I text her a thumbs up.
The “good news” is Everett and Vivian’s engagement. They’ve decided to tie the knot at Ruby Gulch and keep the guest listsmall. September will be dry but pretty, the sun-bleached prairie grass rustling in the breeze and the puffy clouds sending lazy shadows across the foothills.
MOM:
You’re welcome to bring Meg
I scowl at my phone screen. Mom can be worse than Sepp when it comes to stirring up shit, and that’s saying something. He was at The Limelight that night. Did he tell Mom about Meg’s injury or was it Everett?
Just what I need right now.
LINDEN:
I’m bringing Greta
Mom doesn’t reply, which only makes her point more obvious.
When I’ve exhausted what exercises I can do up here, I head downstairs and decide that it’s a great day to make a loaf of Mom’s sourdough.
I’m just finishing kneading when the bathroom door pops open upstairs. I rinse my hands and walk to where I can see Meg. She’s leaning on her crutches, cheeks flushed, wearing a sun-yellow t-shirt and the black running shorts I brought over.
“Feel better?” I ask.
A soft relief fills her eyes. “Yeah. That skylight was the bees knees.”
I climb up the stairs.
“I think I’m ready for that nap now,” she says with a half-smile while swinging over to meet me.
When I pick her up, that subtly sweet citrus fills my senses and her damp hair tickles my bare arm. “How’s the pain level?”
She scrunches her nose. “Okay. More Advil I think.”
Inside the guest bedroom, she frowns at her bedside table that I brought over. “Um, what is that doing here?”
“I didn’t feel right going through your things.”
“So you relocated a piece of furniture.” Her lips twitch with the hint of a smile.
“Yeah.”
She gazes up at me, her eyes filling with a stillness that sends a warning buzz over my skin.
“Get some rest,” I say, and back out of the room.
“We don’t have to stay long,” Meg assures me from the passenger side as I accelerate onto Agate Beach Drive.
“Sure,” I reply with a nonchalance I don’t feel. At least I was able to get out for a run earlier so I won’t come unhinged at this party. I get antsy in crowds, and walls aren’t much better. Maybe there’s a bonfire somewhere on the premises. These are firefighters we’re talking about, after all.
The house is past the high school in one of the older neighborhoods. It’s a two story with a wraparound porch, tidy lawn, and a row of tall spruce and cottonwoods that separate it from the neighbor’s. The driveway’s packed but I find a spot on the street a block down.
It’s another clear, moonless night, the stillness punctuated by a dog barking in the distance and the low rumble of a truck out on the main road.
When I come around to Meg’s side, she’s already opened her door and is bracing off the frame and the seat to slide down to the pavement. It’s probably a good thing she’s getting more independent because every time I lift her up, it gets harder to let her go, and it’s starting to piss meoff.
She takes the crutches from me and together we make our way down the cracked sidewalk.
Tonight I’m even more conflicted thanks to her cropped t-shirt and the low-slung jean shorts that together reveal a bare stripe of her tanned torso. I have the urge to give her my jacket, but even that’s a loaded gesture. Meg isn’t mine.
