Effortless With You (17 page)

“It seems like it. Everyone’s fine.” She looks up to the sky. “Thank you,” she whispers. Her eyes fall on the bloody t-shirt in my hands. “You, on the other hand, what happened?”

“It’s nothing.” She lifts her brow. I further explain, “I’m a painter and the ladder blew out from under me. I had to hold onto the roof.”

“My, brave girl.” She motions to the people still in the ditch. “You were the first up checking for injuries and here you are the injured one.” She turns to her car and kicks in the passenger side window. “Luckily for you, I’m always prepared.” She crawls down on the pavement and reaches into the glove box, pulling out a first aid kit. “Now, how about we get you out of the middle of the highway and fixed up?”

We return to the ditch where Justin still sits frozen, hands behind his head with his eyes closed. Maybe he actually is injured? My heart races as I rush to his side. I put my hand on his shoulder, “Are you okay?”

He reaches up and grabs my hand. Not letting go, he rises. He touches his forehead to the top of my head before pulling me into his bare chest. My heart leaps into my throat.

“Lucy,” he breathes. “I’m so sorry.”

Justin’s chest is warm and I feel safe in his arms. I want to stand with him like that forever. But I can’t. Justin is not mine to have. Only this morning he made that perfectly clear. I feel his heart thud. Millions of butterflies take flight. And that’s when I know I have to push away. I have to protect myself from this certain heartbreak.

I put my hand against his chest. I push back lightly as I step away, putting an appropriate distance between us. He steps back too but takes my injured hands in his.

The woman from the white car flashes her first aid kit to Justin. Justin nods, directing us toward his truck, holding both my hands along the way. The woman climbs in behind me, sitting in my spot while Justin goes around to the driver’s side while I perch on the center console. She unravels Justin’s t-shirt from my hands. “So,” she looks past me to Justin, “how’d this happen?”

“I told you,” I interject, “the roof.”

She smiles at me and pats the back of my hand. “I know dear. I just want to hear his side of the story. I’m interested in knowing how you ended up hanging off a roof’s edge.”

Justin takes a deep breath. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing since the moment I saw her dangling.”

“I see.” She unwraps my hands. “So, her ladder fell, you stopped painting and got stuck in a tornado?”

“That’s the basics of it,” I answer for Justin.

Justin shakes his head. “No. You’re forgetting why you were up there in the first place. I wanted to finish the house before taking cover. I put you at risk.”

“No,” I shook my head at the woman. “He didn’t. He was listening to the radio and the storm came on suddenly. He had no way of knowing the wind would knock down my ladder.”

Justin throws his hands back, pulling at his hair and shaking his head. “And then you know what happened? I was so worried about getting her down that I forgot to hold the base of the ladder that was used to get her from the roof.” He hits the steering wheel. “Of course it would blow to the ground!” The woman’s eyes grow wide and she starts looking at my whole body for injuries. “No, she’s fine. Someone caught her.” Justin explains.

The woman lifts up my hands, “You call this fine?”

“Of course not.” He places his hand on my shoulder as he leans over me, almost whispering to the woman. “And then,” Justin starts laughing in a crazy way, “I totally forgot her. I was so worried about getting everyone and all of our supplies to safety that I forgot her.” My stomach sinks with the words
forgot her
. Why am I so easy to forget?

Justin continues, “I told people to pack up and head home. Then another ladder hit the ground. I look back and realize she thought she had to drag her eighteen-foot ladder back to the truck on her own.”

“Hmm,” the woman begins. “That would explain these.” She points to the deep cuts on my right palm.

“The ladder slipped when it started to rain. It cut me.” I turn toward Justin. “It’s not your fault that I grabbed my own ladder. I wanted to. I’m always such a burden, a liability,” I add. “After falling in front of everyone, well, I—”

The woman lays her hand on my arm. “You wanted to prove yourself.”      

“Something like that. Yes.”

