Blindness (20 page)

“Oooooooh, that’s pretty,” Sophie says,
leaning over the armrest, her elbow propped on my knee. I chuckle
to myself at how far Sophie’s come from the closed-off, terrified
girl that I met less than 30 minutes ago. God, what I wouldn’t give
to have half the personal growth she’s shown.

“Thanks,” I say, holding the ring between two
fingers for her to take. She looks at me with wide eyes, afraid at
first, but her fear wears away quickly, and soon she’s pushing the
ring down her tiny finger. It’s big enough for three of her
fingers, but she finds the right one and slides it down and holds
it up to her face.

“So, who are you married to?” she asks,
halting me. That word—
married—
feels so meaningless. I don’t
even know how to answer her. I don’t even know how to answer my own
questions.

“I’m not married to anyone, yet,” I say,
probably being more honest than I need to be with a second-grader.
I’m struck at the irony of the fact that somehow, during this
hour-plus flight, a seven-year-old has climbed my social ladder and
become my best friend.

“Well, it’s a pretty ring. You should marry
the guy that gave it to you. He must want to marry you really
badly. It looks expensive!” She’s half whispering now, like we’re
little old ladies sharing gossip.

“Okay, well that’s a good point. I’ll be sure
to take that into consideration,” I smile, taking the ring from her
and putting it back into my pocket.

“How come you don’t wear it?” she asks.
Kids—no filter. It’s normally adorable, but right now it feels a
bit like therapy.

“Well, I’m sort of still deciding, and it
doesn’t feel right to wear it if I’m not sure I want to say
yes
,” I say. God, what is it about this kid? She has me
admitting things out loud that I still haven’t allowed myself to
say in my head.

“Right,” she nods. “Well, think real hard.
That’s a nice ring, and the next one might not be so nice,” she
says. I bite my lip to keep myself from laughing. Funny how spot on
she is. Trevor’s ring is clearly the nicest thing I’ll ever
own—it’s Harry Winston, and it’s at least two karats. I’m pretty
sure it out-prices my Honda when it was new.

What’s funnier is the thought of a next one.
I’ve sort of banked on my life going one way, down the aisle with
Trevor. I’ve never really imagined anyone else standing there
waiting for me in a tux.

The attendant slides the drink cart through,
and I take a bottle of water. Sophie is busy coloring, so I take
advantage of the little time left on the flight and shut my eyes,
leaning back in my seat. It takes only seconds for my imagination
to betray Trevor and show me a future with Cody. But as hard as I
try, it’s never right—the image never quite clear.

He just doesn’t fit the tux, and I can’t seem
to put more than two people on his side of the church—Gabe and
Jessie. My side is overflowing with people, until I realize that
most of those are acquaintances and professional contacts I’ve made
with Trevor. I erase them from my mental seating chart, and I
realize the only people left are my crazy aunt and Cody’s childhood
friends from the wrong side of the tracks. I choke on the water I’m
sipping and open my eyes at the absurd thought.

Minutes later, the captain announces our
landing, and I help Sophie pack up her belongings. The attendant
comes to help her off the plane first, and Sophie surprises me by
reaching around and giving me a hug. I kneel down and hand her my
uneaten bag of peanuts.

“Here, I saved mine for you. You earned them
by doing such a good job,” I say. She grabs them and clasps them in
her hand while she walks toward the gate.

I’m a little jealous that my new best friend
is on her way to meet someone. There’s a person at the end of the
hall who will greet her, hug her, be thrilled to see her. My first
interaction is going to be with the app on my iPhone for the Super
Shuttle.

I’m not used to sitting in the front, and I
see now why people fight to board first. With only a carry on, I’m
out of the plane and winding through the gate seconds after we’ve
landed. I already see Sophie’s curly hair mashed up against the
chest of a large man who has actual tears in his eyes at seeing his
daughter, and it makes my heart feel terribly hollow. I force my
lips to smile at the sight, because I know that’s what’s natural,
but inside I’m sad.

“How was your flight?” a voice near me
asks.

