Made for You
Page 22
“Okay.” He drags the word out a little and looks at me like his agreement is also a question.
It’s silly, and I’m sure it’s a combination of my brain injury and the things the detective got me thinking. “The person that hit me that night might have seen me. It might not have been an accident.”
Nate stiffens. “So you think it was on purpose?”
“Maybe. The detective wasn’t sure, and I know it sounds crazy, but so does getting run over.” I try to shrug like I’m not obsessing on the whole thing. “I just want you to be careful too.”
He shrugs. “No problem. I’ll promise you not to go to Old Salem without checking for my phone if you promise me that you won’t walk home in the dark again.”
“I’m not going to be walking anywhere. I’m on crutches,” I point out.
“Not forever.” He pulls out his phone. “Give me your number. I’ll call you so you can add me to your contacts. Then, if you ever need a ride again, you can reach me.”
When I don’t reply, he adds, “I’ll always have my phone with me since I just promised you could call me.”
I grab my phone. “What’s your number?”
I tap it in as he tells me, and then send him a quick text that says only, “Hi.”
“Call or text if you need me,” he replies.
I nod, and maybe it’s silly, but I don’t want him to think I’m foolish. “I did call Robert, you know. I didn’t want to bother Grace, and my parents were away, but it wasn’t that I planned to walk home in the dark. It was still dusk.”
Nate goes so still that it’s unnerving. “Baucom stranded you?”
I wish I could retract my statement. “He was busy or forgot. It’s not like we’re connected at the hip.”
“Did he say that?”
“No.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing.” I shrug. “I haven’t really brought it up. He forgot or whatever, and I walked, and there was an accident, and . . .” I lift my hands in a what-can-you-do gesture. I know I’m ignoring the whole Robert situation, but I don’t want to deal with it.
Maybe he was going to dump me but now he can’t. Maybe he’s waiting to see what I say or what I look like or . . . I don’t know. It’ll work out though. We’ll stay together or go back to being friends. In a town this small, that’s just what happens. It’s all very civilized.
Nate just stares at me, and I can tell that there are a dozen thoughts he’s weighing and deciding not to say. I feel guilty. I get like that, guilty, when people look hurt or upset. I think it’s why my parents think I can handle everything myself: I simply don’t want to trouble anyone.
“It’s not his fault,” I say quietly. “I could have called someone else. I didn’t. Neither of us knew some lunatic was going to smash his car into me.”
The look on Nate’s face isn’t quite disdain, but it’s close. “I don’t want to argue with you. I just think you deserve to be treated . . . right.”
When Nate sits silently for several moments, I murmur, “Thank you.”
He smiles when my hand covers his.
I wait, fearing that I’ll have another hallucination. I don’t. Instead, I get Nate Bouchet looking at me with interest in his eyes. I remind myself that I have a boyfriend, but a little voice inside me also reminds me that Robert hasn’t even asked to visit.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Nate says. He frowns. “That sounds wrong. I mean, I’m not glad you’re here, just that it’s nice to see you.”
I almost laugh. I’ve looked in the mirror; I know what I look like now. I take my hand away from his and slide my fingertips over the blanket.
“Don’t.” He grabs my hand, and this time, everything is different.
The car swerves toward me, and I have to go off the road to avoid impact. I feel the truck dip and jerk as the front wheel hits the ditch. I’m braking, hoping the brakes don’t lock up, praying I don’t go into a spin, and regretting the lack of airbags. My brain is racing, rolling into thoughts that seem out of place. I wasn’t going fast enough that the accident will be fatal, but I don’t have time to be without wheels.
It’s dark out, and there are no street lights on Old Salem Road, but I know the area well enough after driving it every day the past year and a half. It’s wooded along the road, but not thick. The front of the truck clips a tree, but it’s only a sapling. I start to swerve farther only to jolt to a stop as I smash into a much larger tree.
After a moment, I unbuckle my belt, and shakily push open the door. I shiver as I stand outside my truck. My phone is in my hand, but before I can call anyone, a sharp pain in my stomach makes me bend over. The stomach cramps become bad enough that I stumble and clutch the door frame of my truck. I don’t feel blood, but that doesn’t mean I’m uninjured. Internal bleeding can be far worse.
My mouth feels like it’s filled with something hot and sour. I’m not throwing up. Yet. My heart feels too fast.
A car pulls up in front of me, and I wonder if it’s the car that ran me off the road or someone who saw the accident. The headlights shine in my face so I can’t see who’s in the car. There aren’t a lot of people who drive along Old Salem Road, but there are a few houses and the reservoir.
The lights make the person getting out of the car look like a silhouette. He’s not a huge man. I can tell that. Although he could be a bigger woman. . . . I open my mouth to speak, but instead puke all over the seat of my truck. Something’s wrong.
