Chapter Thirty-Two Will
Chapter Thirty-Two
Will
I arrive at Everleigh’s early the next morning ready to help her because I said I would. It’s nothing more than a kept promise.
Yeah right.
“Good morning,” I say as she walks toward the trash can with a dustpan full of sawdust.
She doesn’t acknowledge me, so I touch her shoulder. When she whips around, sawdust flies in my face.
“Gah!” It coats my eyeballs like slivers of glass.
“Oh, shit. Will, you scared me.”
God, this hurts like a motherfucker. I may never see again. “Call 9-1-1,” I mumble.
“What? No. I’m a doctor.”
“I can’t see! My eyes are filled with sawdust! I don’t need therapy.”
“William, I’m soooo sorry. I had my AirPods in. You snuck up behind me. Now, move your hands,” she says, pulling at my wrists.
“Stop.” I push her away with one hand. “Call an ambulance.”
“Just let me see.” She persists, pulling my hands away from my face as I lower to the ground before I lose my balance, eyes watering like a hemorrhaging artery. “I’m truly so sorry. I didn’t mean to do this. Let me grab the eyewash kit over here in my first aid bag.”
Her touch disappears, and I reach for my phone, feeling my pockets. When I find it, I still can’t see anything.
“Call 9-1-1,” I say into my phone and wait.
“Will, stop,” Everleigh calls from somewhere in the room.
“Call Jamie,” I say into my phone when I don’t hear it making a 9-1-1 call.
“William, I’m coming. Just a sec,” Everleigh warns.
“Fuck!” I pinch the bridge of my nose with one hand as the sawdust scratches the hell out of my cornea. With my other hand, I try to press the side buttons on my phone for an SOS.
“Stop,” Everleigh says as she squats next to me again. “We’re not calling 9-1-1 or anyone else. I’ve got this. Now, lean forward. You can’t be in this position when I rinse out your eyes.”
As I lean forward, I hear the snap of gloves. “Try to hold still.”
I jump when the saline hits my eye.
“Hold still.”
I growl, clenching my fists.
She rinses both eyes with a syringe. Her whispered sorrys mix with my grumbled fucks. I need new eyeballs. Mine will never be the same. Even when she’s done, they feel scratched like someone tortured them with sandpaper.
“Your vision might be a little blurry. Let me help you to my camper, and you can lie down until it’s better. I was up early, so I could use a little nap too.”
I stand, swinging my elbow to keep her from touching me. “Stop! I don’t need your help. I’m going back to Fitz’s.” Dammit! My vision sucks. “Where’s my phone?” I slide my hands into my pockets.
“It’s right here. I have it,” she says.
“Give it to me.”
“I’m not giving it to you until we talk.” Her blurred figure leads the way to the door.
“I’m not in the mood to talk, Everleigh.”
“It was an accident.”
“Well, this accident fucking hurts.”
“Will, I’m serious. I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you or hear you, and you startled me.” She stops and turns before opening the door. “Please don’t hold this against me. It was an accident.”
“It’s . . . fine. Whatever. I’ll be okay, eventually.” I squint, heading toward my truck.
She jumps in front of me, quickly walking backward while I continue toward my Bronco, squinting against the sun. “Stop. Please.”
Oof!
“What the fuck, Everleigh?” I say, almost losing my balance when she throws herself at me, arms around my neck and legs dangling off the ground.
“I’m sorry. Don’t go. It’s not safe for you to drive.”
Dr. Reichart is dead. This woman hanging from my neck is not a genius, not a highly respected professional, and definitely not a psychiatrist. She’s a desperate child.
“If you get off me,” I say calmly, “I’ll lie down until I can see to drive. Would that make you happy?”
She releases her grip on me an inch at a time until her boots hit the dirt. With a soft sigh, she takes my hand and guides me to her camper. “Watch the steps,” she says.
We turn right and pass her kitchen to get to the bed. I collapse onto my back, gently covering my eyes with my palms.
“What are you doing?” I ask as she messes with my boots.
“I don’t want your boots getting dirt on my bedding.” She pulls off my boots. “This Airstream is the Pottery Barn Special Edition, and I want to keep it in good shape for when I sell it.”
“Funny. You weren’t concerned with my house.”
“That’s not true. I didn’t wear my boots in your bed.”
I peek open an eye as she sets my boots aside and unties hers. “You weren’t in my bed. Were you?” Nothing would surprise me at this point.
“Don’t worry about it.” She crawls into bed next to me.
“That’s not an answer.” I drop my arms to my side, claiming more space.
“Do you remember our first night together?” she asks.
“No,” I lie.
Everleigh rolls onto her side and teases her fingers along my forearm. “We gamed half the night. Then we slept on the sofa together. You pulled me on top of you.” She sighs, sliding her hand along mine, interlacing our fingers.
