“It’s nothing. Trash. I’ll throw it away.” She stepped back, the note now balled up and held behind her back.
I winced at her roughness with the paper I’d spent days gently babying.
But then another thought struck me. I had assumed this was a bucket list. But Sophie looked so young, so vital. She should have a whole life ahead of her. I had to know if she was sick and if that’s what made her write it.
“Anyway. Can I interest you in some paints? Or perhaps a crochet kit?”
I ignored her attempt at distraction. “Is that your list?” I asked point-blank.
Very often on my early-morning runs, I’d come across bunnies munching on the grass that filled the town square.Like most prey, the second I rounded the corner toward them, the larger bunnies would sprint off in a flash to some secret hidey-hole. But the babies, I assume, because they recognized they weren’t fast enough yet, scrunched themselves flat to the earth as if it made them disappear. Their ears smoothed back along their tiny teacup-sized bodies, and their large black eyes watched my every movement. I’d try to reassure them as I passed, I even jogged a little out of my way to make sure they knew I was no danger. But they’d remain unconvinced, their heartbeat visible in their tiny shaking bodies.
That was how Sophie looked right now.
Of course, in EMT training, we learned all about the differenthumanresponses to danger, including the pretty solid example of freeze right in front of me. But what I couldn’t understand was where the danger was. I looked back and forth, wondering if some sort of fire had burst up behind me or maybe a masked man was tucked behind the counter.
“Sophie?” I asked softly.
Her mouth opened and closed, eyes wide, a pulse at her throat thrumming.
“Are you going to tell me about the list?”
“I would rather die,” she finally spoke. She smiled, but her words were darkly sincere.
My face must have shown my surprise. “Are you d-dying? Is that what this list is?”
Her eyes widened, and all the color returned in a flash, flushing her cheeks. “No. Oh God, no. Oh, is that why you are here? Did you track me down as some wellness check or something? That would make sense. You are an EMT, right? Like that’s part of your job training?” A tumble of words spilled out of her so unexpectedly, we both went still in the tense silence that followed.
“I was thinking cancer or some illness. But actually, now I am worried.” I stepped closer. “Are you a danger to yourself?”
It was such a firefighter way to ask the question; I could see the moment I stopped being a person and became the uniform.
Her hands covered her mouth, gaze averted. “No. I shouldn’t have joked about that,” she mumbled behind her fingers. “I don’t think mental health is a joke at all. I take it very seriously. I mean, probably nobody more so than me. It’s actually ironic if you think about the series of events that led to this exact moment.” She let a whoosh of breath out. “I literally never talk like that. I don’t know why I said that.” The muffled torrent was hardly discernible.
“Gallows humor.” I shrugged. “I’m a fireman. I get it. Sometimes, the joke is easier than processing.”
Wasn’t that a mouthful?
Her eyes finally flicked to mine, her dark brows pulled together, almost touching, reminding me again of that long-ago version of her. She nodded once as her arms fell to her sides. “It is my list. And I am not dying,” she said with finality. “Except from mortification,” she added, like she couldn’t help herself, and then rolled her eyes. “Seriously, I have to stop joking about this.”
Despite her nerves, I felt a rush of hopeful relief. This was her. I had to fight to keep my body still despite my excitement.
“I read it.” She didn’t need to know I had it memorized; I’d read it so much. “It’s why I came here. I wanted to bring it back to you.”
She shook her head as she studied the paper on the desk between us. Her long fingers traced down the side as she started to speak.
“Thank you. For tracking me down and returning it. How did you know it was mine?” She held up a hand. “I don’t want to know.”
I opened my mouth to explain that I’d come to help her knock off some of these items on her list when she surprised me with another torrent of words.
“You know what’s ridiculous? I spend ninety-nine percent of my life foreseeing scenarios, trying to predict every possible outcome of the multiverse like a clairvoyant in the hopes that when the worst happens, I’ll be ready. Won’t pull a fast one on me. No, siree. And then this happens, and never in my wildest nightmare would I have imagined it. And it’s like, what’s the point of this worthless superpower if it’s all going to end up so much worse anyway?”
“At least you’re not dead?” I asked, trying to bring back a little of that dark humor. She groaned a soft, small noise. “Is it reallythatbad?” I asked, confused by her reaction. And maybe a little hurt? I was an affable guy. How was I worse than her imagined worst-case scenario? I mean, yeesh. My ego wasn’t at risk of deflating any time soon, but it certainly took a hit.
“You wouldn’t understand,” she mumbled.
“Why’s that?”
Her arms fell out to her sides, palms up, defeated, pitiful. “Because you are Pace Leigh.” She emphasized my name like it was a curse. “Small children come up to you in stores when they’re lost. Grumpy old men crack a smile for you. Nuns question their vows. The world shifts and rebuilds itself to accommodate you.”
