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Freckles
GRADY HAD DRIVEN me out of downtown San Diego up into the mountains that overlooked the Pacific Ocean. All around me were drought-resistant trees and dandelions. It was rustic and breathtaking. Peaceful. It was a perfect summer day and the skies were clear, the sun warm on my bare shoulders, the light breeze sweeping up my loose strands of blonde hair that had fallen out of my knot.
The house was more like a quaint cabin and it lent itself perfectly to the setting. The exterior was rich, purposely-weathered cherry wood beams with a simple architectural design that was reminiscent of a Cape Cod-style, and lots of windows.
I looked back at the little white Dodge parked in the driveway and watched as Grady pulled out several shopping bags from the back seat. I blushed when the sun glistened on his biceps as he slung the bags around his forearms. He towered over me by several inches, had sandy blond, tousled hair, and cobalt blue eyes. While we were in the car, I would catch a scent of seawater every so often, which made me wonder if he was a surfer.
As he carried the bags up the driveway, I couldn't help but feel like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. He had literally picked up a stray, fed it, bought it clothes, and was now opening his home to it.
He smiled hesitantly as he neared my side. "Will this be okay for you?"
I scoffed. No, literally, I laughed out loud. Was he kidding? His eyebrows scrunched as he stared at me oddly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…what I meant…ugh. I don't know what I meant." I sighed loudly.
He dropped the bags onto the ground and reached out to touch me. I flinched and immediately felt worse, because he recoiled.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to overstep my boundaries," he said.
"No, no. I'm sorry. I'm just…well, I'm a mess. I don't know why I reacted that way. That was weird and rude and…" I grabbed a chunk of my blonde locks and started to twist them rapidly around my finger. I was so nervous.
"Don't be sorry. Please, you've been through a lot, and given the circumstances, you should be apprehensive." He gathered the pile of bags. "Let me get you settled, and then I'll go. I'm sure you have a lot to sort out."
Did I? Did I have a lot to sort out? I had runny hospital eggs and yogurt for breakfast, but aside from that I couldn't remember anything before I woke up in the hospital last week. Nothing. I was a blank slate. Grady was already stepping into the house, so I quickly hopped up the porch steps to join him, holding on to the railing because I was still a little wobbly on my feet.
I was awestruck by the view again. The back of the house was wall-to-wall windows, and I was met with a beautiful blue sky meeting the ocean in the distance.
"Beautiful, huh?"
Grady had put the bags down onto the floor and was watching me, making me feel suddenly self-conscience.
"Uh, yeah, I've never seen anything like it. At least, I don't think I have.” I pointed to my broken head. “Maybe I have…" Just stop talking. The frustration had been building slowly since I woke from the coma. It was like a silent killer, creeping slowly through my mind, and I felt it getting stronger each day. I just wanted to make it through this moment. I wanted to be alone when the breakdown hit me.
He started to put the groceries inside the fridge. "So, if you need anything, just call me."
He was evading the awkwardness, which was either really sweet or a sign he was regretting taking in the crazy stray.
"Okay," I answered, pulling a piece of paper out of my jeans pocket with his name on it. He had nice handwriting. It was neat and in block lettering. Did I have nice writing?
I waved the paper to show him I had it.
He finished putting food into the pantry and then turned to me. "It's not much, but when you think of things you want…" He trailed off. He stopped talking, making the situation more uncomfortable.
"It's fine. I'm fine. This was really generous of you. I'll call if I need anything." I was feeling anxious to be alone. My stomach was tightening, and my heart was pounding.
Please, just go.
He brushed past me, careful not to touch me, and stopped at the front door. "What should I call you?"
It was such a simple question. One people answered daily. Hi, I'm so and so. What's your name? And then you answered to be polite. Only, I didn't know my name, so I couldn't. I couldn't reply politely.
"I…I don't know," I mumbled softly and apologetically.
He took a step toward me, a gesture to show comfort, but then stopped. My flinch earlier had left its mark.
"It's okay. I'll just call you Freckles." He winked.
I smiled weakly. "Really? Freckles? Is that the best you could come up with on the fly?" I teased.
"Yes, and because your light dusting of freckles is very endearing."
