“Rey?” She sounded surprised. “Is that you?”
“Hello, Grace.”Don’t push repeat, fuckhead.
“I’ll take that as yes, it is you.” Her voice sparkled and she sounded…flattered. Couldn’t be right.
“Trip?” Damn, he’d lost a word.
“It was fine. I was on time and had an empty seat next to me out of Chicago.”
He’d finished his material.
She soldiered on. “It’s nine o’clock here. It must be late there?”
“Twelve.” He reached for the word with fewer syllables than midnight. “Wait. You.” Warning sirens claxoned that he was in grave danger of sounding needy, like he was waiting for her to call, when he meant he was waiting for the right time to call her.
“I was thinking.”
After studying her for a week he could picture the tilt of her head, dark hair falling to her shoulder on one side, caressing her cheek and chin on the other where her jaw angled.
“What about email or texts? Typing might be like Scrabble. Do you think—”
“Yes!” It burst from him, what he hadn’t known he’d wanted but now needed more than anything in the world.
“I have a pretty good data plan because I travel for work and I thought I could order something for you to use and add you maybe if it wouldn’t be a problem until you have time to choose your own plan.”
She’d spoken without pausing, and it took him a moment, but then he realized she was offering to get him a phone, holy fucking amazeballs. His was probably still in Afghanistan with all his shit, waiting to be shipped to his apartment in Kentucky.
“Would that be okay?”
He hadn’t answered. Dolt. “Yes. Yes.”
He squeezed the hospital handset and pumped his free hand into a fist, because she wasn’t only giving him a link to the world. She was also providing a connectionto herself.
“Okay, then,” she said. In the lull, presumably they both racked their brains. “Can I send anything else? A care package?”
“Yes.” He hit himself on the forehead. Even a Magic 8-Ball had more to say than he did. His mother could pick personal stuff like T-shirts and gym shorts, but he needed something to read. Mamá couldn’t choose that. “Book.”
“I love buying books.” Her voice rose. “Do you want paper or a digital reader?”
“Share.” He’d noticed a swap table in the corridor. “Paper.”
“What genre do you like?”
“Any.” He read non-fiction, but like hell he’d be able to say that, and he could deduce more about her from what she sent. “You. Same.”
“Does that mean you want me to send something and read the same book?”
“Yes.” Surprising how she understood his intent when he spoke, like old people who finished each other’s sentences.
“I read…” now she sounded as awkward as him, “…stuffaboutfish.”
Chapter 10
June
Grace’s routine questions onhis phone display were the highlight of Rey’s evening, every evening. She’d guessed correctly that he could still type and manipulate letters, even though he struggled to write by hand.
Grace
