Tumble (Dogwood Lane, #1)(51)

“May I ask what happened to her?”

“Car accident. Christmas Eve,” he says. “She swerved to miss a deer, we think, and hit a tree.” His face falls. “She shouldn’t have been out driving that night. It’s a burden I’ll live with forever.”

I cross the room and place a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. That’s terrible. But you can’t blame yourself for a decision she made, Mr. Rambis.”

He looks at me with a set of deep-brown eyes. “You can call me Gary. If it’s easier for you. Or Mr. Rambis is fine if that works better.” He takes off his glasses and polishes them on the edge of his shirt. “I’ll be honest in saying I don’t know how to work this really well. I don’t have a lot of experience dealing with . . . things like this.”

“Me either,” I say. I watch him for a long moment before pulling out a chair across from him. “I think I’ll go with Gary. It seems less teacher-y.”

“May I ask what prompted the question about fear?”

“I’ve always known exactly what I want out of life. There was no question. I even have a little check-off box in my apartment in the city of things I want to achieve by the time I’m thirty, and believe it or not, I have most of them already done.”

“That’s great.”

“Yeah.” My voice trails off as I think of how to put the rest of this. “I guess I’m having a mini pre-midlife crisis.”

Gary laughs. “How so?”

“I’m just second-guessing some things. Is that normal?”

“Absolutely.” He nods. “I think we all have a few times in our lives where we sort of sit back and reevaluate what we’ve done, what we’re doing, and where we’re going. At least the intelligent people do.” He leans forward. “Think about it. If you continue on the same path your whole life without thinking, just plod through the day-to-day activities because it’s on the schedule, do you even want to be where you end up?”

“See? That’s my problem,” I tell him. “I know where I want to be. That hasn’t changed. But maybe now . . . maybe now . . .” I blow out a breath and look at him. The understanding in his eyes, devoid of judgment, almost brings tears to my eyes.

“You don’t have to explain anything else. I get it. Just know one thing. There is more than one way to cook an egg, if you know what I’m saying.”

He hasn’t said anything, really, that fixes any of the anxiety in my gut. Still, I can’t help but feel a little more settled.

I stand. “Thanks, Gary. I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me.”

“Anytime.”

With a lump in my throat, I head to the bathroom and jump in the shower. The warm water usually releases tension in my muscles, and I work through a lot of things mentally while standing under showerheads. I try to focus on the interview, on the questions he might ask and the responses I should give, but my brain keeps going back to Dane and Mia.

I massage shampoo and conditioner into my hair. Working the suds around, I splash some on the back of my neck and rub the knot that’s forming at the base of my skull.

I don’t have time for this. I have an interview to focus on so I can get back to my life.

Still, even as I remind myself of this, I think of Dane’s smile. My back hits the shower wall.

Might as well get used to it. That’s all he has been and all he’s going to be—a memory.

The water turns off with a quick yank of the handle. I step inside the foggy bathroom and dry off.

Lifting the jeans I brought into the room, I wonder why in the world I chose them.

Because that was twenty minutes ago. You were full of hope back then.

The fabric roughs across my skin as I make quick work of dressing. Going full speed keeps me occupied, and when my mind starts to wander, I pull it back to the next task.

Leave the bathroom.

Wave goodbye to Gary.

Go into my room.

Make sure the phone is charged.

Brush my hair and add some straightening balm. Brush it again.

Open the computer and do a quick scan of the Archon Sports website.

By the time the phone rings, my nerves are a little more even-keeled. I answer it. “Hello?”

“Is this Ms. Kimber?”

I settle into my desk chair. “It is. Is this Mr. Snow?”

“How are you today?”

My breathing evens out, and I fall right back into the role of professional and try to get myself back on track.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

NEELY

Do you think you got the job?” Grace asks. “I need you back here. I’ve learned over the past week that you are the only person I really like.”

A flock of birds take off as I pass their little perch on the top of the slide. The park is empty except for one child and their mother over on the swings.

“I think it went well. He said he’d get back to me soon, so we’ll see.”

“Let me know as soon as you know. A bunch of concert dates were just posted in Cooper Square, and tickets go on sale on Friday. I’ll grab us some if you’ll be back.”

“Sounds good.”

The sun filters through the old trees in the center of the park. I walk the circular drive that encompasses the play area. From my mom’s house to the park, around the drive, and back is one mile even. I’ve probably coursed this circle five times now, but my brain is too tired to compute how far that is.