Eight Days in the Sun Page 20

  We pass through the tourist district. When she speeds up, I know we’re in the business area of downtown. The small pothole we drive over tells me we’re close. “Turn right after the park.”

  “Should I pull up to the building?” she asks after making the right.

  “Not unless you need assistance. Pull into a parking space. I can walk.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. I get you’re trying to make things easier for me. Thing is, I want to be as normal as possible as much as possible. That includes not being let out at the front of the building like a geriatric grandma who’s had hip surgery.”

  “Okay, Cutler, I get it.”

  She parks the car. I open the door and feel the cement with my foot. I stand and stretch out right away, grateful to be free of the clown-mobile.

  It’s a long walk, and there are a few steps and curves along the way. Part of the sidewalk is covered with rosebushes. I’ve gotten really intimate with those thorns. Stone tiles separate grassy fields, and at one point there is a stone fountain right in the middle that you have to go around. At least I’ve never fallen in there. This walk from the parking lot to the building is paved with disasters waiting to happen, but I don’t mind it. In the beginning I felt some small sense of accomplishment when I made it into the building without tripping or banging into something.

  Kiran comes over to my side. Her hair brushes my arm. God, it’s still soft.

  Her laptop bag bumps me. She takes my hand and starts walking to the building, leading me along. I stop.

  “I have my stick. I don’t need you to lead me.”

  “I wasn’t trying to lead you.”

  “Then what were you doing?”

  “I just wanted to hold your hand.”

  She speaks softly, but the hurt in her voice is loud and clear. It amplifies six times over. I take my cane from my pocket and extend it. “Give me your bag. I’ll carry it.”

  “I’m sorry I bumped you.”

  “That’s not the reason I want to carry it.”

  “Then why?”

  “Because I’m a gentleman.”

  “Oh, of course,” she says, handing it to me.

  I throw the strap over my shoulder. “Now give me your hand again.” I hold my hand out, palm up. She places her hand in mine. Her fingers shake. I inch my hand up to her wrist. Her pulse beats some wild rhythm. I struggle not to pull her closer. Instead, I trace my thumb over the pink heart, the line and shape drawn from memory. I move up higher, my ascent much too slow and exploratory. Once I reach her upper arm, I encircle my fingers around her. There is more definition then I remember. Nothing that would cross into body building status, but her biceps are definitely more toned and carved. Maybe she’d always had them and I hadn’t noticed? No, I had memorized her body during those eight days. This is something new, or new since then.

  “When did you get guns, Shenoy?”

  “Huh?”

  “Your arms.” I give her a squeeze. “You have some muscle.”

  “I’ve been working out.” She flexes for me. “Just swimming and some weight training.”

  “It shows.”

  “Thank you.”

  We stand their awkwardly, me with my fingers curled around her arm.

  “You can walk now, Kiran. I’ll be a half-step behind you.” I move the walking stick to give me some extra guidance.

  “There’s a curb ahead of us, Mason.”

  “Not for another ten feet. You really don’t need to tell me that far in advance.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I’ve been here a lot.”

  Just when I think I’m very smooth, I realize I’ve hit her leg with my stick. Shit. She doesn’t even say anything. Not a yelp or an ouch or anything. Except I know I’ve made contact with her shin from the sound. It must have hurt because her body tenses. “Are you okay?”

  Silence.

  “Kiran?”

  She sucks in a deep breath. “Fine. I’m fine.”

  “Girl, I know that hurt. I’m sorry.”

  “It was an accident.”

  “Did you nod when I asked if you were hurt?”

  She laughs, the sound infectious. “Yes. Stupid, right?”

  “Naw, a lot of people do that. It’s natural.” I retract my walking stick. “Let’s try this again.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t do that.”

  “Kiran, it doesn’t make sense for me to use it while I’ve got your arm. It’s really not needed. I’ll follow your movements.”

  “Aren’t you more comfortable with the stick?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why?”

