Shine - Lauren Myracle [60]
It’s all right, the mama would say. Shhh, now. Quit your crying. We all mess up. It’s what we learn from our mistakes that matters.
But Jason wasn’t three. And I wasn’t his mama.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, and this time he took those words and owned them. “I was a complete tool.”
We sat with it. Or I sat with it, and he let me, until at last I said, “Well, I’m sorry, too. For embarrassing you in front of all those library people.”
He exhaled through his nose. “Hell, I deserved it. But, man. When you get fierce, you get fierce, don’t you?”
No comment, I thought. I liked the way he saw me, though. I tried it on . . . and it actually kind of fit. I was fierce, or getting there. I sat up a little straighter.
“Did you find anything when you were doing your research?”
He pushed his fingers through his hair. “No. It had been a week. A week, and Patrick was still unconscious, and the sheriff’s department didn’t have a clue who worked him over.”
“They still don’t,” I said.
He nodded. “That day at the library . . . I don’t know,” he said. “I figured it was a good ol’ boy from the hills who hurt Patrick. Some ignorant redneck filled to the brim with ‘Jesus Saves’ and ‘Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.’ I guess I wanted to punish someone.”
“So you saw me, and what? Thought you’d punish me for being an ignorant redneck?”
He hitched one shoulder. “You were kind of crawling up my butt.”
“I was not,” I said, making an ew face. “Anyway, you’re more country than I am. You just don’t look it.”
“Whatever.”
“How’d you peg me as being country?”
It wasn’t like I’d worn overalls or anything. It couldn’t have been my accent, either, because I was just sitting at the computer, minding my own business. Plus, I didn’t talk like most folks in Black Creek did. I made a point of it.
He muttered something unintelligible.
“Come again?” I said.
His whole face was red, along with his neck. “Patrick pointed you out once. You wouldn’t remember.”
I didn’t remember. He was right about that.
“Did he introduce us?” I asked.
Jason shook his head.
“Then how do you know it was me?”
“You’re right, maybe it wasn’t,” he said, giving in too easily.
“Oka-a-a-y, then why’d you say it was?”
He sighed.
I waited.
“It was this past winter,” he finally said. “We had half a foot of snow dumped on us the night before, but the next day, the sun came out. You were taking a walk.”
My skin tingled. I had no recollection of seeing Jason, but I did remember that particular day. I remembered the glint of the fresh snow, so bright it hurt to look at. I remembered how amazing the sun felt after months of being cold.
“It was the first warm day of the year,” I said.
Jason nodded.
“Patrick honked,” I said slowly. “He was in his car. He drove past me.”
“There was a film festival in Asheville,” Jason said. “My car wouldn’t start, so he picked me up, and afterward we drove back to Black Creek. Patrick saw you and pointed you out. He wanted to stop the car and offer you a ride. I told him no.”
“Gee, what a gentleman,” I said. My mind was somewhere else, though. I was surprised Patrick would have pointed me out to a friend after three years of getting little more from me than quick nods of acknowledgment.
“I didn’t want to bother you,” Jason said. “You were in your own world. You looked . . .”
I tilted my head.
“Happy,” he said. “And then Patrick honked, and you jumped, and your expression changed.”
“Ohhh,” I said, the details falling into place. I’d been daydreaming about the book I was in the middle of, and when Patrick honked, it did startle me. There was a time when I would have recovered with a laugh, but that was the old me. The pre-Tommy me. The girl Patrick honked at was someone else entirely.
And yet . . . was it possible that the real me still existed, buried beneath snowdrifts of hurt?
Jason and I talked for a long time. I finally told him my name, which I’d managed not to up until then, and he said it suited me.
I asked him why, and