Page 13 of Eye of the Beholder
“Sorry. Mina. I need a favor.”
“No. Cohen, no,” I say, cutting his protests off. “I have errands to run; I need groceries, I need to stop by the mall, I need to get gas—”
“I’m great at shopping!” he says. “I’m great at all that.”
“You want to come with me?” I ask in disbelief. I figured he was just going to ask me to take him somewhere. Why is he being so weird?
“Yes. Please.” He sounds desperate.
I hesitate. Then I nod at the car in his driveway. “Whose car is that?”
His expression grows grim. “My dad’s.”
Dang it.
“Why’s he at your house?” I say.
Cohen’s jaw tightens. “Probably to talk to me.”
I sigh. “Fine. Get in.”
I nod my way through his thanks—thanks so fervent that I feel sort of guilty—and then turn to him when he’s seated next to me. “But I get to choose the music.”
“Right,” he says with a false bravado I can tell he doesn’t really feel. “Where are we going?”
“Why are you running away from your dad?” I say, peering out the windshield to see if I can catch a glimpse of Mr. Alexander, but he seems to be inside.
I’m not even looking at Cohen, but I can feel the atmosphere in the car change.
“I’m not,” he says, his voice stiff. All traces of the false bravado are gone.
“Oh. Okay.” I swallow. Say it. Just say it. This is my year. “It just sort of seems like you are.”
“Well, I’m not,” Cohen says.
“Okay,” I say. I don’t look at him for fear of seeing some sort of glare being aimed at me. I pick at an imaginary piece of lint on my jeans instead.
There’s ear-deafening silence as I pull away from the house and head out of the neighborhood. I’m just about to make a desperate bid for the radio when Cohen speaks.
“He keeps calling me.”
Oh. He’s confiding in me?
“Yeah?” I say. I keep my eyes on the road, partly because that’s how you should operate a car but also because I’m afraid that if I look at him he’ll clam up.
“Yeah,” he says. “And he has a girlfriend.”
Ouch. That must hurt. It’s only been…what, a year? I don’t know the details of why his dad left, and I am definitely not going to ask, but either way, a new girlfriend can’t help the situation. But what do I say to that? What can you say to someone who’s going through something like that?
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. It’s all I have.
“That’s not a great response,” he says, and finally I look at him. He’s looking at his hands. They’re nice hands, as far as hands go. They look strong. Capable.
“I don’t know what else to say,” I respond, and I feel my cheeks going red. “I’m not good with words. I just meant…that sucks.”
He shrugs. “Yeah. It does. I don’t mean to whine about it or anything. I’m just…”
“Upset,” I say as he trails off.