  “It’s good practice for both of us. The streets in some areas of Charleston can be narrow and crowded. They aren’t suitable for a cane. It’s probably not a bad idea for us to practice walking together. That is if you still want to take a walk after my appointments?”

  “I do.”

  “All right then.”

  That is the short answer. The long and far more truthful answer is that I really want an excuse to touch her. I want to hold your hand too, Kiran.

  Chapter 26

  Kiran

  We sit at the table with big steaming bowls of chicken and stars. Mason doesn’t complain. In fact, he says it’s a favorite. We’re down to soup and bread. There are other things in the cupboards and fridge. Weird things such as jicama and seaweed tofu and agave nectar that I have no idea how to cook.

  “Dana has some interesting taste in food.”

  He chews on a crescent roll. “Yeah, tell me about it. She’s a health nut. Or maybe just a nut. Luckily, I have the local pizza place on speed dial and an app that will call them for me on command.”

  “We need to go grocery shopping.”

  “I’ll pass.”

  I stir little noodle stars around the broth. “Besides therapy, when is the last time you went out?” Even the walk in Charleston only lasted one city block before Mason said we should turn around. He focused so hard on each step I didn’t want to disrupt his concentration. So we didn’t speak the whole way.

  “Can’t remember.”

  “Maybe you should. Isn’t that what your therapist suggested?”

  “I’m not comfortable with strange places yet.”

  “This is your local grocery store. You probably know it better than me. Besides, I’ll be there.” Didn’t he trust me? The way his shoulders tense, I’m not sure. “We can bring Molly too.”

  “Why are you doing this, Kiran? I don’t need you to fix me.”

  “I didn’t realize you were broken. Are you really going to spend your life in a shell?”

  His mouth tilts. “Girl, are you comparing me to a hermit crab?”

  “If the shell fits. This is coming from a former barnacle, so get over it.”

  He drags a hand over his hair. I envy how it all falls back into place so beautifully, two errant strands fork over his forehead in model perfect form.

  I stack our dishes to take them to the sink. I almost walk away and then remember I need to push my chair back in. Never move anything. Dana’s warning comes back. I slide the chair into place with my hip.

  “Why are you trying so hard, Kiran?”

  Because you’re worth it. “Because I want you to be happy.”

  “I’m not who I once was. You have to realize that.”

  “Yeah, not completely. Either am I. But it doesn’t mean I stop caring about you or that I don’t want to know the new you.”

  “The new me is an asshole. I don’t feel like a…”

  “A what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I’m going to the shed.”

  This is becoming a common theme. If I push too hard, he retreats. “I’ll go by myself then.”

  After I rinse our bowls and place them in the dishwasher, I do a quick check to make sure I’ve put everything
away. He’s left. Most likely, he’s out in the shed doing whatever he does.

  After grabbing Dana’s keys and my purse, I head through the back door to the garage. I reach to hit the open button on the garage door, but stop myself when I spot the tall, lean shadow. Mason is running his hands over the image of the bird on the Trans Am’s hood.

  “Any requests?” I ask. I don’t open the door. It’s dark and hot in the garage. Tiny dust motes float around us.

  “No.”

  “What are you doing out here?”

  “Contemplating.”

  “Oh.” I reach to hit the open button, but his deep, husky voice halts me.

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “I’m glad.” I fist bump the air to celebrate my small triumph.

  “Don’t sound too happy. It’s kind of a joke that going to a fucking grocery store is such a big deal.”

  “It is a big deal, Mason. Thank you for coming with me.”

  He shrugs, his smile tight and nervous. “I figure you might need me. I’m an expert at telling if fruit is ripe.”

  “I’ve never had my own personal fruit feeler-upper.”

  “At least I’m good for something.” He says it sarcastically with self-deprecating humor that is part of Mason’s personality, but his smile isn’t genuine. There is nothing funny in the statement.

