He likes me,my ego squeals.
He needs a friend,my conscience counters.
For a timeless instant, I ignore this war waging in the center of my consciousness, and revel in the feel of his body against mine. We are both still laughing, still coming down from the moment of hilarity, but I am so present that I am aware of the humor… and the touching… and the turmoil all at once.
And I feel so alive.
And I know I’ve felt some semblance of this aliveness, this vitality, each time I’ve been near Drew Moroux. And it’s not because he has sexy, car mechanic hands. Or that his eyes are the color of night clouds. Or that his body is as hard as a live oak.
It’s because he makes me laugh just like this. Because he lets me see a side of him I suspect the rest of the world does not share. Because, even when he teases me, he makes me feel rare and intriguing. Like a jewel.
Our eyes meet, and for a split second, I see a yielding in his. A flash of hunger and need. And just as quickly, it’s gone. Then, like a shot, Drew stands bolt upright, taking me with him. Clasping me by the shoulders, he steadies me on my feet for the shortest of instants, and then he drops his hands, stepping away from me.
I stand there, half-stunned, as though someone has splashed me with ice water. Perhaps only three feet separate us, but he now feels so far away.
Suddenly ashamed of myself — for what, I’m not entirely sure — I look down at my feet.
Drew clears his throat. “Would you like me to walk you home?”
Glancing up at him, I frown. He looks shame-faced, too. I swallow and cast my gaze over my shoulder to the unfinished pickling project.
“We… we still have a few more jars to fill.” I look back at him and find that his stoic facade has replaced his look of self-blame.
“I think you’re out of commission,” he says, tilting his chin the direction of my hand and not quite meeting my eyes. “Besides, it’s not really a two-person job. Grandma Quincy usually does it alone. I can finish.”
He’s basically telling me to leave. The sting of this realization draws a hot blush to my cheeks. And for the first time, I can’t get away from him fast enough.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DREW
On the Friday of my second week at C&C, Cody hands me an envelope, and it takes me a second to realize it’s a paycheck.
Real money. Earned the old-fashioned way.
It’s less than five hundred dollars, but, I swear, it’s the richest I’ve ever felt. I have to walk out back to the alley behind the shop while I choke down the knot in my throat and get my shit together.
Grandma Q will be proud of me. Annie will be proud, too. But it’s Anthony’s approval I wish I had the most, and he’s not here to see me making my way on the straight and narrow. And that thought does nothing to clear my throat or dry my eyes.
At five o’clock, I cross Johnston Street and walk along the edge of Moncus Park until I reach Regions Bank. They close at five-thirty on Fridays, so I have just enough time to open two accounts, one checking and one savings, deposit my check, and put a little cash in my wallet.
But when I get home just after six, Grandma Q is not at the stove like she has been every other night I’ve come home. The kitchen looks just how I left it. Grandma’s oatmeal bowl and coffee cup, both still half-full, sit on the table. Definitely not normal.
“Grandma?” I clear the kitchen in two strides and pick up speed in the dining room, my heart punching the interior walls of my chest. “Grandma?”
“Ohhh.”The feeble moan comes from the living room, and I take off at a run.
I find Grandma Quincy on the couch, lying on her side, her face twisted in pain.
“What? What’s wrong?” My first thought is heart attack, and I drop to my knees beside the couch. Does she need CPR? How do you do CPR?
“It burns likefire,”she says. She’s on her left side, her arms crossed around her middle, and she gestures to her right. “Oh, my lands…”
“What does? Your kidney? Your stomach?”
“My skin,” she answers, closing her eyes and wincing. “I think maybe it’s shingles.”
“Shingles?”I echo, stunned. I know what shingles are. At least, I think I know. Like chicken pox or something, but in the nerves. A few years ago, one old guy in Hickory came down with shingles and gave chicken pox to three other inmates. “Can I take a look?”