Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Devon
I’m standing on the corner of Broad and Passyunk with my tiny capsule wheelie suitcase that Tara gave me specifically for the purpose of visiting her.
The lunch hour rush is flooding the sidewalks as people dressed in lawyerly suits or fabulous miniskirts and booties bob and weave into the dozens of delis and steak joints that line this part of town.
I’m getting a bit itchy standing here in the crowd, and I’m unsure if it’s the waves of strangers jostling my nerves or the impending hours stuck in a tiny robot car with the good doctor.
Jeff’s hybrid pulls in front of the fire hydrant near where I’m standing and he hops out, leaving the door open, then rounds the front of the car and gives me a smile as he reaches for my suitcase. I try to focus on the car door, but it’s impossible not to glance up at that cursed dimple.
“This is your suitcase? It’s the size of a make-up bag,” he says, wheeling it toward the trunk.
“Tara insists on traveling light,” I tell him. “You really shouldn’t leave your door open like that on Broad. You’re gonna end up driving a dune buggy.”
He stares at me over the roof of his car. His eyes are catching the afternoon sun, glistening with their usual amusement.
I’ve realized the nerves are not the crowd of people as I glance into his car. It’s a tight space and—
“Are you nervous?” he asks, while I duck out of sight and slide into the passenger seat.
I let out a laugh, but it comes out more hysterical than aloof.
“Why would I be nervous?” I ask, studying the window to my right.
“That’s exactly what I was wondering, but you’re all fidgety and you won’t look at me.”
I point through the windshield.
“Typically, when you drive you need to look at the road and not the passenger—”
“We are in park.”
A car blares its horn and Jeff is forced to shift us out of park and into the flow of traffic. Thank goodness for crazy city drivers. I can tell already by the way his knuckles brush my thigh when he releases the gear shift that he’s not going to let me ignore what happened last weekend.
He’s going to torture me. And if I must endure him, by Thor, he must endure me.
I scoot to the edge of the seat so I am one with the door and reach for the radio knowing full well that he’s going to slap my hand away like he did the last time I messed with his man music on the way to CHOP.
But he just lets me fish through the stations.
I reprogram his favorite stations and he glances sidelong at my hand but doesn’t say a word.
I narrow my eyes at the side of his face and settle on the most obnoxious love ballad I can find. “Total Eclipse of the Heart.”
My juvenile mutiny backfires, because Jeff’s mouth tugs up into that crooked grin and he starts to sing along. I roll my eyes and settle back in my chair, trying not to enjoy Jeff crooning along with Bonnie Tyler.
I think the safest angle here is to pretend to nap. I put my head onto my arm against the side door and I hear the lock press. Even while he’s torturing me, he has the foresight to lock the door so I don’t fall out of his car. It’s a little insane, but sweet.
Somewhere between Jeff’s rendition of Celine Dion’s “It’s All Coming Back to Me Now” and my anxiety/excitement about meeting my future brother-in-law, I pass out with my forehead pressed firmly against the window.
I wake up to the sound of my skull against the glass.
“Sorry,” Jeff says, wincing as I try to get my bearings.
“You did that on purpose didn’t you?”
I rub at my head and try to surreptitiously wipe the drool from his door handle.
“I’m shocked you can sleep with all of that noise,” he tells me.
I look out the window. We’re already to exit 9 on the Jersey turnpike. The exit of my alma mater: Rutger’s University.
“Your singing was pretty soothing actually,” I admit.
“I was talking about your snoring.”
“Har. Har.”
He lets out a long breath and glances at me for half a second. I lift a brow.
“Devon, we need to talk,” he says and every muscle in my body contracts. The last thing we need to do is talk. We need to avoid and deny. Pretend.
“Let’s not and say we did,” I say. “We were drinking on poker night. And I stumbled in the shed.”
His brows pull together and he shakes his head.
“You had a few beers, Devon. I was stone cold sober,” he says. “And you are clumsy as shit, but your balance was perfect in the shed.”
I skootch a little closer to the door as if distance will protect me from that dumbass dimple.
“Either way. It was a moment of comforting between friends,” I say.
“Mmmhmm.”
His smirk is infuriating.
“What aren’t you saying, J.J.?” There it is. The deep laugh that I’m used to hearing from him. And all it took was channeling his mother.
“A lot. I’m not saying a lot,” he answers. “I think it’s time for you to face the inevitable—"
“Sweet Joseph, you are arrogant. Inevitable? Cornering me in the shed does not inevitability make.” I cluck and he lets out the breath that I use when my students won’t stop saying, “that’s what she said.”
