“Indifferent? Really?”
“Yes,” she says with a nod. “You aren’t the wearing your heart on your sleeve type.”
Huh. I guess I’m not. Casualty of my profession, probably.
“When you do what I do, you get in the habit of suppressing your emotions.”
“That I can understand,” she says, somberly. “It’s a hard way to live.”
“It can be. Especially on days like today.”
“What happened?”
“A call. Auto accident,” I say, but pause to pour myself a few fingers. After I swallow, I continue. “Teenagers. We kept the two alive, but I’m not sure they’ll stay that way.”
“Oh, Grady. I’m sorry.”
“It’s the job. The mental toll, I can handle,” I say, then take another sip. “It’s the physical I’m not great at. You run on pure adrenaline from the time you get the dispatch until you pass them off to capable hands in the emergency room. Then, you wait for the inevitable crash down. For me, that means utter exhaustion and absolutely no appetite.”
Holding up my glass, I cheer the rolling waves in front of us. I leave out that no matter how disconnected I am, my mind will remind me of that teenage girl’s mangled body and tell me that could be Paige someday.
“I can’t imagine,” she says, resting her cheek atop her knees and peering at me. “It must be hard. Not only seeing what you see, doing what you have to do, but also having faith in others to finish the job when you deliver a victim to them. Are you able to get updates? Or is it better not to know?”
“We keep in touch with the nurses’ station. They’ll let us know how it goes. It’s easier to know. More times than not, the outcome is favorable. Even the losses keep you motivated, though.”
“I don’t know how you do it. I don’t know how to be responsible for another person,” Lou says. “I’m only just startingto figure out how to be responsible for myself.” Her mouth turns into another smile. Small, like she’s trying to suppress its outward appearance.
“Did you have a good day?” I ask, hoping she’ll share. I could stand to hear something happy. Something nice. No matter how small.
“It was like riding a roller coaster, honestly,” she says with a laugh. “Ups and downs.”
“Did the ups outshine?”
“They did. I met Sam, who sold me paint while he secretly had my headlight fixed. Then, I went to Miss B’s and ate an entire club sandwich, pasta salad, and half of my French fries without guilt. After that, I came home and prepped the kitchen for paint.”
“That sounds like all ups,” I say.
“That’s because I didn’t share my downs. It doesn’t sound like you need that burden.”
“That’s not the word I’d use to describe it,” I say.
“Which? Burden?” she asks, and I nod. “Do you really want to hear about my lows?”
“I really do.” If nothing else, it makes me feel less alone with my own. Besides, I want to know Lou, and I can’t do that if she censors herself.
She turns to me but doesn’t speak for a few long moments. I’m content to sit here and watch her as she sorts through her thoughts and feelings.
Lou is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen up close and in person. Naturally so. I’ve never seen her dressed up, with her hair done and makeup on. I’d probably drop to my knees at herfeet if I did. Because like she is now, hair that looks like it hasn’t been brushed, dark circles still a little too visible under her eyes, and obviously too thin, she’s absolutely fucking stunning.
Her looks aren’t what holds my attention, though. It’s not what keeps me thinking about her at night when I close my eyes and attempt to sleep. Her sadness, her vulnerability, and her determination to see through it are what I find intriguing. She may not see her strength, but I do. I recognized it when she stepped into my house, when she offered her hand to me. Even though she ran away, she showed up, first. That’s some kind of bravery.
Hell, she showed up in Stowaway. A strange town where she’s completely on her own. No matter what terror she was fleeing, it takes a strong-ass person to do what she did.
“You didn’t do anything to cause my panic attack last night,” she finally says. “I always loved to bake for other people. I couldn’t eat sweets myself, and baking them, in a weird way, took the cravings away for me. In the beginning, I made them for him regularly. Then, one day, he offered one to me. I declined, like I always did when someone offered me a sweet. He kept on it. On me.It’s just one cookie, Louisa.”
Louisa. She didn’t mean to say it.
Worry forms between her brows.
