What do you think this is?-- final jeopardy? If I live through this, we are going to have such a long talk…. Think, Travis. What are you feeling? What are you feeling right now? Put it into words, and that’s it.”
I was feeling a lot of things just then, including scared out of my wits, but I hardly thought she wanted me to start screaming like a terrified little girl. What I was feeling most, though, was betrayal, though I couldn’t explain exactly why at the moment, and so I said, “I trusted you.”
When she heard it, I saw a glint in her eyes. They focused on me again. She shifted her weight, then, away from the edge. Her sudden movement, along with me pulling her arm, caused her to bump into me. She hesitated there, and rested her head on my shoulder for a couple seconds, long enough for me to smell the sweet scent of her shampoo. “Bravo,” she whispered in my ear. “My hero.” Finally she pulled away and started to walk toward the car.
When I followed her, my legs felt weak and rubbery. For a moment, I thought I might vomit. By the time I climbed into the car, she had already pulled on her seat belt and started the engine. I reached across and turned the key to shut off the engine.
She just sat there staring at the steering wheel.
“Eliza…” I started, but couldn’t figure out the right thing to say.
“You’ll probably want to know what that was all about,” she said, and for the first time since I’d met her, she seemed meek and uncertain.
“Yeah,” I said, and then asked, “You’re not having-- bad problems, are you?” My mouth was dry and my lips felt thick, and the words sounded slurred when they came out.
“No, no, not the way you must be thinking,” she promised. “I’m not some kind of whacko. Oh, please don’t think that--I’d never want you to think of me that way. It’s just that,” she said, hedging, “some complications have come up. As if my life is not complicated enough, already,” she snorted.
“Why, what happened?”
“Ah, my father’s talking about moving, again,” she said. “I’m so tired of moving-- you have no idea. With Doc and me, it’s never just moving; it’s running away. Either so much time passes, and then it’s time to run away. Or something happens, and then it’s time to run away. But it’s always running. I hate running.” She didn’t say anything for a long time, and just sat there looking at nothing as if she were trying to figure out the answer to a complex math problem. My eyes drifted to the floor of the car, where her foot rested near the gas pedal. She was wearing beat-up white deck shoes and no socks, and for the first time I noticed, there was a gold chain around her bony ankle. The chain had little charms on it-- teddy bears and hearts-- and I wondered whether her father had bought it for her. Was that even the kind of thing a father buys his daughter?-- I wasn’t sure. “What I did back there,” she was now saying. “I did it because I needed to know I can trust you.”
“Well, sure you can--” I started to say.
“No, no, no,” she said, stubborn. “You don’t understand. It’s more important than that-- much more. Your saying it isn’t good enough.”
“I don’t understand.”
“How could you?” she said, and then assured, “You will, though-- I hope.” She paused, and bit her lower lip thoughtfully. Her eyes started to sparkle with amusement. She wagged her head, then, and managed a weak laugh. “I just don’t believe it. I have to ask you this. What kind of person goes to somebody’s house and counts the tiles on the floor?”
“Hunh?” was about all I could say, I was so stunned. How could she have
I was feeling a lot of things just then, including scared out of my wits, but I hardly thought she wanted me to start screaming like a terrified little girl. What I was feeling most, though, was betrayal, though I couldn’t explain exactly why at the moment, and so I said, “I trusted you.”
When she heard it, I saw a glint in her eyes. They focused on me again. She shifted her weight, then, away from the edge. Her sudden movement, along with me pulling her arm, caused her to bump into me. She hesitated there, and rested her head on my shoulder for a couple seconds, long enough for me to smell the sweet scent of her shampoo. “Bravo,” she whispered in my ear. “My hero.” Finally she pulled away and started to walk toward the car.
When I followed her, my legs felt weak and rubbery. For a moment, I thought I might vomit. By the time I climbed into the car, she had already pulled on her seat belt and started the engine. I reached across and turned the key to shut off the engine.
She just sat there staring at the steering wheel.
“Eliza…” I started, but couldn’t figure out the right thing to say.
“You’ll probably want to know what that was all about,” she said, and for the first time since I’d met her, she seemed meek and uncertain.
“Yeah,” I said, and then asked, “You’re not having-- bad problems, are you?” My mouth was dry and my lips felt thick, and the words sounded slurred when they came out.
“No, no, not the way you must be thinking,” she promised. “I’m not some kind of whacko. Oh, please don’t think that--I’d never want you to think of me that way. It’s just that,” she said, hedging, “some complications have come up. As if my life is not complicated enough, already,” she snorted.
“Why, what happened?”
“Ah, my father’s talking about moving, again,” she said. “I’m so tired of moving-- you have no idea. With Doc and me, it’s never just moving; it’s running away. Either so much time passes, and then it’s time to run away. Or something happens, and then it’s time to run away. But it’s always running. I hate running.” She didn’t say anything for a long time, and just sat there looking at nothing as if she were trying to figure out the answer to a complex math problem. My eyes drifted to the floor of the car, where her foot rested near the gas pedal. She was wearing beat-up white deck shoes and no socks, and for the first time I noticed, there was a gold chain around her bony ankle. The chain had little charms on it-- teddy bears and hearts-- and I wondered whether her father had bought it for her. Was that even the kind of thing a father buys his daughter?-- I wasn’t sure. “What I did back there,” she was now saying. “I did it because I needed to know I can trust you.”
“Well, sure you can--” I started to say.
“No, no, no,” she said, stubborn. “You don’t understand. It’s more important than that-- much more. Your saying it isn’t good enough.”
“I don’t understand.”
“How could you?” she said, and then assured, “You will, though-- I hope.” She paused, and bit her lower lip thoughtfully. Her eyes started to sparkle with amusement. She wagged her head, then, and managed a weak laugh. “I just don’t believe it. I have to ask you this. What kind of person goes to somebody’s house and counts the tiles on the floor?”
“Hunh?” was about all I could say, I was so stunned. How could she have
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