She pulls me into a hug. Her compassion surprises me. I usually avoid stranger hugs but, in that moment, a hug from someone attached to no emotional confusion is exactly what I needed. She releases me before laughing. “I was right. You are a brave girl.”

I laugh back. “Or severely crazy.”

“And apparently easy to underestimate,” she aims her comment at Justin. She opens her first aid kit. “I need to disinfect your wounds and abrasions.” She points to the dirt from the ditch that has managed to finagle its way in. “I’m not going to lie. This is going to burn.” I nod, watching her take out a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide. “Do you want me to count?”

“No, just do it.” I look away, waiting to feel the cool liquid burn my skin.

“See,” she says to Justin, “brave girl.”

I flinch as the cool moisture hits my skin. I cringe and close my eyes as the burning penetrates the cuts. The burning intensifies as the air bites at my palms. I suck in my lower lip. Justin’s hand squeezes my shoulder. I want to shake it away. This needs to stop. My heart aches.

A dry cloth pats my skin and the burning subsides. “There,” the woman says. She places a piece of gauze over each palm and bandages my fingers before wrapping each hand with an ace bandage. “This is a little bulky but it will do for now.” She smiles down at me, “You’ll need to stop in at the doctor to get some ointment and better bandaging. You may need stitches on the long cuts.” Sirens blare next to the truck as a police car pulls up. “I need to go report my wreck,” she says as she opens the door.

“Thank you,” I offer.

“No problem. I gladly serve the brave my dear.” She smiles at me. “And you,” she looks at Justin, “be more aware. She deserves it.”

“Of course,” Justin jumps out of the driver’s side and back into the rain, where he helps the woman out of the truck. I wave goodbye as I slide down onto the passenger seat. I examine my bandages. They look like very ugly oven mitts.

I greet Justin with a clumsy wave as he climbs back in.

“Lucy,” he begins.

I put my hand up for him to stop. I can’t let him tell me how he feels. I don’t need more of a reason to like him or dislike him, depending on the direction he takes. I rush through his apology for him. “I know. You’re sorry. Don’t beat yourself up about it.” I wave my clumsy hands again in his direction and smile. “I’ve got a new set of boxing gloves. I can do it for you.” He doesn’t crack a smile. “For real though. You’re forgiven. Don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks.”

“Remember, today was way better than yesterday.” I roll my eyes dramatically. Justin’s chuckle rewards me.

“Lucy, that’s not saying much. Nothing was worse for you than yesterday.”

“Nope. Not true.”

“Oh?”

“I was worse off the day before, remember? I just didn’t know it yet.” I smile at him, teasing him about our earlier conversation. He doesn’t respond so I try another approach. “So, can I ask you a question?”

 “You don’t need to ask permission.”

 “Good. Just checking.” I hold up my bandaged hands. “Can I have the day off tomorrow? Doubt I can paint like this.” Wiggling my fingers, I ignore the resulting pain.

Justin turns to me and laughs, “Sure, you can have two days off.”

 “For real?”

“Why not?” Justin looks over at me and flashes his mischievous smile. “Joke’s on you though.”

“Why?”

“Tomorrow’s Saturday.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

My parents freak out when I arrive home in bandages. I explain my story, eyeing Justin to leave out all of his guilty details. If I want to keep painting, I have to convince my parents that this was entirely my fault. They buy my story without question. Mom thanks Justin a million times before Dad insists we leave for the doctor. She invites Justin to come with. He declines, explaining he has already made dinner commitments.

But she won’t take no for an answer. “Please stay. You rescued our daughter again. She’s been too much trouble for you, Justin. Come with us to the doctor and we’ll take you out to dinner.”

Justin shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Zwindler, but I can’t. It sounds lovely but I have a dinner date with my girlfriend tonight.”

Jennifer. A perfect gut punch.

I hold my smile steady as my heart deflates.

 “Fine.” Mom laughs. “I see you can’t be persuaded.” She looks over at me and back at Justin. “You need to find Lucy a guy like you. After what that Zach boy did to her, she needs someone great.”

