I continue wandering around, taking in the happy families. At one point in life, my family had that. I have no idea where it went wrong. I was too young to fully comprehend relationships back then.
“Tell me it isn’t true.” Lizzy stands in front of me with wide eyes.
“What?” I can’t take her seriously with that paint on her face.
“Did my mom corner you? I swear I didn’t tell her anything.” Her eyes are wide as she shakes her head.
“It’s fine.” I wave her off.
“It isnotfine. You’re a man of the law. How hard is it to hide a body?“ She drops her face in her hands.
“Lizzy, that’s not a joke.” Losing a mother should never be joked about, even if you’re frustrated and being sarcastic.
“Sorry, but sometimes she drives me crazy. I am sorry. She gets these ideas in her head, and it’s hard to reel her in.”
“It’s fine, honestly. You said it, we live in a small town and people would get the wrong impression.” I shrug.
“Right.” She nods, her back straight and face emotionless. “Okay.” She scratches her forehead and then curses. “The paint, damn it.” Her fingertips are blue.
Using the heel of her hand, she rubs is as carefully as she can without ruining the paint, but it’s already got streaks from where her nails scratched.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just itchy from sweat.”
I step closer, and she steps back.
“Let me see,” I argue, grabbing her hand.
“No.” She looks away.
“I think you have a rash.” I grab her chin with my other hand and lift it so I can get a better view. Sure enough, she has small dots under the paint. “Are you allergic to face paint?”
“No…I don’t know. Beside what you might think, I don’t make this a regular occurrence.” She rolls her eyes, and I fight a smile. I love it when she gets sassy.
“I thought this was a hobby of yours,” I tease her.
“Funny,” she deadpans, scratching her forehead again.
“You should clean it off and put some cream. Come on.” I tug her by the hand I’m holding, but she digs her heels in the ground.
“Where? I don’t need your help. I can get to the bathroom on my own.”
“Don’t be stubborn, I have some cream in my desk that will help.” I drag her along, grateful we’re near the building and away from lots of people.
“Do you get rashes often?” I hear laughter in her voice.
“No.”
“You sure? Quite odd to have rash cream at your desk,” she teases.
“You can never be too careful. Besides, I wanted to have some in case Walker ever needs it.”
“Oh,” she pauses. “Well, that’s sweet.”
“I know. Now, let me help you.”
“Nate, I’m fine,” she says exasperatedly.