Fifty-three #3
“How did you get here?” Bea asked.
“I Ubered.”
“So you need a ride. I have space in the truck.” Bea said.
Finally, the conversation turned to Peter as Harlan asked when he’d ride again. Peter shook his head. “I’m not riding again. I forfeited.”
While a series of exclamations lifted from our huddle, Cooper gave a knowing smile, his eyes flicking to me.
He clapped Peter on the back and said something under his breath that made Peter laugh.
Peter had said in his voicemails that Cooper had become a dear friend, and you could see the familiarity between the two of them.
Something about that made my heart sing.
Wren reached for her other uncle, and Peter passed her to Cooper.
“Well,” Harlan said, “does this mean we are heading out early?”
Everyone nodded, agreement rippling over the group.
No one felt the need to stay for an amateur rodeo if there wasn’t a contestant or Meadowbrook horses to root for.
We discussed dinner options, reaching a consensus to stop for barbeque before heading home.
Hollie handed Peter his cane, which she’d been holding for him, and we slowly moved down the bleachers, following the path toward the parking lot.
Falling into step beside me, Peter’s knuckles brushed the back of mine, and I opened my hand for him, our fingers lacing together as we walked. He tugged me closer so he could ask, “Does barbeque sound good to you?”
I could hardly remember the last time I ate. I had peanuts on the airplane. Was that really the last time? Now that my anxieties had quieted, my stomach rumbled so hard I felt faint. “I would eat anything at this point.”
Soon, we found Bea’s truck and I automatically slipped into the back seat. Wren’s carseat was back there, so I assumed Peter would sit in the front. But he hovered at the back door, unsure of what to do. Smiling at him, I said, “You can sit back here…if you want.”
His smile broke free as he climbed in.
After stuffing myself to the gills with pulled pork, french fries, and baked beans, I climbed into the backseat of the Taggarts’ truck again with Peter in the middle this time.
As we soared down the highway, conversation lagged.
Bea’s typical cheery voice fell quiet, and I assumed she must be tired.
Even little Wren’s eyes drooped as she looked at the passing trees and sucked on her fingers.
Peter had taken off the cowboy hat, leaving a matted ring around his brown wavy hair.
His legs were comfortably spread, his heavy thigh pressed against mine.
We were shoulder to shoulder and it felt like heaven to be close to him.
Even though every unsaid thing knocked around inside my heart, for the first time in weeks, I felt okay.
My body’s fight or flight mode slowly evaporated. Tension drained out of my muscles as my eyelids grew heavy. My head rolled forward, and I jerked it back.
“You’re tired,” Peter whispered.
“How did you know?”
He breathed a soft laugh for some reason.
“There’s been a few clues. Your words started slurring the moment you finished your dinner.
Your feet scuffed the concrete as we walked to the truck.
You’re breathing slow. Your head keeps falling forward and you’ve literally slurped drool a few times. ” He chuckled over his last words.
I slapped a hand over my mouth, snorting laughter into my palm. “Okay, fine. I’m a little tired.” He had clocked all those details? I had to admit—that was impressive.
“A night in the airport will do that to you.”
“True,” I said. But the real truth was so much more.
It was worry, stress, anger, overworking, too little sleep, and too little nutrition.
It was talking to the wrong people, taking bad advice, and shutting out people who loved me.
It was the combo of physical determination and emotional avoidance.
It was emails with my attorney, a haircut I hated, a spick and span house, and Instacart orders.
It was Peter’s boxed up belongings and a blank list on Google Sheets.
It was the clothing hanging off my mother’s shoulders and the clothing hanging off mine.
It was so many things, rolled into one huge wave that suddenly crested and dragged me under.
I couldn’t remember being more tired in my entire life.
All I wanted to do was sleep.
Even talking to Peter, looking up at his beautiful face, my vision spun and my lips grew heavy. My fingers twitched and, yes, maybe I was drooling a little. I couldn’t remember ever drooling while awake. Was that even a thing?
Gosh, he was so handsome.
How much longer would we be in the car?
If I fell asleep now, I might not be able to drag myself inside…
Where were we going again?
Peter’s voice seemed to travel through a tunnel. “You can lean on me.”
I said something, a lot of somethings. The only words I recognized were, “But I want—to talk.”
Peter chuckled softly and his voice cocooned me like a heated blanket. “You’re not making sense, sweetheart. Just sleep.”
So I did.