A short laugh bubbled out. “Yeah, it did. But that’s not the point. It doesn’t matter how much they want me to remember.” One fingernail tapped her temple. “I want to remember so much it physically hurts.”
The pressure everyone put on her to remember had to be exhausting. And frustrating.
“What can I do to help?” His ‘fix-it’ syndrome kicked almost as hard as the protective one. Focusing the two together on the same person and he might as well hang up his boots because nothing was going to change his course.
She eyed him from the side. “Get me out of here when this is over, so I don’t make a fool of myself. I promised to bring Aunt Sarah to church because they don’t have a regular bus driver. I won’t go back on my word, but I really don’t want to be bombarded with ‘hey, remember me?’ requests the whole time I’m here.”
Yep, definitely frustrated. “Does it help if I say it’s okay to take things one step at a time?” He’d tried putting himself in hershoes. It helped a little, but no amount of empathy could truly put him in her situation.
She scooted her feet across the carpet, then tapped him on the arm. Static electricity jolted along his skin, and she giggled. “I think that helped more.”
“Shocking me helps you feel better?” He started to stand. “I got a pair of jumper cables in the truck.”
“What are we going to do, hook them up to you and crank the truck? Pretty sure that’s instant death, not shocking.” She grabbed his hand and yanked him back into the pew. “What if I rub a balloon on your head until your hair stands on end?”
They used to do that as kids. He opened his mouth to tell her, snapping it shut when Pastor Thomas walked onto the stage and stopped behind the pulpit.
The entire church came to attention with sudden silence.
Mrs. Betty sank onto the piano’s bench seat. “Page two hundred.” She started the hymn seconds later, cutting off his chance to respond to Michelle.
Better that he didn’t become one of the people shouting, ‘remember when?’ when he knew good and well she didn’t have a clue.
The service passed with the same routine he’d come to expect. Songs. Prayer. Testimonies. Preaching. Prayer. Dismissal.
He’d been aware of Michelle sitting beside him every second of the service. It was like having an itch that never stopped, especially when he couldn’t scratch. Fifteen years ago, they’d sat in this same church, holding hands. He’d talked about their future. It wasn’t until months after she left that he realized he’d been the one doing all the talking.
She’d listened, nodded along like she agreed, then left him with an apology and an excuse that she needed more than Blue River had to offer. More thanhehad to offer.
He stood and moved out of the pew. A few of the same women headed their way. Chase put a hand in the small of Michelle’s back when she moved up beside him. “Ready to make a break for it?”
“Absolutely.” She turned. “Aunt Sarah, we’ll meet you outside.”
A wide grin pulled at his cheeks as he grabbed her hand and bolted for the double doors.
Michelle’s laugh pealed out behind him. Their strides fell into a familiar rhythm, and he tightened his grip on her hand, using his free one to push through the doors and out into the brilliant sunshine that threatened to blind him. He blinked and aimed his feet in the general direction of his truck.
A thought rocketed through him with such force it sucked the air from his lungs and left him lightheaded. Fifteen years ago, he’d anticipated a similar run through the church house doors. Only this version had Michelle in a white dress and him in a tux that pinched and poked.
Michelle slowed and the sudden shift of her pulling back stopped him before he wrenched her arm from its socket. “That has to be the rudest church exit in history.”
“Nah.” Maybe in Blue River history, but not in the grand scheme of the world. “We might be the talk of the town for a few days, though.”
“Like I wasn’t already?” She waved a hand, fanning her face. “There’s Aunt Sarah.” Her smile slipped. “I’d better go.”
“Why don’t you two come to the ranch for lunch?” Mom wouldn’t mind.
“I don’t know.” She waffled in that way he’d always found endearing. Her weight shifted side to side like she was physically weighing out the best option.
Mom waved at him from the front stoop, then she and Sarah marched across the parking lot in short, clipped steps.
“Uh-oh.” Michelle’s brows arched. “That’s not a good look. Feels like I’m about to get scolded.”
Mrs. Perkins joined Mom, then a few of the others who had bombarded Michelle. His hand seized, his fingers gripping hers so tight it had to hurt. She never flinched or pulled away but returned the squeeze.
“Michelle, we’d like to apologize.” Mrs. Perkins spoke first. The other women nodded. “We realize after speaking with Sarah that we might have come off a little strong. It wasn’t our intention.” Mrs. Perkins stretched out her arms like she might hug Michelle.
She took a big step back. “Thank you.”