  When I take a few tentative steps toward him, I bump into a ladder.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, just clumsy.” My God, it’s dark, but there is a little light peeking from the small window. This is barely a taste of his world, and I can’t even manage to walk a few steps. How is he so graceful?

  I stand close to him, blinking my eyes to adjust to the low light. “What were you going to say earlier? You don’t feel like a…what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Say it. Tell me now. What don’t you feel like?”

  “A man.”

  “It’s not true.”

  “You can’t tell me how I feel, Shenoy.”

  “Can I show you something, Mason?”

  “If you’re going to give me some goddamn feel-good speech, you can save it, sister. I’m not in the mood.”

  “No speech.”

  I move a step closer to him until only a tiny sliver of a gap stands between us. I place a hand on each of his broad shoulders and gently work my fingers into his skin. His body doesn’t relax, but it does feel less stiff. I work my way down his front. I skim the pads of my fingers over the soft, faded fabric of his T-shirt. His breathing increases. I reach his jeans and run my fingers over the muscles right above the button. The tempo of his breathing increases, matching mine. When I see the large bulge under the dark denim, I stand on my tiptoes and lean close to his ear. “Feel like a man now?” I whisper.

  “Woman, I don’t know if you are pure evil or a genius.”

  “Maybe an evil genius.” I pull away before I get carried away. I’ve made my point… I think.

  “Coming?”

  “It’ll take more than that,” he mutters, following me.

  I get another idea. I tell myself not to press my luck. Not to push too hard. Yet, I still go on.

  “Want to take the Trans Am?”

  “Are you fucking with me?”

  “Swear I’m not.”

  “When did you learn to drive a stick?” he asks.

  “Last week.”

  “What the hell are you saying, Kiran?”

  I have no freaking idea, Mason. Just spouting off a stupid idea.

  “Answer me, please,” he says in that low voice I would follow anywhere.

  “Ever since therapy when you told me how much you missed it, I’ve been watching every single YouTube video on driving a stick shift. I hoped it would make you happy to sit in the car again and feel the engine. Now that I think about it, it’s the dumbest idea in the world.”

  He tilts his head. “You really think you can do it based on videos?”

  “Yeah, the grocery store’s only two miles up the road according to Google maps. It’s up to you, though.”

  He walks right past me into the kitchen. Cursing myself, I lower my head. I should have quit. Why would he want to be a passenger in his own car?

  A jingling sound snaps me out of my wayward thoughts. Mason shakes a set of keys at me. “Be careful with her.”

  “I will.”

  He whistles and calls for Molly. She comes running behind him. “We’ll c’mon, girl. We don’t have all day.”

  I sit in the driver’s seat, adjusting and readjusting everything. Now that I am sitting here about to drive his baby, I’m nervous. He’s placed so much trust in me. I pray my ten hours of YouTube tutorials are enough.

  “You got this, Shenoy.”

  I wish he had the same confidence in himself that he has with me. The car roars to life. I drive slow and cautious until I get the hang of the pedals and clutch. I have to admit there is something empowering about driving a stick shift. A sense of control I enjoy. He places his hand on my wrist.

  “Honey, you need to stop riding the clutch.”

  “Sorry.” I lift my foot and curl my hands on the steering wheel.

  We arrive at the grocery store unscathed. “Nice work, Shenoy. You’re a natural.”

  “Thank you.”

  I notice the ice cream shop next to the grocery store. It has a huge red and white striped awning. The sign reads The Creamery – Best ice cream in South Carolina. Maybe even the world.

  “Mason, is that the ice cream place you told me is better than Kirby’s?”

  “That would be it.”

  “Let’s get a scoop.”

  He gives me a look that says no all over it. “Let’s just get our groceries and go.”

  “Seriously, Mason, the closest thing to junk food Dana has is dehydrated pineapples. You can’t expect a girl to survive on that stuff. I need ice cream.”

  “Okay.”