I don’t pull away, nor do I curl my fingers around hers. It’s nonconsensual hand-holding.
“If you tell your friends about the sawdust, it will seem like I did it on purpose, and they’ll be forced to take sides again, and they’ll take your side. So what can I do to prevent that from happening?”
“It’s not your fault. Anyway, why do you care what they think?”
“Because I like them.”
“Well, what do you want me to say?”
She doesn’t respond right away. Releasing my hand, she rolls onto her back.
“Fine. I’ll tell them the truth. It’s the right thing to do.
You need them, and they need you. I’m not in your little circle.
Whatever. I’ll find my own friends . . .
or not. Perhaps friends are overrated. There are significant benefits to being alone.
It improves emotional regulation, enhances creativity, encourages self-reflection, cultivates independence—”
“Christ . . .” I laugh. “You’re playing the world’s tiniest violin, and the irony isn’t just that you’re a shrink; it’s that you actually play the violin.” I pinch my thumb and index finger together and pretend to play.
Everleigh giggles so hard she has to hug her belly.
“I used to think your hidden talents were sexy as hell. That feels like a lifetime ago,” I say.
“Just like my dad was hiking ten-plus miles a day. No one believed he was seventy.” I stare at the ceiling, blinking my watery eyes.
“I wanted to be like him. And now, I’m afraid I’ll be eighty and losing my mind and my body to some awful disease, and everyone who loved me will not remember the great things I did.
They’ll remember I had an adult tantrum over the missing lid to my portable urinal, and how I thought someone filled it with gasoline and my roommate was drinking it. ”
“Ew . . .” She laughs. “Well, it’s unlikely that anyone will remember urinal lids. Humans get selective memory when someone dies. It’s an unspoken rule that we don’t speak negatively about the dead. We focus on the good memories. You’ll see.”
“I’ll be dead. I won’t see anything.”
She elbows me. “I mean when your dad passes on. But let’s get back to things you found sexy about me.”
“Good idea. As I recall, you were humble. I didn’t know you were a genius. You were just a cool chick who played video games and giggled at all of my jokes.”
“So I’m no longer that cool chick? Or I’m not just that chick. I’m more, a doctor who doesn’t hide my intelligence. And I’m confident—”
“Whoa. Stop right there. Just minutes ago, you were hanging from my neck, begging for forgiveness.”
“Compassion isn’t a sign of weakness or lack of confidence.”
I grin, secretly loving how well she talks her way out of any situation. “What are you doing?” I ask as she shuts off my phone.
“I’m removing any roadblocks.” She slides it onto the nightstand.
“Roadblocks?”
Folding her hands on her stomach, she sighs. “Yes. If you want to kiss me without interruptions.”
I roll my head toward her, but she stares at the ceiling. “I’m not kissing you.”
“I didn’t say you have to. It’s just an option.”
“What if my dad needs me?”
“Your sister is with him.”
“What if he dies?”
She rolls her head toward me and frowns. “A few seconds won’t change anything.”
“Still not kissing you.”
“An option, Will. It’s just an option.”
“My vision is less blurry. I can drive now.”
“Fine,” she says with a huff as she jackknifes to a sitting position. Then she stands and stretches her arms above her head before twisting from side to side.
“Here’s the thing. If I kiss you, I’m going to fuck you. There’s no middle ground. If I fuck you, I’m still going to live in Somers. And if I live in Somers, your fragile heart will break. If your fragile heart breaks, Jamie will be pissed at me. And if Jamie’s pissed at me—”
“I get it, William.” She crosses her arms over her chest and rolls her eyes.
It’s very unprofessional of her. “I’ve read If You Give a Mouse a Cookie.
I understand escalating consequences. If Jamie is pissed at you, then Fitz will have to take sides, and he’ll take her side.
And I understand you need to call it fucking because it clearly delineates the difference between sex for a physical release and sex for an emotional connection. ”
“You’re shrinking me.”
“You’re making excuses for your erectile dysfunction. It’s fine. I have to get back to work anyway.”
“Take off your clothes.”
She plants her fists on her hips, eyes narrowed. “You take off my clothes.”
“I want you to do it.”
“I wanted you to save my house.”
“I wanted you to tell me your age eleven years ago.”
“Whatever. I’m not that easy.” She tucks her feet into her boots and turns to exit the trailer. “Hope your eyes feel better.”
The door clicks behind her.
I sit up and run my hands through my hair while chuckling. I want to fuck her and love her, hate her and forget about her, yet remember her until the day I die. None of it makes sense.
Shoving my feet into my boots, I press my fingers to the corners of my eyes. They’re still sore, but no longer blurry. Just as I stand, the door snaps open.