Page 23 of Wine & Dine

10

Tears

[Garrett]

“Sweetheart,” I whisper, stalking up behind her in the pouring rain. Her hair lays plastered to her head, dark and dripping. Her too-large sweater hangs below her hands, nearly to her knees with the weight of the water. Her suede boots are soaked as rain puddles around her feet.

What is she doing out here?

I glance up at the building before us. On the Go is an old railcar turned diner. If I hadn’t been aimlessly staring out the window of my hired car, thinking of her, while we wound down this side street, I would have missed her standing on the walk, melting under the rain.

The past few days have sucked dog balls. Dolores has completely ignored me, avoiding our daily walks. It surprised me at first how much this agitated me. I didn’t realize how much I looked forward to four o’clock each afternoon until she wasn’t there, rolling her eyes as she pretended to be inconvenienced in her busy day. I like her sass.

She’s been avoiding my phone calls as well. I’ve missed the teasing banter and flirtatious innuendos of our nightly chats. It’s been surprisingly refreshing to talk on the phone, but her current silence cuts deep.

I hate it.

Because I miss her.

She didn’t seem to hear me as I approached, covering her with an umbrella. Her attention remains fixated on the diner before us. She’s so wet, and I don’t mean that in a sexual tease. I struggle to remove my suit coat even though I know it won’t be enough to warm her up. She’s shivering.

“Sweetheart,” I repeat. “Whatcha doing out here?”

She remains silent, misty air emitting from her nose. Her lips are bluish, and her skin looks pale.

How long has she been standing here?

It’s purely by chance we turned down this street. Traffic is a beast. People cannot remember how to drive in heavy rain. The day is dark because of the storm, matching my mood. I’m wound tight as a deal I’ve made wasn’t going as planned. The initial investment was minimal but enough to get the product started in a mass-production plant. On the first day, the equipment stalled, and maintenance isn’t coming together to repair the line. I’m furious although it isn’t directed solely at the management team.

I’ve bounced from my office to the plant, so I have a driver today, and I was headed back to the city. I’d spent too many nights home alone, thinking of Dolores and our kiss. Her mouth is made for sin, and I realized that the second we separated. She’s a genie in a bottle, and I want to let her out. I’ll give her anything she wishes.

The sensation had been coming on slowly. A sense of not liking to be separated from her. Our daily walks haven’t been nearly enough. I like hanging out with her. Then we had our date, and the kiss fucked it all up. I had planned to meet up with a few friends downtown tonight, hoping to blow off some steam. I don’t intend to fuck a woman. I cut off Alicia the day after Dolores and I kissed although, in hindsight, I dropped Alicia weeks prior to that night.

“It looks like my diner,” she finally speaks, interrupting my thoughts, and a breath I’d been holding for days releases, like setting free the oxygen trapped in a balloon. “But not really.”

I want to reach for her and draw her to me. Her shivering freaks me out, but I’m afraid she’ll shatter into a million pieces if I touch her.

“How does yours look?” I work to keep my voice steady. I don’t want her to stop speaking, even if all she does is describe her place.

“It’s old. Worn down. Like me.”

“You aren’t old,” I say with a chuckle lacking humor. Taking on a more serious tone, I add, “You aren’t worn down, either.”

“My diner has this drab paneling that’s cracked in places, and tile floors that don’t look clean even after I scrub them. The chrome is dull. The kitchen dated.” Her voice fades, but I sense her mentally checking off the things she doesn’t like about her business. “I never had the money to fix it up. I didn’t consider it run-down until Denton returned.”

That bastard. What did he know? He told me he hadn’t been home since he left at eighteen. What a way to treat his family.

“He’s right, though. It’s dated. Like me. Like my clothes. My hair. My everything.”

“Dolores,” I say, softening my voice as I touch her chin and force her to look at me. That’s when I notice the tears streaming down her cheeks like the rainwater against the windows of On the Go.

“Why are you crying?” My voice remains low, level, concerned. She seems so strong to me, so I don’t understand.

“I’m crying?” she asks. “I can’t remember the last time I cried. I didn’t even cry when my mother died.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. Her mother’s death, which she’s hardly mentioned, must have been weighing on her more than she thought. She’s been holding it in. Then her brother’s comments about her business. And this trip across the country. No wonder she was a hot mess when I first saw her. Okay, Wally may have been part of the issue as well, but still…

“You haven’t cried about your mother?” I ask, and the saddest blue eyes I’ve ever seen look up at me. Deep lakes and drowning oceans did not compare to the depths of those hollow eyes and the sorrow filling them. She shakes her head, and I can’t take the distance any longer. My arm envelops her, drawing her against me.