His cell phone rings from where it’s perched on the air conditioning vent and the name Jenny appears with the picture of a beautiful dark-haired woman with an even more beautiful young girl in her lap.
“Shit. I have to answer this,” he murmurs. And before I can say of course he’s accepted the call on the blue-tooth and the interior of the car is flooded with a smooth but annoyed voice.
“Jesus, Jeff. Fifteen voicemails!”
I smile. Jenny will put his pompous ass in its place. I watch the scenery change outside and pretend not to be listening. The flanks of the highway have shifted from dense forest to industrial factories. The smell of swampy sewer water leaks into the car despite the sealed windows.
“If you had called me back, I wouldn’t have needed to leave fifteen voicemails,” Jeff bites back.
“Everything is fine over here. Just focus on doctoring and let me handle this,” Jenny says.
Jeff’s knuckles have lost all color as he grips the wheel. I suddenly have the desire to plug my ears and hum. This conversation isn’t for me to hear, but this is the first time I’ve seen Jeff look so helpless and I’m surprised by how much I want to reach out and cover his hand with mine.
“Jenny, I need you to keep me updated. Stop ignoring me.”
A young girl’s voice titters in the background and Jenny is no longer listening.
“I’ve got to go, Jeff. Stop calling. Everything is fine,” she says.
“Jenny, don’t—”
The other end of the line goes silent and Jeff curses under his breath as he puts his blinker on to head for the Lincoln Tunnel. His shoulders have dropped two inches and his jaw is so tight I can hear his teeth grinding.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask softly.
At first, I think he’s going to say no. His eyes glaze over as if he’s pulled the curtain down between me and his emotions. But then he meets my gaze and his entire face relaxes back into the soft and open Jeff I’m used to seeing.
“My mom is struggling with her finances and my sister refuses to answer my questions. Or let me help.” The sentences come out on one breath, like he’s been waiting to release them.
“I’m sorry, Jeff. I can’t imagine how that must feel to be so far away and so—”
“Useless,” he finishes for me.
“I was going to say out of the loop. You are the farthest thing from useless.”
“It’s maddening. They’ve never cut me out like this before.” His voice is quiet and it’s obvious he’s no longer with me.
“It seems like your sister has it under control,” I point out. “Teacher power.”
He nods, but the way he pushes his lips together tells me he doesn’t agree.
“Is it just your mom and sister?” I ask.
“Yeah. And Sammy.” He hesitates, like he’s deciding whether or not to say something else. “My father left us when I was thirteen. And Sammy’s father was never in the picture. The men in their lives just keep leaving.”
My heart drops onto the floor.
“I hate not being there for her—for them,” he whispers.
My heart rolls out the door onto the NJ turnpike.
“I’m so sorry, Jeff,” I whisper. My eyes are already glassy. I blink hard and fast.
He looks over at me and I try to look away before he sees the tears.
“Jesus, Devon. Are you crying?”
I shake my head only to let more tears loose.
“I’m an empath,” I tell him, voice thick. “And it’s sad. Crying is an appropriate reaction.”
His hand reaches out and finds mine. I let him curl his fingers between my own.
“You are incredibly kind,” he whispers. “Everything will be ok. Thank you, though. For caring.”
I should pull my hand away, but the pressure of his fingers on mine is making my head spin. His hands are so strong and warm—skilled hands. Surgeon’s hands. I shut my eyes and try to get control of the way my heart is skittering around in my chest.
“It’s why we are all so close,” he tells me. “Stuff like that brings you closer—ya know?”
I shut my eyes and squeeze his hand harder. I get that. Man, do I get that.
“My mom holds it all together. The riding center. The house. Jenny and Sammy. She’s the glue.”
He’s forgotten I’m in the car, his eyes far away as he stares out the windshield.
I watch him chew on the inside of his cheek and I know for my own sake not to push any further.
I need to let go of him. The way his thumb is stroking my palm is making me feel like I need to tuck and roll out of the car to save myself. Slowly, I pull my hand from his.
“Your mom must be incredible,” I say.
He sighs. I can’t take my eyes off of the side of his face.
The softness of his expression as he thinks about his family.
His vulnerability has my head spinning—a blender filled with compassion and something else—something I need to bury deep before I drown in it.
Sirens are blaring in my head and I can’t tell if they are coming from the opposite side of the turnpike or from my self-preservation instinct.
“She is,” he murmurs.
And she must be if she raised a man like this.