“Are you okay?” I asked, positioning myself beside her.
“I’m fine,” she said automatically, but she accepted my arm without argument this time.
We moved toward the car slowly.
“Who was that?” I asked once she was settled into the passenger seat.
“My boss,” she answered.
The word sat poorly.
“The cleaning company?”
“Yeah.”
I closed her door and walked around to the driver’s side, watching her carefully as I slid behind the wheel.
“He asked how I was able to do the job on crutches,” she continued. “I told him I was managing. But he still might call you.”
“Call me.”
“Yes. To confirm.” She gave a small, tight shrug. “I know lying is bad, but . . . ” Her voice trailed off. She looked down at her hands folded in her lap. The ring caught the light.
“If he calls,” I said evenly, “I’ll inform him that you are performing satisfactorily.”
Her head lifted slightly. “You would?”
“Yes.”
She studied me for a moment, as if trying to figure something out, before turning out the window. Her shoulders were still tense. I didn’t like the way she had folded inward when he approached one bit.
“Belle,” I said carefully, “are you afraid of him?”
Her head snapped up. The fire returned instantly. This version of her I recognized.
“No,” she said sharply. “I’m not scared of him.” The flare burned bright, but dimmed too soon. “But I can’t lose my job,” she added more quietly. She gestured vaguely toward her knee. “I already had to cut my hours at the coffee shop because of this. I can’t lose this one, too.” Her voice tightened. “I’m almost caught up on the bills here.”
Here. Long Creek. The word hung between us. A clearer picture assembled with uncomfortable speed. Reduced hours. Injury. Memory care invoices. A boss who questioned her capacity the moment he saw vulnerability instead of offering help. Though it didn’t seem she was much accustomed to help.
She wasn’t afraid of the man. She was afraid of instability. Something in my chest shifted into something sharper than irritation. Protectiveness.
She met my gaze again, chin lifting slightly as if bracing for judgment.
“I’m handling it,” she said.
I believed that she was. I also understood, more clearly than before, that she had been handling far too much alone.
And the knowledge did not sit well with me at all.
Later that night,after we had called in dinner, we sat together on the couch watching TV. I don’t think I had sat on this couch this much, let alone watched any TV, in years.
At some point, Belle had gotten up to go to the bathroom, and when she came back, she had sat close to me. And that was where I sat now, trying to pay attention to the movie she’d put on, but all too aware of the fact that I could feel the heatradiating from her warm, lush body. I wasn’t sure how this woman had such a hold on me. Although as I studied her, the darkness under her eyes was evident.
“You look tired.”
“Rude.”
I cleared my throat. “I meant no offense, just an observation.”
