The Truth About Forever(23)
Bert shot her a look, annoyed, but she smiled at him, squeezing his arm as she started over to the Bertmobile. Monica stood up and followed her, and they went around to the back, pulling open the rear doors.
"Have a fun night," Delia called after them. "Don't drive too fast, Bert, you hear?"
This was greeted with uproarious laughter from everyone but Wes—who looked like he would have laughed but was trying not to—and Bert, who just ignored it as he walked over to the driver's side door.
"Wes," Delia called out, "can you come here for a sec?"
Wes started over toward her, but I was in the way, and we did that weird thing where both of us went to one side, then the other, in tandem. During this awkward dance I noticed he was even better looking up close than from a distance—with those dark eyes, long lashes, hair curling just over his collar, his jeans low on his hips—and he had a tattoo on his arm, something Celtic-looking that poked out from under the sleeve of his T-shirt.
Finally I stopped moving, and he was able to get past me. "Sorry about that," he said, smiling, and I felt myself flush for some reason as I watched him disappear around the side of the van.
"Where are we supposed to sit?" I could hear Kristy asking from the back of the Bertmobile. "Oh, Jesus, is that a gurney?"
"No," Bert said. "It's where the gurney used to be. That's just a cot I put in until I find something more comfortable."
"A cot?" Kristy said. "Bert, you're entirely too confident about this car's potential. Really."
"Just get in, will you?" Bert snapped. "My birthday is ticking away. Ticking!"
Wes was walking back to the Bertmobile as I dug out my keys and started toward my car, passing the van on my way.
"Have a good night," he said to me, and I nodded, my tongue fumbling for a response, but once I realized that saying the same thing back would have been fine—God, what was wrong with me?—it was too late, and he was already getting into the Bertmobile.
As I passed the van, Delia was in the driver's seat fastening her seat belt. "You did great, Macy," she said. "Just great."
"Thanks."
She grabbed a pen off the dashboard, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled napkin. "Here," she said, writing something on it, "this is my number. Give me a call on Monday and I'll let you know when I can use you next. Okay?"
"Okay," I said, taking the napkin and folding it. "Thanks again. I had a really good time."
"Yeah?" She smiled at me, surprised. "I'm glad. Drive safe, you hear?"
I nodded, and she cranked the engine, then pulled away from the curb, beeping the horn as she turned the corner.
I'd just unlocked my door when the Bertmobile pulled up beside me. Kristy was leaning forward from the backseat, hand on the radio: I could hear the dial moving across stations, from static to pop songs to some thumping techno bass beat. She looked across Wes, who was digging in the glove compartment, right at me.
"Hey," she said, "you want to come out with us?"
"Oh, no," I said. "I really have to go—"
Kristy twisted the dial again, and the beginning of a pop song blasted out, someone shrieking "Baaaaby!" at full melodic throttle. Bert and Wes both winced.
"—home," I finished.
Kristy turned down the volume, but not much. "Are you sure?" she said. "I mean, do you really want to pass this up? How often do you get to ride in an ambulance?"
One time too many, I thought.
"It's a refurbished ambulance," Bert grumbled.
"Whatever," Kristy said. To me she added, "Come on, live a little."
"No, I'd better go," I said. "But thanks."
Kristy shrugged. "Okay," she told me. "Next time, though, okay?"
"Right," I said. "Sure."
I stood there and watched them, noting how carefully Bert turned around in the opposite driveway, the way Wes lifted one hand to wave as they pulled away. Maybe in another life, I might have been able to take a chance, to jump into the back of an ambulance and not remember the time I'd done it before. But risk hadn't been working out for me lately; I needed only to go home and see my computer screen to know that. So I did what I always did these days, the right thing. But before I did, I glanced in my side mirror, catching one last look at the Bertmobile as it turned a far corner. Then, once they were gone, I started my engine and headed home.
* * *
Chapter Five
Dear Jason,
I received your email, and I have to say I was surprised to learn that you felt I'd been
Dear Jason,
I received your email, and I can't help but feel that maybe you should have let me know if you felt our relationship was
Dear Jason,
I received your email, and I can't believe you'd do this to me when all I did was say I love you, which is something most people who've been together can
No, no, I thought, and definitely, no.
It was Monday morning, and even with two full days to craft a response to Jason's email, I had nothing. The main problem was that what he'd written to me was so cold, so lacking in emotion, that each time I started to reply, I tried to use the same tone. But I couldn't. No matter how carefully I worked at it, by the time I finished all I could see was the raw sadness in the lines as I scanned them, all my failings and flaws cropping up in the spaces between the words. So finally, I decided that the best response—the safest—was none at all. Since I hadn't heard from him, I assumed he'd accepted my silence as agreement. It was probably just what he wanted anyway.