I scream out in a breathy gasp, and my bag
drops to the floor. Cody reaches down and picks it up, pulling the
strap over his head so it crosses his body. I must be dreaming,
still on the plane—asleep—when I thought I only shut my eyes to
rest them. Because Cody is here, and I see how all of the pieces
fit. It’s a small ceremony, and I’m in a white cotton dress. He’s
wearing shorts and a T-shirt, and we’re both barefoot by the river.
My aunt is there along with Jessie and Gabe, and there’s a minister
who I swear I’ve seen before. Our rings are nothing but bands, no
diamonds or engravings. Everything is simple, but perfect. The
water ripples beneath our feet, there’s the faint sound of fifties
music piping through Cody’s truck and then he’s kissing me.

I startle again when he brushes into me,
waving his hand in front of my face. “Hello, earth to Charlie,”
he’s chuckling.

“Oh, uh…flight. Yeah, flight was good.
Short…how?” I say, pointing at him directly. The last thing I said
to Cody was in a text, and I told him I couldn’t give anymore. Yet
here he is, standing in front of me. He smiles with tight lips and
nods at my question.

“Trevor,” he says, his face falling before he
turns and continues walking ahead of me. Trevor? Why would Trevor
call Cody, of all people in the world? He would send Shelly for me
first. Hell, he’d charter a special jet and race me home before
he’d let Cody be the one to welcome me.

“Wait a minute,” I say, pulling on the strap
of my bag and forcing Cody to stop. “Trevor called
you
?”

Cody doesn’t even turn to look at me, just
shrugging my bag back in place over his shoulder. “Yeah, he called
me. He’s all freaked out and shit because you left early. Said he
needed me. The whole thing was really…well, strange.”

Cody turns to face me just before we hit the
elevator bank to head down to the garage level. His face looks
tortured, and I feel my fingers tingle wanting to touch it. I stuff
my hands into my pockets instead.

“Why’d you come?” I ask, not sure what I want
him to say in response.

Cody just shrugs and curls his lip to the
side. “Thought you were in trouble. Had to be, if Trevor was
calling
me,
” he says, sliding in backward as the elevator
doors open. I follow him in and stand to the side next to him,
getting a little closer when a few more people join us for the ride
down.

I swear I can feel the heat coming from
Cody’s body, despite the layers of sweaters and sweatshirts between
us. His eyes shift to the side to look at me, hoping I don’t catch
him, but I do. I do because I’m just flat-out staring at him. We’re
only traveling down three floors, but the ride feels like it lasts
for minutes. We’re both shuffling our feet, awkward and anxious all
at once.

When the doors finally open, I follow Cody
all the way to his truck and offer to help with my bag. He brushes
me off and tosses it in the back. His body seems tired today—I
always notice when he’s been working too hard, his limp is more
defined. “Your leg hurts,” I say, not able to stop my thoughts from
sounding. I close my eyes from my mistake; I hate calling attention
to his injury, mostly because I know it makes him
uncomfortable.

“Yep,” he says, climbing into the truck and
slamming his door with a little extra muscle.

I can tell he’s angry. He reaches over and
turns the music up loudly as soon as we pay the toll. I laugh to
myself because it’s
The Killers
. I know he’s done this on
purpose. The show is in two weeks—the show I offered to take him to
in trade for his tutoring help, though deep down I admit it was
only about wanting to have a reason to be close to him, alone with
him.

We’re silent the rest of the way to his shop,
and when he pulls in the main drive, I lean forward and turn the
music off with a heavy punch of my finger, wanting him to see how
angry I am, too—though I’m not sure what I’m angry about.

He rolls his eyes and flings open his door to
climb out. I match him, slamming mine and rattling his mirror.

“Jesus, easy with that, okay?” he says,
nostrils flaring open and his eyes wide and full of fire. I hear
him mumble under his breath as he steps up on the side of his truck
and reaches over the bed for my bag. I stand on the step on my side
just so I can match his line of sight.

“If you hate me so much, why the hell did you
come and get me? I could have found my way home!” I say, my
knuckles white as my fists clench along the truck bed.

“Fuck,” Cody says, still under his breath,
but loud enough for me to hear. I’m a little stunned by his
brashness. He leans back, holding onto the edge of the truck bed
and stretching his arms out while he looks up at the sky, almost
like a kid on a merry-go-round. When he comes back in, he pounds
one fist on the side of the truck. “Just because you said y
ou
can’t
, doesn’t mean
I can’t.
I don’t just turn this shit
off like that,” he says, pounding his flat hand to his chest—to his
heart.
Oh my God!
“I don’t want to…I’m not ready to. That
okay?”

