I brought her back to me, hugging her frenziedly. I asked if I was hurting her to which she replied, “Not even a little.”
I kissed the top of her head and she wrapped an arm around my waist, leading me with tenderness to my truck. I noticed that she never stopped touching me, not for one second, even when we were forced into awkward corners and walkways on the way back to the lot.
“You need to get to work now, don’t you?” I asked.
“Yes, but you’re comin’ with me,” she answered simply.
“It’s okay, Fin. I’ll be okay. You can go.”
She stopped then and shook her head at me. “What if I told you that I wanted you to be with me tonight? That just knowing you’re there will make me happier?”
“That’s kind, Finley, but you don’t have to—”
“No,” she interrupted, “it’s a selfish kindness. Just appease me, Ethan.”
“Okay,” I conceded, happy to be near her.
I walked her over to the passenger side of my truck and opened the door for her. She swung into her seat and started putting on her seatbelt as I was shutting her door. I walked to the driver’s side and got in. The key turned and the engine roared to life. I turned left onto Second Avenue and headed for Main and then Ninety-Three on our way to Buffalo’s.
“What brought you to Sykes?” I asked her quietly, keeping my eyes trained on the road. Her hand sat on my shoulder, bringing me relief.
“I was making a deposit before heading in and when I was crossing the street, I saw you. I shouted your name a few times before realizing that you were struggling with something and couldn’t hear me.”
“You must think I’m nuts,” I laughed without humor.
“Absolutely not,” she answered. I glanced at her and saw she was staring out her window at the passing scenery. A haunted song played on the stereo.
“I don’t think it a coincidence I found you today.”
“I’m starting to believe it’s not a coincidence either. That goes for all of the days you’ve saved me, actually, and I don’t believe in anything anymore,” I added quietly.
She squeezed my shoulder in answer.
We pulled into the lot and Buffalo’s looked unbelievably crowded. I wondered if it’d have just been better to drop her off then pick her up at the end of her shift.
“No,” she said softly, reading my thoughts, “just come in. It’s cool. There’s a booth in the back corner no one’s ever assigned so it can be left open for family and friends of Charles.” Charles owned Buffalo’s. “He won’t care if I use it tonight.”
I pulled into an empty space in the far back of the restaurant and we walked in the side door together and I almost turned right around.
Let me explain something to you, something I’d experienced every day of my life. I’m Native American. Mixed, yeah, but with a light olive skin tone, six foot three inches, almost translucent grey eyes, and I have long black hair. I’ve known since I was little that I didn’t look like everybody else. I wasn’t the Montana boy next door, and I’d always been okay with that despite the stares every now and then when I was in an unfamiliar place. Occasionally, though, I got taken by surprise even at home.
Buffalo’s was packed to the rafters but when we walked in, everyone stopped. Waiters, waitresses, customers, managers. Everyone stopped what they were doing to look at me. But I knew in that moment it had nothing to do with my strange height or dark hair. No, they were staring because this was the first time I’d emerged into public save for the visits to the bar. I was a spectacle. Everyone look at the boy who just got dumped! Cricket’s and my breakup was the biggest thing to happen in our little town because we lived in a little town and scandals like ours just didn’t happen often. And I was the one who got left. I was the one they were curious about.
When you’re as tall as I am, it’s hard to look conspicuous and the times in which you feel like you’re on display that height makes it difficult to shrink into oblivion. I started backing out but Finley grabbed my arm and pulled me through.
“Don’t worry, they’ll get over it soon,” she explained under her breath.
Sure enough, after a few seconds of utter silence except for the jukebox, heads returned to their plates and the staff got busy again. I sighed in relief. Finley dragged me to the booth in the far back corner by the long bar top and made me sit with my back to the wall.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, giving me a small smile.
I turned around in my seat, peered over the half wall near me and watched her tie her half apron over her cutoffs. She wore this almost sheer, billowy pullover on top of a a white tank top along with a pair of worn-in brown leather cowboy boots with a squared toe. An off-white sock peeked out of the tops of her boots. Her auburn hair was wavy and fell down her back. She stood near a mirror over a few shelves where she placed the messenger bag she’d brought with her. She peered into it and dragged all her hair on top of her head and started jamming pencils into the random pile. It looked absurd but when her hands fell to her sides and she examined herself, the result, I had to admit, was pretty. Tendrils framed her face and neck. Soft and romantic yet practical.
Someone moved behind her I couldn’t see because they were hidden in the office behind the open kitchen. She turned and said something to them then laughed. She waved a hand toward me and said something else then nodded her head before heading back my way.