“Mom,” I interject. She holds out her hand to silence me.

“No, Lucy. Let me speak.” She turns back to Justin. “Good guys usually have good friends. Match her up, will you? After what she’s been through, she could use a good date.” Mom giggles as she leads Justin to the door. “Think about it. We welcome anyone you bring through this door.”

“Mom. You aren’t arranging a marriage. Let him leave.” I stand up, forcing a smile in Justin’s direction. “Have a nice date with Jennifer tonight,” I add, proving to him that I am satisfied with our friendship.

He waves goodbye before closing the door behind him. A large part of me protests at his absence. But that part can wait. My blood churns and I swing around, glaring at Mom. “Was that really necessary?” I snap.

“What, honey?”

“You know what. Here I am your bleeding, injured daughter, sitting in your living room. And, what do you do? Try to get me a date!” I stand up abruptly, crossing the room toward the stairway.

“Be careful,” Dad urges from the couch.

“No! Shouldn’t she have the decency to know what is appropriate?” I turn back to Mom. “Are you determined to humiliate me every chance you get?”

Mom steps in front of me, blocking my exit. “Lucy, be reasonable. I was only opening a door—”

“To what, Mom? Another humiliating saga of my life? Give me a break! I was cheated on yesterday. Trust me, that wound is fresh enough without you pouring alcohol in it.” I push past her and walk up the stairs. “If you don’t care about me enough to notice those wounds, then I can’t expect you to really care about these.” I wave my clunky bandaged hands.

We glare at one another. My labored breathing is the only sound in the room. I refuse to move my eyes from hers. I'm not backing down. Dad moves toward Mom and grabs her hand. She shakes it away before storming out of the room, slamming the kitchen door behind her.

“Lucy, you need to see a doctor,” Dad insists.

“Not with her.”

Dad shakes his head, always refusing to choose sides. He pulls his keys and wallet from his pocket, holding them out to me. “Then go on your own. But at least go.”

“Fine.” I snatch the keys out of his hands. I glare back at the kitchen door. “Why, Dad? Why did she have to do that?”

“She cares about you,” he offers.

“Well, she has a wicked way of showing it.” I walk past him. He snatches my arm pulling me around to face him.

“Listen. I know you don’t get along with your mother right now but you don’t have to go out of your way to intentionally hurt her. We didn’t raise you that way.”

 “Sure, Dad. Whatever. I’ll stop intentionally hurting her when she stops doing the same to me.”

“You know she isn’t being intentional.” He takes a deep breath, “Your mother’s off the mark sometimes, you know?”

“Right. That’s the nice way to put it, Dad. She’s a lunatic. I’ve never known her another way.” A gasp comes from behind the kitchen door. I don’t care.

I try to wiggle my arm loose from Dad’s grip. He tightens it. “Get out of here, Lucy. And don’t come back until your head is on straight. Try having a real conversation with your mother and I sometime. Without the snark.” He shakes his head, disappointed. “I’m serious. Don’t walk back in this house without compassion for your family. You aren’t welcome here if you can’t learn forgiveness and understanding.”

“But Dad, you know she’s being completely unreasonable. I mean … who does that?”

“That may be true. But let’s discuss it. Not yell at one another. We’re always open to a real conversation about our relationship with you.” He nods toward my hands, “Good luck at the doctor. I hope you’ll join us later.”

He flips off the light and swings open the kitchen door to find Mom. I stand alone in the dark with his car keys and wallet resting on my bandaged hands. I fumble with the door handle, holding back more tears. It seems like I'm always crying lately. At least it's an improvement over barfing.

 I turn the ignition in Dad’s car and peal out of the driveway. Why does Mom have to be so cruel? Does she really think a good boyfriend will solve everything? Just magically fix the betrayal I felt the day before? And pleading to Justin to get me a date. It's as if she was created to ruin me.