Page 91 of A Bookish Story

“The problem is I have too big a heart. It’s like”—he looks down at his chest—“three times too big. I’m the opposite of the Grinch.”

“You’re a little like the Grinch until people get to know you.” I bite back a smile.

“I told her I only had a few minutes and had to get to the bookstore but she started crying again.”

That sounded way too familiar. I’m beginning to wonder if she’d kept him from the signing on purpose. It’s not as if he needed to be there except for me.

“It’s fine that you missed it,” I say. “Everything worked out.”

“Yeah, I bet it went well!” He sounds so enthusiastic I don’t have the heart to tell him everything now. “Tell me.”

“Um, yeah, fine, we sold a ton of books. But we’ll talk about that later.” I grip the steering wheel tighter. “Why is your arm in a sling but Millie seems fine?”

“Oh, well see the car broadsided my side. Isn’t that funny?” Ryan closes his eyes like he’s dozing. “She has all the luck.”

“Yes, she seems pretty lucky to me.”

I can barely hear his next words. “If I’d met you first, she wouldn’t have stood a chance. And then none of this would have ever happened.”

“None of what?”

“No Millie. No book,” he mumbles. “You’re really beautiful, you know, but I can’t say that because it would be wrong and inappropriate. I know the rules.”

I have to smile at his rigidness. “Why would that be wrong?”

“Inappropriate.” He holds his finger to his lips. “Shhhh. Don’t tell anyone. It’s a secret.”

“I think I can speak for myself and I wouldn’t mind at all if you say it.”

But Ryan’s eyes shut and he drifts off on a cloud of pain meds.

Once we get to the house, I realize he’s a lot heavier and bigger than he looks. All I do is take off his seatbelt, put my arm around him and I can’t budge him. Without his assistance, I will never in a million years get him out of this car. I consider phoning my cousin Diego who is often bragging about how much he can bench press. Last I heard it was two hundred pounds. Ryan can’t possibly weigh that much. Can he?

Then he moves and rubs his eyes.

“Hey,” he says and groans when he shifts.

The medication might be wearing off. “Is it your arm?”

“It’s my ribs. They’re bruised.” He winces and drags a hand through his hair, mussing it up. “But I’m okay. They’ll heal on their own. Four to six weeks, they say. Piece of cake.”

I stand by as he heaves one leg out of the car, carefully lifting himself out. Walking ahead of him, I unlock his front door.

Ryan sways a bit, catching himself.

“Whoa. That’s funny but too bad I can’t laugh because it hurts. Thank for the ride,” he says with a wave.

“I’m not just leaving you here.” I hold the door open for him.

He squints, brow furrowed. “Why not?”

“You’re hurt, and anyway I want to talk to you for a while.”

“The signing.”

I’m not confident with the way he sways and plops down on his couch wincing.

“Unless you want to talk about all that…later,” I say.