I can see the plea in his eyes almost
instantly, and I can also see the realization of his admission
flash over him as he quickly grabs my bag and turns to head into
the garage. Cody gave me more than he wanted to with those words.
And they’ve just made the sharp cut of the diamond in my pocket
more painful to deal with. But I’m glad he said them. At least…I
think I am.

The music pumping out of one of the garage
bays is loud, and Gabe jumps when we walk in behind him. He smiles
at me quickly, though, and I’m grateful for his warm welcome. After
my visit with Jessie before my trip, I was worried that the two of
them might be a little angry with me. Of course, when they find out
about the ring in my pocket, they still might be.

Cody dumps my bag on the floor in the corner
and walks to the back of the garage. I see him rubbing his neck,
the tension rolling off of him with every step. He raises his
eyebrows at Gabe, a knowing glance that I know is a sign between
the two of them. When Gabe shrugs back at him in return, I’m sure
of their silent conversation—and I know it’s about me.

“Why are we here? Weren’t you supposed to
take me home?” I sound snotty, but I can’t seem to help myself.

Cody walks by with a wrench and pushes me
softly out of his way so he can slide a board under the front of
the car wheeled up over the oil pans. “Jim’s home. I’m not taking
you there. Trevor said he was fine with it. That okay with you,
sweetheart?” he says, his frustration with me absolutely clear.

I glower at him in return, and turn to grab
my bag and take out my drafting book to sit at the table. I’m
pretty sure there won’t be a lot of conversation, and since I have
no idea when I’m going to go home, I start a new set of
drawings.

Maybe it’s because I’m so angry with Cody, or
maybe it’s because I’m even angrier with Trevor—whatever the
reason, after an hour and a half of sitting at the worktable, I’ve
managed to drum up a vintage sketch of the shop. I haven’t felt
inspiration like this since I started the home series inspired by
my dad’s house. I’ve played up the 50s appeal, pulling out more
neon, penciling in the bright greens and reds to pop off of the
white building, adding shading structures and entry signs that say
Jake’s
. I’m biting my lip and working feverishly when I
notice a shadow in my light.

“What do you think?” I ask.

I hear Cody swallow hard, but I don’t turn. I
keep shading and coloring, while Cody stands behind me watching. I
feel the stillness that starts to surround the two of us, both of
our breaths held. I want to speak, say something—something that
will make everything better. But every time I open my mouth, I’m
stalled, and can’t think of the words. It takes him almost a full
minute to answer, his voice cracking slightly.

“When I was a kid, that’s what this place
looked like. I mean…it looked
just like that,”
Cody
says.

He can’t see me, so I let the smile take over
my scowl. For some reason, I’m happy when he’s happy. “If you want,
you can keep them. Frame them or something…you know? For the
garage,” I say, instantly embarrassed by my suggestion, like my
work is worthy of art. I’m so incredibly lame.

I feel his hand slide over my shoulder, and
his fingers squeeze lightly before his face leans in, close to my
neck. “Thank you,” he whispers. I bite my tongue, my mind working
several moves ahead, and every which way I go, he’s there at the
end. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, still facing away from him,
when he suddenly leaves my shoulder feeling cold, his body no
longer close.

“Charlotte, baby. I’m so sorry,” Trevor’s
voice has replaced Cody’s, and it makes me wince. I hear his keys
land on a table, and I turn to see him walking into the garage
toward me, his arms open. Everything about him is big and
confident, such a contrast to the quiet and subdued feeling of a
moment ago.

Trevor must have taken a flight just behind
mine. While I know I should be swooning that he’s chased me, fought
for me—instead, I’m filled with disappointment. And though I will
barely admit it to myself, I know that part of me was hoping he’d
just stay in Washington, forget about me—call everything off. And
then I’d move on to...

Trevor’s hugging me, and by habit I reach
around and hold him back. He’s whispering apologies, over and over,
stroking my hair and cradling my head, but all I can do is scan the
garage to see where Cody is. I lock eyes with him for the briefest
of seconds as he slides under the car next to Gabe, and I know he’s
just trying to avoid us.