Our Finest Hour (The Time #1)(77)

Isaac is right behind me.

Pumping soap into my hands, I ask, “What would calling you have accomplished?”

“Help,” he says slowly, enunciating every letter.

I scrub a particularly dark spot next to my thumb. “I didn’t need help.”

Why is this so hard for him to understand?

“Where were you? Camelback? Scottsdale?” His arms cross, and his chin lifts.

I eye him in the mirror. “Roughly. Why?”

“That’s a very busy area.”

I sigh, shutting off the water. “What’s your point?”

He grabs the towel off the rack and tosses it to me. “Do you think that, maybe, in a condensed, crowded area, you could have used some help changing your tire?”

“Honestly? No. I was fine doing it alone. If anything, I was grateful Claire wasn’t there to sit in the sun while I did it.”

Isaac squints and cocks his head to the side, like he’s trying to figure me out.

“You were fine on your own?”

“Yes.” I’m exasperated. It’s what I’ve been trying to tell him. Why call for help when you don’t need it?

Isaac shakes his head and shifts his weight. “Fine. I get it. You didn’t need help. You can do it on your own.”

He backs out of the bathroom. “I’m sure you want to get showered. My mom will be here soon.”

I watch him go, then undress and turn on the water.

The hot spray hits my skin, pushing the salty sweat off my body. My hands go through the motion of my shower routine, but my mind thinks only of Isaac.

I made him sad. His disappointed eyes stare at me in my memory.

Isaac the fixer wanted to make my bad situation better. But why would I let him when I could do it myself?





Why didn’t she call?

Why didn’t she ask for help?

Of all the things about Aubrey, this is what scares me the most. Her total self-reliance.

I don’t want to own her. I don’t want to control her.

But I do want her to need me.





I think I’m back in his good graces.

Or maybe, since his mom is here, he’s not letting on how mad he is at me.

“You look lovely.” Lucia smiles at me as her gaze continues down. She makes a face when she sees my hands.

Despite my best efforts, I haven't been able to clean all the grease from under my nails. I glance at Isaac, who’s sitting on the couch next to Claire. He locks eyes with me, then looks away.

Maybe I’m not back in those good graces quite yet.

“I wasn’t able to make my manicure appointment today.” I dig at my thumb nail, like somehow that will work when soap hasn’t.

Lucia laughs. “So instead you rubbed your hands on a tire?”

I laugh too, making it a point not to look at Isaac again. “Something like that.”

She takes my hands, studying them. “Do you have a dark red nail polish? I think you could just paint them yourself, and it would be much harder to see the grease.”

“Good idea.” I hold out my hand to Claire, still not looking at Isaac. I hate that I’ve upset him. It’s even more frustrating that I don’t understand how. “Come get dressed for bed, then Mommy and Daddy will leave.”

After Claire’s dressed, she watches me paint my nails. When she starts her electronic toothbrush, I head for the living room to find the shoes I dropped beside the couch earlier.

I’m still in the hallway when I hear Isaac and his mom. Their voices are soft. Eavesdropping is wrong, but I can’t help it.

“It’s not that, Mom.” Isaac says. “I’m proud she can change a tire. I really don’t know if I could. I’m sure I could figure it out, but...” He sighs. “She didn’t call me. She didn't even think to call me. Not for one second did she think she needed help.”

“Maybe she didn’t.” Lucia says. I detect a bit of pride in her voice. And it makes me proud to know I’ve made her proud.

“It’s not about that, either.” Isaac argues. “Her willingness to go it alone bothers me. She’s not alone anymore. I’m here. She has me. We’re…” His voice trails off.

“You’re what?” Lucia asks.

Yes, Isaac, what are we?

“Mommy, why are you standing there?” Claire says to my back. I jump and turn.

I’m about to shush her when I realize I’ve already been outed. I take Claire’s hand and walk out, my face red.

Isaac looks at me with narrowed eyes, but a smile tugs at one corner of his mouth.

Lucia’s lips press together like she wants to laugh.

“I was just coming to get my shoes.” I throw back my shoulders and retrieve them from the floor.

“Let me take your picture,” Lucia says after I’ve finished winding the last strap around my ankle. She takes her phone from her purse and points it at us.

“Say cheese!” Claire yells.

We smile while Lucia takes what feels like fifty pictures.

We’re facing each other, a pose Lucia has carefully placed us in. “So, you no longer believe pictures steal a piece of your soul?” I ask Isaac under my breath.

His face is just inches from mine when he whispers, “Something else has already stolen my soul.”