It’s silly, and I’m sure it’s a combination of my brain injury and the things the detective got me thinking. “The person that hit me that night might have seen me. It might not have been an accident.”
Nate stiffens. “So you think it was on purpose?”
“Maybe. The detective wasn’t sure, and I know it sounds crazy, but so does getting run over.” I try to shrug like I’m not obsessing on the whole thing. “I just want you to be careful too.”
He shrugs. “No problem. I’ll promise you not to go to Old Salem without checking for my phone if you promise me that you won’t walk home in the dark again.”
“I’m not going to be walking anywhere. I’m on crutches,” I point out.
“Not forever.” He pulls out his phone. “Give me your number. I’ll call you so you can add me to your contacts. Then, if you ever need a ride again, you can reach me.”
When I don’t reply, he adds, “I’ll always have my phone with me since I just promised you could call me.”
I grab my phone. “What’s your number?”
I tap it in as he tells me, and then send him a quick text that says only, “Hi.”
“Call or text if you need me,” he replies.
I nod, and maybe it’s silly, but I don’t want him to think I’m foolish. “I did call Robert, you know. I didn’t want to bother Grace, and my parents were away, but it wasn’t that I planned to walk home in the dark. It was still dusk.”
Nate goes so still that it’s unnerving. “Baucom stranded you?”
I wish I could retract my statement. “He was busy or forgot. It’s not like we’re connected at the hip.”
“Did he say that?”
“No.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing.” I shrug. “I haven’t really brought it up. He forgot or whatever, and I walked, and there was an accident, and . . .” I lift my hands in a what-can-you-do gesture. I know I’m ignoring the whole Robert situation, but I don’t want to deal with it.
Maybe he was going to dump me but now he can’t. Maybe he’s waiting to see what I say or what I look like or . . . I don’t know. It’ll work out though. We’ll stay together or go back to being friends. In a town this small, that’s just what happens. It’s all very civilized.
Nate just stares at me, and I can tell that there are a dozen thoughts he’s weighing and deciding not to say. I feel guilty. I get like that, guilty, when people look hurt or upset. I think it’s why my parents think I can handle everything myself: I simply don’t want to trouble anyone.
“It’s not his fault,” I say quietly. “I could have called someone else. I didn’t. Neither of us knew some lunatic was going to smash his car into me.”
The look on Nate’s face isn’t quite disdain, but it’s close. “I don’t want to argue with you. I just think you deserve to be treated . . . right.”
When Nate sits silently for several moments, I murmur, “Thank you.”
He smiles when my hand covers his.
I wait, fearing that I’ll have another hallucination. I don’t. Instead, I get Nate Bouchet looking at me with interest in his eyes. I remind myself that I have a boyfriend, but a little voice inside me also reminds me that Robert hasn’t even asked to visit.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Nate says. He frowns. “That sounds wrong. I mean, I’m not glad you’re here, just that it’s nice to see you.”
I almost laugh. I’ve looked in the mirror; I know what I look like now. I take my hand away from his and slide my fingertips over the blanket.
“Don’t.” He grabs my hand, and this time, everything is different.
The car swerves toward me, and I have to go off the road to avoid impact. I feel the truck dip and jerk as the front wheel hits the ditch. I’m braking, hoping the brakes don’t lock up, praying I don’t go into a spin, and regretting the lack of airbags. My brain is racing, rolling into thoughts that seem out of place. I wasn’t going fast enough that the accident will be fatal, but I don’t have time to be without wheels.
It’s dark out, and there are no street lights on Old Salem Road, but I know the area well enough after driving it every day the past year and a half. It’s wooded along the road, but not thick. The front of the truck clips a tree, but it’s only a sapling. I start to swerve farther only to jolt to a stop as I smash into a much larger tree.
After a moment, I unbuckle my belt, and shakily push open the door. I shiver as I stand outside my truck. My phone is in my hand, but before I can call anyone, a sharp pain in my stomach makes me bend over. The stomach cramps become bad enough that I stumble and clutch the door frame of my truck. I don’t feel blood, but that doesn’t mean I’m uninjured. Internal bleeding can be far worse.
My mouth feels like it’s filled with something hot and sour. I’m not throwing up. Yet. My heart feels too fast.
A car pulls up in front of me, and I wonder if it’s the car that ran me off the road or someone who saw the accident. The headlights shine in my face so I can’t see who’s in the car. There aren’t a lot of people who drive along Old Salem Road, but there are a few houses and the reservoir.
The lights make the person getting out of the car look like a silhouette. He’s not a huge man. I can tell that. Although he could be a bigger woman. . . . I open my mouth to speak, but instead puke all over the seat of my truck. Something’s wrong.
