“Thanks,” I say again, a little breathless this time.
“No problem.” The way he stops and studies my face is weird. It’s probably because I’m being weird. But finally, the odd moment ends, and he takes a step back. “Nice dress.”
“Thank you.”
“Tell me about yourself.”
I counter with, “Nichelle said you visited me every night for a while in the hospital.”
He sighs and crosses his arms. “I read to you at night for a few weeks. It’s not a big deal.”
“It kind of is. That was very sweet of you.”
“Anna—”
“Don’t,” I say, harder than I mean to. “Don’t diminish it. That you took the time to sit with me means a lot.”
“Yeah. Well.” He scratches his head. “Truth is, you were lousy company.”
I bark out a surprised laugh. Then slap a hand over my mouth, because what an unholy loud noise.
Leif smiles behind his can of beer. “So come on, tell me about yourself.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Start with the basics.” He leans against the wall, one of his big-ass boots tapping out a beat in the silence. “Or surprise me. Whatever.”
“Twenty-six. I was in hospitality, but that’s all on hold.” I shrug. “Grew up in Cape Elizabeth.”
“Fancy neighborhood.”
“If you say so. Only child. Went to college in New Hampshire.” And that’s basically me. “What about you?”
“Thirty-one. Local born and bred. Youngest of three sons. And I’m a tattoo artist.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Wow.”
“No ink for you, huh?”
“Not after all of the needles in the hospital.” Not that it was a remote possibility beforehand, I mentally add. While I can appreciate how they look on him, I am nowhere near that interesting. Nor do I enjoy pain.
“Current relationship status?” he asks, gaze dropping to my bare hand. I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything. Just your standard heteronormative reaction.
“Um.” This question causes an even mix of awkward and painful. I should be used to it by now, but oh well. “It’s complicated. Well . . . separated. Yeah.”
“Right. I, um . . .” His mouth opens, then closes, as if he’s thought better of whatever he was going to say. Which is curious. “I’m sorry.”
I just nod. To be honest, I’m still experiencing culture shock. My marriage and my husband were huge parts of my life. As they should be. Now it’s like someone hit pause on all of that and I’m not sure how to feel or what to think. With my heart and mind in a permanent state of confusion, there’s not much I can do. Not yet. And it’s been like this for months. Betrayal has one hell of a sting and I can’t get past the pain to come even remotely close to forgiveness. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Forget about putting my wedding ring back on any time soon.
“Favorite food?” he asks, moving on, thank goodness.
“Mexican.”
“Excellent choice.” He pulls his cell out of his back jeans pocket. “How hungry are you?”
“I could eat.”
At this, he gives me the stink eye. “You know, women always say that all casual like and then they eat half of your food.”
“Order enough and I won’t eat half of your food.” I hold back a smile. “It’s that simple.”
He sighs. “I get the distinct feeling that nothing about you is simple. But I’m going to feed you anyway. How do you feel about tacos?”
“I love them.”
“Carne asada?”
“Would be great.”
“Queso and chips?”
“Please. And Mexican corn if they have it.”
“They do. Okay,” he says, busy with his cell. “We’re set. You know, you’re the first person I’ve had come visit me here outside of family.”
“Really? Why?”
A shrug. “I don’t know. Just busy, I guess.”
I take another sip of beer. Which is when I realize I feel comfortable here, and I’m even having a good time. My first in a while. “Let me pay for half.”
“No. I’m buying you dinner. It’s a done deal.” He tosses his cell on the counter. “Next time you can pay.”
“There’s going to be a next time?” I ask.
“Sure,” he says, fetching himself another beer out of the fridge. “We’ve already had our bonding moment. I watched you get cut out of your car and everything. I was even holding your hand for a while until the paramedics arrived on the scene. So yeah, we survived a traumatic event together. More than the other guy who caused the accident and took off without helping can say.”
“Am I a bad person for fervently hoping that God smites him?”
“Nope. I got a titanium plate and eight screws in my arm. Not my idea of a good time.” He winces at the memory. “That compound fracture could have ended my career. Let alone what he did to you.”
I raise my brows. “Subdural hematoma, hemorrhagic contusions, a dislocated shoulder, and five broken ribs.”
“Exactly.”
“How is your arm? Is it okay now?”
“Eh. Pretty much. I had okay insurance, so I didn’t come out of it too badly. And I can tell when it’s going to rain now, which is always handy,” he says, his expression darkening. “That was a fucked-up thing, that accident. We’re lucky to be alive.”
“Very true. You didn’t see the other car?”
He winces. “It was a silver sedan. Beyond that, I’ve got nothing. I sure as hell wish I’d seen the driver or the license plate or something useful.”
I take another sip of beer, thinking it all over. My cell buzzes again inside my purse. I will not look at it. I won’t.
“You need to get that?” he asks, settling himself on the floor.
I shake my head. “No. It’s my mother. I appreciate her caring, but she’s gotten clingy. I’m trying to deprogram her back to a manageable level.”
“Fair enough.”
“Just because I’m a little fragile doesn’t mean I’m no longer an adult,” I say, and boy do I sound cranky. On the verge of ranting, even. Not good.
“How are you doing with all of that, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Better than I was at first. I had to learn to walk and feed myself all over again. And there’s a lot more rehabilitation in front of me.”
He just nods.
“It’s unlikely I’ll be running anytime soon.”
“Running sucks. My brother and his wife live next door and he makes me go with him all of the damn time.”
“I have to be honest, I’m not really missing that part of it. Though it would be nice to have the option.”
“Any white tunnel moments? Did you go toward the light and see your life flash before your eyes?” he asks.
“No.” I shake my head. “Some weird dreams about spooky shadows, though. I think it was just the difference between day and night. Nothing interesting.”
He leans his head back against the wall, watching me thoughtfully. “If I can say one thing on the subject of your mom . . .”