The Queen of Bright and Shiny Things(47)

He nods at this. “Plus it’s a long walk home.”

If I could think of a way for Aunt Gabby to drive him that wouldn’t end in a bunch of awkward questions, I’d ask her. “Come on. The weather won’t be warm enough for us to do this much longer.”





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Once we’re walking down the drive, I ask, “How was work?” With so many people around, lunch didn’t give us much chance to talk, and I’m wondering how he did at the P&K.

“It sucked about as much as I expected. I opened boxes. Priced and put cans on shelves. Twice, I mopped up stuff that other people broke.”

“But you can deal?”

Shane nods. “I’m looking forward to my first paycheck.”

There are a lot of questions I want to ask him, like if he misses his dad and whether he likes living alone, but it seems too soon to poke around in his head that way. I’m full of blazing curiosity about how he dealt with something so big by himself. My control slips, and I think of my mother. I start to shake. Somehow, I lock it down before it turns into anything worse. I imagine melting down in front of Shane and my cheeks fire up.

He seems to think the tremors mean I’m cold, though it’s in the sixties today, unseasonably warm for this late in the fall. Not that I mind. Life gets downright uncomfortable in the winter. Because he’s sweet, Shane takes off his jacket and drapes it around my shoulders. I’ve seen this move a hundred times in romantic movies and, until this moment, I always rolled my eyes. But now I’ve got his warmth wrapped around me, his smell enveloping me, and this is pretty close to the best thing ever.

“Better?” he asks.

“Yeah, but you’ll be cold now.”

“It’s worth it if I am.”

This is me, melting like butter on the sidewalk. Somehow I keep my knees from turning to total jelly. I’m not sure what we talk about the rest of the way, only that Shane is murmuring and I’m nodding at whatever he’s saying. It’s wrong to zone out, but I can’t help it. His coat feels and smells so good. I wonder how he’d respond if I don’t give it back.

Knowing Shane, he’d be nice about it, even though he doesn’t have anything to spare. We have that in common. I can’t relate to people who get whatever they want, just by asking. Aunt Gabby would do more if she could, but our budget doesn’t allow for it. She pays the mortgage, utilities, and buys our food; she says it helps that we don’t eat meat. Anything extra, like my clothes, comes out of my paycheck. I’m trying to save for college, now that I’ve bought a laptop, but it’s tough sometimes.

Shane’s scuffing his feet on the leaves littering the sidewalk; sometimes they crunch and sometimes they quietly dissolve. “It’s hard to believe things can be this way. Like nothing happened.”

“I don’t know how you coped.”

“Mike helped. He was a friend, someone she met in group.” At my blank look, he explains, “She was in a support group for cancer survivors. Mike beat the odds. My mom didn’t.”

“He went into remission and it didn’t come back?”

“I think it’s been seven years. And at the end, I was just so mad. Mike has no close family. No people. No reason to stick around, you know? But my mom, she had me. So why her and not Mike?”

“Did you say that to him?” I ask softly.

“Shit, I screamed it at him, afterward. He tried so hard to help me, and I pissed all over it.” He pauses, gazing down at me, looking torn. “My mom had papers drawn up, appointing him as my legal guardian. She was trying to look out for me, even at the end. If I hadn’t been such an *, Mike would’ve been there for me, just like he was for her.”

“He sounds like a good guy.”

“Yeah. He helped me with all of it, picking up prescriptions, the special diet, and he relieved me sometimes, near the end. He even helped me take care of the funeral arrangements.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t blame you, Shane.”

“I keep thinking how disappointed my mom would be. But back then, I just kept thinking, There’s no reason for anything anymore. Screw it all.”

Touching his arm, I say, “I bet she’d understand. It was a lot to deal with.”

“Wow. I didn’t mean to unload so much at once.” He appears shaken.

“I don’t mind. I’m glad you can talk to me.” To be honest, I want to hug him hard and refuse to let go, but then we’d never get to the Coffee Shop.

“You’re a good listener. You make it easy.”

“Thanks.” That might be the best compliment I’ve ever received, especially coming from a guy who says he never opens up to people. Shane makes me feel like I’m special, if only to him. We keep walking. His hand wraps around mine, warm and sure.

“Here we are,” Shane says, shoving the door open.

The bell jangles as we step inside. There are, like, twenty middle-aged women in here, sitting in threes and fours. I’m guessing they wanted to get away from people after church. It’s cozy in the Coffee Shop, padded furnishings in complementary colors; I love how they’ve mixed patterns for an inviting impression. There’s a line and only a couple of chairs vacant.

I offer, “I can get our drinks if you’ll grab those—”