She tugged at the helmet. I detached the chin strap and helped wiggle it the rest of the way off before placing it on the bike.
Her expression was a little wild. Bright and alert, she gazed at me in amazement. She wasn’t panic-stricken anymore, so that was something.
“That was ...” she breathed, voice thin. “I can’t believe ...” And then, as if noticing the thin long-sleeved shirt I wore, her eyes widened in alarm. “Your jacket. You’re probably freezing. Here?—”
Bonnie worked to bring the zipper down in order to presumably return my coat.
But I stepped forward and stilled her hand. “It’s okay. Leave it on. It’ll keep you warm. I’m fine.” She made to protest, the selfless martyr reporting for duty, but I ignored her. “Let’s go sit down.”
After a moment, she followed me to a picnic table nearby.
I sat on the tabletop, my knees bent, boots resting on the bench seat as I faced the mountain view. Currently, it was just layers of indigo and midnight blue going dark and fuzzy in the distance beneath a sea of stars.
Bonnie settled beside me, bringing with her the sweet scent of honeysuckle. She was close enough that she was probably determined to warm me with her body heat if I was going to force her to keep the jacket.
I fought a grin as I stared out over the horizon.
The inclination fled as soon as she said, “Thank you. For that back there. Saving me.”
I couldn’t pinpoint why her gratitude irked me so much. But just like with the muffins and the drunken night at Magnolia, I found myself shrugging off her politeness and manners. I didn’t want to be one more person on Bonnie’s grand tour of appreciation.
Maybe I wanted an explanation instead.
“What happened?” I asked, but I made sure my voice was measured and even, hiding the irrational irritation simmering behind my sternum.
She was quiet long enough that I looked over at her. Bonnie was staring down at her hands, fiddling with her thumbnail.
“You don’t have to do that shit with me,” I said. “I’m not judging you or whatever it is that you’re worried about. I’m the town fuckup, remember? Juvenile delinquent, troublemaker, hellion, all-around asshole.”
She finally met my gaze. “Don’t say that.”
I gave her a sad smile. “The truth has never bothered me, Clyde.”
After a moment, she confessed, the words rushing out like they were racing through a yellow light. “I get anxiety attacks sometimes. A couple of panic attacks. Everything just builds up and then ...”
“What does it feel like?”
Bonnie stared at me, considering. “My thoughts start coming fast. All the what-ifs stack higher and higher until I feel like they might collapse on top of me. My brain speeds up, everything rapid-fire. Then my body joins in. My breathing goes too fast, and my heart rate skyrockets. And for whatever reason, my nose starts to tingle, like it’s falling asleep or going numb. Then I start to cry until I can’t catch my breath. Feels like something heavyis sitting on my chest while my heart pounds against it, trying to battle its way out. You caught me before the tears but after the nose tingles.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t step in sooner.”
“Don’t be,” she said stiffly. “It’s not your job to look after me.”
Rationally, I knew that. But I still didn’t like the way it sounded.
Bonnie and I were ... I didn’t know what we were.
But I knew I liked her, and I hated that she felt like looking after her would be a hassle. Hearing her talk about her struggles with anxiety gave me a new piece of the Bonnie puzzle. I could imagine how much she’d hate being out of control, having her own body fight against her.
“How did you know?” she asked quietly, interrupting the way I was taking this new piece and turning it round and round, trying to fit it into place. “I’d thought I was hiding it well from everyone.”
“Not from me,” I said before I could think better of it. So I quickly added, “Plus, I don’t think Sheila Jessup or Vera Sterling would notice anything that didn’t directly impact them. The busybodies.”
Bonnie smiled.
“Is it always about your divorce? The anxiety?”
She sighed, the smile slipping away by degrees, and I hated myself for asking. “Yeah. Well, I’ve probably had anxiety my whole life. But the attacks didn’t start until this year ... and all the stuff with Danny.”
