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“Who?”
“Your date.”
“I don’t date.”
“Why?”
“Why do you insist on always talking?”
“Don’t answer my question with a question.”
He stretches his hand, and I follow his line of sight to his ring finger.
“When did you decide to stop wearing your wedding ring?”
Eyes blazing, nostrils flare, and I want to sew my mouth shut.
“I didn’t. I lost it.”
“Where?”
“Claire, if I knew that, don’t you think I would be wearing it?”
Okay then.
Studying his profile, I choose silence for a moment, allowing him time with whatever memories he’s lost in. His forearms are taut, and a heaviness settles in my stomach.
We haven’t been on our own together since the night of my concussion. When he comes to the shelter, we’re always with other people.
I think he reads my thoughts when he glances over at me, and my skin prickles under the heat of his stare. Eyes narrowed, confusion muddles his features before he blows out a breath and his focus returns to the road.
But the crackle of tension remains.
I open the window for air, feeling jittery as the leather under me squeaks from shifting so much.
“What was your wife like?” I keep my eyes on the passing trees because the words are out, and I immediately want to suck them back in.
There’s a disconnect between my brain and my mouth this morning.
But there’s something about him that makes me want to dig deeper, claw under his skin, and pull out his thoughts.
He doesn’t react as I expect. I hear the tapping of his fingers against the steering wheel, and then he begins. “She was infuriating, stubborn, and selfish, but she was beautiful, strong, and selfless.”
He’s contradicting himself.
I think, to him, it makes sense.
My chest tightens, and the pain in his voice makes my throat tighten.
“Was she sick?” I ask quietly, afraid I’ll burst the bubble he’s in.
“Cancer. We thought she was getting better, but it was her time. That’s what I tell myself. It’s easier than being angry at her.”
My head spins to look at him. “Why would you be angry at her?”
“Like I said,” he sighs, “my wife was both the most stubborn and the most selfless person I’ve ever met. She hid her diagnosis when she got pregnant with Jay-Jay. I can’t blame her for wanting to protect him because I know I’d easily give my life for him now, and I hate when I can’t help but blame her either. Last night was one of those nights,” he breathes.
That explains the hangover.
