At Last (The Idle Point, Maine Stories)(74)

"Oh damn," she muttered, sitting back on the curb, lost inside the mud-splattered folds of her Trappist monk jacket and more memories than she could cope handle even on a good day. "Damn damn damn."

She rested her forehead on her knees and let the tears fall too. Of all the stupid ridiculous idiotic things to do, this one took the cake. She wasn't even in town one day and already her entire world had been tilted on its ear and she'd made a fool of herself besides. Now what was she supposed to do, stuck there with a bad ankle, no car, and almost two miles away from home in a town that didn't believe in public transportation of any kind for anyone over the age of puberty. She'd noticed a few school buses making their wet way down the street toward Idle Point Elementary. Maybe Celeste was still driving and she could beg a ride. At least her future stepmother was a nurse—

The thought was so absurd that she started laughing. Her father was about to marry the girl who'd sat behind his daughter in high school. The only man she'd ever loved had a snotty little brat who kicked when she wasn't busy spewing insults at strangers. And Gracie was sitting on her butt in the middle of the street in the middle of a budding nor'easter with a sprained ankle and a bruised ego and the realization that maybe you really couldn't go home again, no matter how much you wished you could.

She jumped at the touch of a hand on her shoulder. "I'm fine, I'm fine," she said to whoever was looming over her. "Just let me catch my breath and—"

"You're not fine," Noah said and she wished fervently for a swift death, free from pain and any more humiliation. "You wouldn't be sitting there in the middle of the street if you were fine."

"Go take care of your daughter," she snapped, unable to pretend anything but a strong desire to stay as far away from him as possible. "I'm fine."

He crouched down next to her, so close she caught the smell of shampoo in his hair. He went to touch her ankle and she yelped. "Is it broken?"

"Keep your hands to yourself," she said. "It's not broken. This happens all the time."

"You yelped like it's broken."

"I didn't yelp."

"Yeah, you did. All I did was—"

She yelped again. "Do you get some kind of sadistic kick out of hurting me? I have a weak ankle, okay? It's none of your business."

The change in him was immediate. She could feel the difference along her nerve endings and she wished she could pull back her words.

"Listen," she said, "you really don't—"

"I never hurt you, Gracie. Not now. Not then."

She wanted to look away but couldn't. After all these years, she owed him at least that much. The expression in his eyes was etched with a sorrow so deep it threatened to engulf them both. She had only seen an expression like that one other place in her life: her own mirror. "I know that," she whispered.

"Your ankle's swelling," he said, the mask back in place. He was a stranger to her. The boy she had loved had been replaced by the man who stood before her. "You'd better get it looked at."

"There are no breaks," she said. "All I need is some elevation and compression. It'll be okay."

"You sound like a doctor."

"I am a doctor," she said. "A vet."

"You did it."

"I did it." She couldn't keep the note of intense pride from her voice. I did it, Noah, I actually did it.

"Where do you practice?"

"Manhattan," she said, carefully avoiding any mention of her suspension.

"So you got what you wanted after all."

"Don't you have a wife and daughter to take care of?" She didn't want him to know that his words had found their mark.

"Daughter," he said, maintaining that intense eye contact. "No wife."

No wife... no wife... She had to remind herself that it didn't matter and never could. "Your daughter—"

"Sophie."

"Sophie was drenched. You don't want her to catch cold." Are you divorced, Noah? A widower? Does Sophie look like her mother? Does her mother still have a part of your heart?

"You're a doctor. You should know you catch cold from germs, not the weather."

"I remain unconvinced."

"I left Futtrello in charge. He has six kids. He'll know what to do."