“Here, let me help you,” I said, hopping down beside her.
“I just need to get on my feet. Foot. On my foot,” she said.
I held out one hand, and she took it, pulling herself up impressively and reaching out to grab her fallen crutches. One was covered in the soft dirt of the flower bed that was being planted there, but the other was standing on its head, mostly leaned against the building. She shook off the dirt and looked around for a place to make it back to the parking lot.
“Were you going in?” I asked. “I could help you up on the porch.”
“No,” she said gruffly. “I don’t need that. No.”
I pulled back, not wanting to upset her any more than she already clearly was.
I was struck by how much prettier she was up close than she had been across the bar. Everything about her was soft yet striking. Her lips were as full and luscious as I thought they were, but her body was also tight and curvy. I stammered as I let go of her, and she stuck one crutch into the soft earth hard to gain footing.
With one swing, she moved herself back out into the parking lot and then around to the steps again. I hopped up on the porch ahead of her, grabbing the door with the intention of opening it for her. I pulled it open when I heard another curse and reached out just in time to catch her by the shoulder before she repeated her fall.
She adjusted herself, hopping on the crutches a little and getting her foot under her. Looking back from me to the inside of the building, she nodded at me and moved forward.
“Thanks,” she muttered.
I held the door open, and she seemed to bristle at the fact that I was helping her. I understood, though. If what Wendy said was true, she was still new to all this and was probably trying to find the level of independence she was comfortable with and how much help she was willing to accept. It would have to be a difficult adjustment. I decided to back off and let her get inside to the register ahead of me.
She leaned in and said something I couldn’t quite make out, and the girl at the counter produced a bag. She took it and placed it on the counter while she paid with her phone, then wrapped her fingers around the bag and the handle of her crutch and made it to me. I held the door open again, getting a small eye roll, and then she stood on the porch for a moment.
Rather than take the stairs again, she went down the handicap ramp and disappeared behind some cars.
Shaking my head, I went to the counter to get my lunch, and by the time I made it outside, a car was pulling away that I assumed she was in. I found myself still thinking about the encounter long after my meal was done, and then I was back to cuddling in the easy chair with the cat.
5
MALIA
I felt terrible.
It wasn’t physical pain, but I wasn’t exactly feeling great. It was guilt weighing me down. A heavy dose of guilt about how I had acted so childish, rude, and outright mean to someone who was just trying to help me. Also, embarrassment was part of the equation. I hated how I ended up in that situation to begin with. A lot of emotions were coming at me from various angles, and I wasn’t handling any of it well.
It had all started because I wanted a sandwich. That was it. I was out with Dee, feeling peckish, and thought I could drop by the diner and grab a sandwich. Wanting to do things for myself, I had Dee park around the side of the building and hobbled out there on my crutches on my own. I even refused to use the ramp, opting to make it up the stairs instead.
Things had gone so well that I got cocky. The porch that was in front of the main door didn’t have any railings, and I reached out with my right hand to get the door. As soon as I did, I lost my balance and took a header right off the porch into a flowerbed that was thankfully, soft.
Then there was a man, offering to help me and hopping down off the porch to me. I was so embarrassed and upset that I was rude to him and stalked back around to go up the steps again. When I saw he was holding the door open for me, I only grew more upset and ended up almost falling again, and he saved me once more, only for me to be even worse to him.
I hated how I acted toward him. It wasn’t who I had ever been, and letting my injury have that big of an effect on how I treated people simply wasn’t okay. I needed to be better than that, even when I was frustrated.