding all her life, then at the relief of Scottie believing her, of being accepted… of being made to feel normal.
~ ~ ~
The damp warmth of Willow’s tears soaked through the fabric at Scottie’s shoulder, but she didn’t care about what it did to her dress shirt. She only cared about Willow.
A lump formed in her throat as she held her close. The pain bubbling up from deep inside Willow made her want to cry right along with her.
Willow trembled against her and pressed her face harder against Scottie’s shoulder.
Scottie tightened her hold. She wanted to shield her from everything that had hurt her, but she knew all she could do was be there for her now.
Gasping sobs shook Willow as years of held-in pain and shame seemed to pour out.
Scottie rubbed her back in slow, soothing circles. “It’s okay,” she whispered softly. “You’re okay.”
God, she couldn’t imagine what Willow must have been through over the years. As she held Willow close, Scottie’s mind began fitting pieces together like a puzzle. So many things about Willow made sense now:
Her second, old-school phone. The desk drawer full of spare batteries.
Her classic car with the bare minimum of electronics.
Her reluctance to take a selfie with Scottie’s phone.
Her habit of touching metal objects and always trying to pay in cash.
Why Scottie had gotten zapped when she’d touched her… or kissed her in the elevator.
Suddenly, it all became clear.
After a while, Willow stilled against her.
Her shoulders stopped heaving, and the heart-wrenching sobs faded into uneven breathing.
Finally, she pulled back and wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hands.
In the parking lot light, her eyes were red and her face blotchy, yet to Scottie, she was still beautiful.
“Sorry,” Willow mumbled without looking at her. “I didn’t mean to do that. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Nothing.” Scottie gently touched her fingers to Willow’s chin and lifted it so Willow would make eye contact. “Absolutely nothing.”
Willow stared at her. Her lower lip started to tremble, and then the tears came again, softer this time.
Scottie drew her close once more.
When Willow finally raised her head off Scottie’s shoulder, Scottie dug through her coat pockets and offered her a clean tissue.
“Thanks.” Willow’s voice was hoarse. She blew her nose and wiped her cheeks again.
“You held that in for a long time, didn’t you?”
Willow nodded. “My entire life.”
“Oh Willow.” Scottie resisted the urge to pull her close again, not sure if it was what Willow wanted. Instead, she bent, picked up the clutch that had tumbled to the ground earlier, and handed it back. “So you’ve always been that way?”
“Pretty much. We think it runs in the family. After my grandmother died, we found a drawer full of dead watches. I instantly knew why. I can’t wear a watch either.”
So Willow’s grandmother had lived her entire life without telling anyone, not even her family?
Scottie couldn’t imagine how lonely that must have been.
While Willow hadn’t quite chosen that route, she had kept people at arm’s length too—and now Scottie understood why.
“Thank you for telling me. I know that took a lot of courage. I just wish you’d have told me sooner. I could have helped.”
Willow shoved the tissue into her coat pocket as if deciding she was done with the tears. She adamantly shook her head. “No. I don’t want your help.” Her voice became stronger, more urgent. “I don’t want to be a problem you have to fix.”
“You’re not! You’re so much more to me.” The admission tore out of Scottie before she could stop it, and her tone left no doubt about how she meant it.
The words hung between them in the cool, damp air.
Willow stared at her, eyes wide, lips parted.
Oh shit. Scottie had no clue how to take it back. Truth be told, she didn’t want to. But this was also not the moment to burden Willow with her feelings, which she likely didn’t return. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Willow kept staring at her. “But…did you mean it?”