Chapter 6 #2
The man working the little grocery store on the corner outright tells me I should be ashamed of myself, parading someone like him around. He turns and leaves the store before I can say anything to defend him.
I find him outside taking a deep breath, releasing it through his nose, long and slow. I don’t say anything. I know there isn’t anything I could say that wouldn’t make it worse, but I’m not ready to give up yet.
He needs this.
By the time we’ve made it to the edge of the town square, I’m starting to worry.
He’s been quiet, every rejection winding him tighter and tighter until now, where I can see the tension along his back and his hands in his pockets, clenched into fists.
“Just one more,” I tell him, stopping at a final door. I can’t help but have hope this time, remembering his previous interaction with Mrs. Price. She seemed happy to see him back.
Maybe she’ll be happy enough to offer him a job.
Her shop is fairly new in town, stuffed between an insurance office and a clothing store. But I know the place well. Mrs. Price has offered to let Addie sell some of her work in the store here and there.
The bell chimes when we push through the door, and we’re instantly hit with the scent of paint and clay, masked by something warm. Will slows down inside the door, his eyes scanning the art on the wall.
Iris is standing at the counter, and I can’t help but smile when I see her.
She’s tall and thin, with dark hair falling down her shoulders, bent over a sketchbook on the counter, her pencil making light strokes, so lost in her art that she doesn’t even notice us.
She’s been wonderful to Addie since she moved to town. Giving her extra time, helping her learn so much in such a short time. Always encouraging her. I couldn’t ask for anyone better to be teaching my daughter.
“Dr. Murphy,” she says when she sees me, matching my smile and setting down her pencil. “What can I do for you?”
“Iris,” I greet her, stopping when I’m standing across the desk. “Is Mrs. Price here? I wanted to talk to her about finding a job for my brother-in-law.”
She shakes her head. “Diana’s family is visiting from out of town this week, so I told her I’d keep an eye on things when I could.” She gestures at the store, her eyes landing on Will without any judgment.
She must not know about him.
He’s standing a few feet back, looking at a shelf of mugs. His jaw is set, and it has been since the grocery store.
“This is Will,” I say. “He’s Jess’s brother.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” she says, her voice the same warm it always is when she addresses him. “Although I feel like I already know you. Addie talks about you a lot.”
Will looks over at that, a hand-painted mug that I didn’t see him pick up in his hands. “She does?”
“Constantly. She can hardly get anything done in class because she’s so excited to have you back in her life.”
He looks back at the mug in his hand, setting it down like he’s scared he’ll break it by holding it. “She’s talented,” he says, nodding at her half-finished drawing in front of her. “Did you teach her all that?”
“She was already talented when I started helping her,” Iris says, gesturing to the shelf off to the side, holding Addie’s paintings. “I sold two of her paintings about an hour ago. I keep telling her she needs to start pricing higher, but she won’t listen to me.”
“She won’t listen to me either,” I offer.
Iris looks between us, folding her manicured fingers together on the counter. “So. You said something about a job?”
“Right. We’ve been making the rounds, actually. Will’s looking for work, trying to get back on his feet and all.”
Iris gives me a small smile, her eyes going apologetic. “I’m sorry, Nolan, I wish I could help,” she says, and she does. I believe that. “But the store is still new, and I don’t think Mrs. Price could take on an extra salary right now. But I’ll ask anyway, of course.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Will says, his voice going back to the dejected flat tone it’s been sitting at all afternoon. “It’s fine.”
“If anything changes, you’ll be the first person we call.”
Will doesn’t say anything else, the sadness lingering behind his eyes. But I hope some of the good from today sank in anyway, for his sake. The people aren’t all bad here. Some even care about him.
Iris turns to me. “Tell Addie she can stop by whenever to pick up her money for the paintings.”
“I’ll send her tomorrow. Thanks, Iris.”
“Good luck,” she says to Will, earning a single nod.
Outside, the sun has started to set, and the kids will be looking for dinner soon, so we start walking back toward the car, a different sort of silence hanging between us.
He has the door open before I’ve put the car in park. “Will,” I say, scrambling to get out of the car, but he doesn’t stop. Walking faster than I can keep up with, I jog behind him, stopping when he does to unlock the door.
I don’t have anything to say. I don’t even know why I followed him, I just didn’t want him to get out of the car like that. To leave things the way they are, angry and hurt, like we’ve done so many times before.
“I’m good,” he says, shoving the door open and entering his less-than-stellar living situation. When I move to follow him inside, he rounds on me. “What are you doing?”
“I want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I told you I’m fine.”
“Are you though?” I press, stepping closer.
His jaw is clenched, his hands are permanent fists, and I can’t help but wonder if this is when he stops tolerating me. But then he goes to the window, standing with his back to me, looking out at the parking lot through the gap in the curtains.
I stay near the door, giving him what little space I can.
“It’ll take time. People need to see that you’re—”
“Don’t,” he says, his voice low, but I don’t let him intimidate me. I know he’s hurting.
“It’s not going to happen in a day. You know how people in this town are. But once they get used to you being back—”
“I said don’t.” He turns around to face me, and he looks angry the way he always does, on the brink of a fight. But I see past that. I see the red eyes, the glint to them, the tremble in his hands. “Why do you always gotta do this shit, huh?”
“Do what?”
“The thing you do.” He gestures at me. “Always trying to explain everything, to fix everything, to fix me.” He presses his lips together, looking back at the window. “I never asked you to help me. I didn’t want your help.”
“You need—”
“I need you to leave me alone,” he says, louder now, a crack in his voice.
“I’ve been asking you to leave me the hell alone, and you keep showing up.
With the phone and the food and the job and now this.
” He shakes his head, rubbing his hand over his face.
“You don’t even like me. So what are you doing, Nolan? What do you want from me?”
The question hits me somewhere that I can’t go. That I don’t understand. That makes me pause.
I stand there, and I don’t have an answer, and I don’t know why. But he thinks he does, and by the look on his face, I’ve made everything worse. “Just leave me alone,” he says, quiet enough to break your heart. “Please.”
That gets to me. How dejected he sounds. Worn down, alone in the world, and asking for something I’ve been making impossible.
Peace.
From me.
“Okay,” I say, nodding when he looks up at me. “Okay.”
If he wants to be left alone, I can do that.