Again not answering her. It’s only about the dozenth time she’s asked me what’s going on.
“A cop came to your house today.” Her voice is clearer and when I look back, this time she isn’t looking at me. I wouldn’t call her expression a frown, it’s something else, something etched with worry.
“When I was waiting for you to get home, which – by the way, where the fuck were you?” She pauses and sucks in a breath before relaxing into the seat and then taking another swig. She offers it back to me and then repeats, “I was waiting and a cop came by. I told him you weren’t home and he said he’d come back later.”
“Officer Walsh?” I question her and she nods, then takes the wine back before I can take another sip.
“I was going to tell you at dinner, but you seem really not with it. So like… I don’t know.”
This time I grab the bottle and take a drink before it’s all gone.
Laura looks at me with a slight pout, although I’m not sure it’s quite that. It’s genuine and sullen, but there’s a sadness I can’t place.
I watch her look out to the shoe store we just left before she exhales with frustration. “You always tell me everything,” she starts. “I know this is hard and you’re not a ‘speak your feelings’ type of girl, which is ironic since you tell everyone else to do just that.”
The wine flows easily until the bottle is empty, but I don’t let it go.
“It just seems like this isn’t mourning, it’s something else and I don’t know what to do or how to help you.”
Laura’s voice cracks as she raises her hands into the air, trying to prove a point but needing to wipe under her eyes instead.
“No, no, don’t cry.” My reaction is instant, reaching out to clutch her shoulder. The leather of her seats groans as I sit up and reposition myself on my knees to face her in the small car. “Everything’s fine,” I tell her but she only shakes her head.
With her eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling of the car, she responds, “It’s not though. You’re not okay.”
“Seriously,” I start to tell her and then catch sight of a car I recognize, and a prick I know too. Seth raises his hands in surrender at the wheel of his car, although his wrists stay planted on it, and my throat tightens. I can’t hold on to my train of thought and I have to sit back in my seat, taking a steadying breath.
Jase sent Seth to follow me.
Maybe I should have guessed it. Maybe I should have known I’d be followed.
It’s a strange thing, to feel safe, to feel wanted and protected by someone I know I fear and hate on a level that’s unattainable to my conscious.
I rest my head against the cold window and close my eyes.
“We were having a good time,” I tell her softly. Feeling the tingle of the bell, and falling back into old habits with Laura, I felt like I escaped for a moment. I’m nothing but foolish.
“Shit, no, don’t you cry too.” Laura presses a hand to her forehead and then over her eyes.
“I swear, I’m fine,” I tell her although I can’t help but to look past her and at Seth instead. “I…” I trail off and have to swallow before I lie again, “It’s just hard to stop thinking about Jenny.”
Fuck, that hurts to say. To use her as an excuse. To bring her up in conversation at all.
“And now we’re both crying,” I tell her with a huff and pull my sweater to the corner of my eyes. “I don’t want to cry. It’s just my eyes glossing over. It’s not crying… I’m not crying.”
“You’re an awful liar.” Laura’s voice is soft and I’m pulled to her, to tell her everything. To lean on her like a friend would do.
How selfish is that?
“Tell me about work. I miss it. What kind of person misses work?”
Laura works in Human Resources at the center, but they get all the gossip just the same as the nurses who do the rounds like me.
“Well there’s a cute guy who came in last week,” she starts to tell me with feigned interest. Then her head falls to the side to look at me as she says, “But his name is Adam and we both know Adams are dicks.”
Her comment forces a small laugh from me and then she reaches for the bottle.
“I don’t know what’s funnier, your taste in men or your pout when the wine’s gone.”
Instead of commenting, she pushes her hair back and tells me about a few new patients, all of which piss her off for good reason. A man who was drunk at the wheel and killed two people. She thinks he’s faking insanity because ever since he was admitted all he can talk about is how totaled his truck is and he hasn’t shown a damn bit of remorse for the couple he killed even though he knows he’s being charged with their murder. We get those kinds of people sometimes. Assholes who fake mental illnesses to get out of legal trouble. Or even to get out of work for a week.