  The bells chime over the doorway. The air conditioning blasts, blowing the ends of my hair up as we enter the shop. The girl behind the counter turns toward us. Her rosy lips inch up in a huge smile…at Mason.

  “Mason!” she shrieks, moving past the counter and running to him. “It’s Lana.”

  She wraps her arms around him. He stumbles. Molly rushes behind him, ready to break a fall if needed. I grab his arm, but he catches himself.

  “I missed you,” she says, backing away. She smoothes down her pink mini skirt and adjusts her white tank top. Probably not a great idea to wear a white tank sans bra when you work in an ice cream parlor with subzero temperatures.

  “Hey, Lana. It’s good to see you too.”

  “Who is this cutie?” she asks, bending down to pet Molly. I cringe, wanting to yell out Dana’s rule number eight. Never pet a service dog unless you have permission from the owner. They are at work, and the attention will just distract them from their duties. But I keep my mouth shut.

  “That’s my best friend, Molly.”

  Lana stands. Somehow she’s wedged herself between Mason and me. She twirls a strand of her long red hair. “You’re making me jealous.” She laughs at her own joke, her hand against Mason’s arm.

  “Hi,” I say to remind everyone I’m still here.

  “I’ll be with you in a minute,” Lana says, turning her attention back to Mason.

  “Lana, this is Kiran. She’s helping out while Dana is gone.”

  Okay, a minute ago I was a sexy evil genius. Now I’m the girl helping out. I shouldn’t be hurt by his description, but hurt is exactly what I am.

  “That’s nice.” She gives me a side glance. “Bless your heart.”

  The phrase sounds more like a curse than a blessing.

  She takes Mason’s hand between hers. “How have you been? I called you, but Dana said you were busy each time.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I’m so sorry, Mason.”

  “Thank y
ou, Lana.”

  “In case you didn’t know, you’re still super hot.”

  He cracks a smile. Maybe Lana’s direct approach was better than what I did.

  “Um…thanks. I would tell you that you look great too, except well, you know.”

  She laughs as if he’s the funniest thing since episode 19 of The Big Bang Theory.

  “Hey, Mason!” A man in a long white apron comes toward us.

  “Is that you Jeff?”

  “It is.”

  “Thought I smelled trouble.”

  Jeff claps Mason on the back. They manage one of those almost-there embraces men do. Mason gestures to me. “This is my friend, Kiran.”

  At least he promoted me to friend status.

  “Jeff and Lana’s parents own the dairy farm that’s the basis for this fine establishment,” Mason explains.

  “Lana, don’t just stand there. Take their order,” Jeff says.

  “I’m gonna make Mason something special,” Lana says. “Wait till you get a taste of what I’m serving.” She twirls around, skirt flaring.

  “Hold up a sec,” Mason says.

  “Yeah, sugar?”

  Mason reaches his hands out and takes my wrist. “What would you like, Kiran?”

  I glance at the board. “I’ll have a scoop of the green apple ice cream.”

  Jeff raises his eyebrow. “You sure? It’s a unique flavor combination. Don’t get me wrong, I love it, but some of our patrons claim its way too sour.”

  “Sounds perfect.” It will definitely fit my mood.

  Jeff ushers us toward a booth.

  “Cutler, you never sent me an RSVP. Are you planning to come on the fishing trip?”

  “Sorry, man, I don’t really trust myself around hooks just yet.” He drums his fingers against the tabletop. “Or boats or large, deep bodies of water.”

  “I’ll make sure it’s safe. C’mon, bro, it’s my birthday and I want you there.” Jeff smiles at me. “Tell him he should go.”

  Mason shakes his head. “It’s your birthday. The last thing you need is to be watching out for me.”

  “The last thing I need is not having my best buddy there.” Jeff nods in my direction. “You can bring Kiran if it’ll make it easier for you.”

  “Kiran doesn’t fish.” Mason tilts his head. “You don’t fish, right?”