first they’re hypnotic, but as their speed
increases, so to does my anxiety level, as if I can’t trust myself.
Rain pours from the sky in sheets by the time we pull into
my parking lot. Boston parks in a space saying, “We should wait a couple
minutes. Maybe it’ll let up.”
Now I’m the skeptical one and I don’t want to wait. “Can you
turn off the wipers?” He does and my anxiety level drops, until he turns off
the car and there’s nothing but the drumming of relentless rain. My elbow rests
on the passenger door armrest. I push on my hand, popping my wrist. The sound
would have been explosive in the void where the engine noise used to be but for
the rain pounding on the roof.
“Cold?” He turns on the key, without starting the car and
hits the button for my seat warmer. Heat seeps into me almost immediately. It’s
soothing and scary at the same time like I’m melting, losing my willpower.
“Why not you Sterling?”
I’m massaging my wrist once again, and the question takes me
by surprise. “I thought the two of you would make a good couple. You’re
comfortable in her world,” I respond, not really answering the question.
“What about your world?” he presses.
“I’m not in the market right now.”
“You have a boyfriend?” He rests his wrist on the top of the
steering wheel, his face turned away from me as he looks out the driver’s side
window.
He’s giving me just the excuse I need, the very same excuse
I’d thought about earlier, but I can hear disappointment in his voice and a
sliver of hope that maybe he’s wrong. I can’t lie, so I ignore the premise. “I’m
not in the market right now.”
“You’ve been hurt?”
“I’ve learned that all things being equal I always pick the
wrong man.”
“So you won’t pick me?”
“I’d pick you. That’s the problem.”
“You know Sterling,” he turns toward me, the leather of his
jacket creaking against the leather upholstery. “We’re all broken and still, we
pretend we’re not.”
“You don’t even know me. You can’t imagine,” I snap. Boston’s
presence fills the car, a danger to my equilibrium. He smells of leather and
citrus and something warm, as if warmth is a scent. The car closes in around
me, I have to get out. I can’t stay.
Pushing open the door, I hop out, dashing across the parking
lot to my apartment. I don’t have my keys handy and water pours into my purse
as I rummage.
My building is a two-story. It looks like an old motel, but
without the pool in the parking lot. You’d think a roof or awning above would
block the rain, but the original porch-style roof is gone and the upper walkway
has been rebuilt like a deck. Rain pours off the roof onto the walkway above
before running between the boards and dousing me with of water. Tonight it
comes through the decking above in sheets. I find my keys and unlock the door
just as Boston arrives behind me.
“It’s like taking a shower in a waterfall,” he says,
apparently not at all bothered by the icy water sluicing over his head.
I open the door and Boston pushes in behind me, our bodies
almost touching until he stops to close the door.
The rain has reset my emotions like a glass of water to the
face might wake someone who’s sleeping or startle a screaming woman, enough to
make her stop. “Whew.” I run my sleeve over my face, trying to move the water
from my eyes. I drop my purse, turning to look at Boston. He’s dripping water
all over my floor. I guess I’m dripping too. “I’ll get you a towel.”
Ducking into the alcove between the bath and bedroom, I grab
a towel and toss it in his direction before closing the door to dry myself. In
the privacy of the bath, I wonder what he thinks about my shabby apartment with
the old gold carpeting, cracked vinyl floor and efficiency kitchen that has
seen better days.
I strip off my drenched shirt, the thin material nearly
transparent. “This won’t do,” I whisper to myself, pulling the tee
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