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“I don’t always drive myself,” I said as I turned on the seat warmers. “Seems like your lucky day.”
She shot a glare at me and I realized how that might have come off. Still, I wasn’t going to apologize. Apologizing meant I did something wrong. Something I shouldn’t have. But she clearly was struggling with it too, meaning she wanted it as well. If we both wanted what happened to happen, was it really wrong?
I pulled out of my parking space and headed for I-93. It would take me all the way down into Southie and then she could guide me from there. It would be a nice ride. I hadn’t driven down there in a long time, aside from when I went to the pub to meet up with her.
The tension in the car was palpable. We were alone together, in a quiet car as it traveled through the city. I could hear her breathing, smell the remnants of perfume that was still coming off her skin. As I drove, I just wanted her hand to reach over and touch mine on the gearshift. To pick it up and bring it over to her thigh. For her to lean over the seat and whisper to me how the kiss was just the beginning. How she wantedsomuch more.
Instead, she kept silent, watching out of the window and not saying anything until we got close to her exit. When she nodded toward it, I took it, and immediately slowed down when I got to the main road.
It was dark and desolate here, the vague notion of movement in the shadows of the side streets, but otherwise showing nothing but dangerous emptiness. Confused, I tried to gather my bearings as we got to a stoplight. The train station was just around the corner. But we were still miles from where the pub was.
“Wait, you get off the bus here?” I asked. “Or is there a closer stop?”
“I get off here,” she said. “The buses go too far west, and frankly, that’s just worse. So I get off here and run south.”
“That’s miles, though,” I said. “Through this.” I motioned to the graffiti-covered bridges and huddles of people nearby.
She nodded. “You get used to it,” she said. “Most people don’t bother you if you are running, I’ve noticed. Especially when I am going full tilt. Too hard to catch. Bad guys are lazy.”
She laughed, but there was a nervousness to it. As if she had said this little joke to herself many, many times, enough that she has convinced herself that she believes it. But her eyes told the truth. They scanned the quickly passing streets, some with people hanging out on the corners looking menacing or just gathered in suspicious groups.
It angered me. No one should have to put their safety on the line just to get home. It was bad enough that sheliveddown here. Having to run, literally run, to get home from the bus stop that was altogether too far away from where she was staying, was simply a non-starter.
“You know, you don’t have to do this anymore,” I said. “I’ll drive you home from now on. Or I’ll have my driver take you.”
She was quiet after that, and I turned briefly to see her expression. It was so indignant that it almost made me laugh. Her jaw was open and her eyes were burning as they peered back at me. I could almost feel that tension, that intensity coming back that she had when she was standing in front of my desk and I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Excuse me?” she finally said.
“I’m just shocked you have to go through here every night, and if you are going to be my assistant, you’re going to have some even longer nights than tonight sometimes. I can’t have you running for your life through South Boston every night, and expect that you are going to be at the top of your game.”
She made a huffing sound and then pointed at a street. I recognized it as one just before where the pub was. I had parked nearby on this street, and when I had returned, was half-expecting my car to be on cinderblocks.
“Here,” she said. “Just let me out. I can walk the rest of the way.”
“How far is it from here?” I asked.
“It’s right there,” she said, motioning vaguely. “I’m fine.”
“I’ll stay here until I can see you get inside somewhere,” I said. “Just in case.”
She made another huffing sound and brought her bag up to her lap as I turned the corner. As soon as I was stopped along the sidewalk, she threw open the door and looked back.
“Don’t bother,” she said. “I’ve dealt with this my whole life. You should get home before you get any Southie germs on your precious car.”
With that, she slid out and slammed the door. I expected her to cross in front of the car, but instead she headed the other direction, away from the pub, and up some stairs of an apartment complex that was so covered in graffiti I didn’t even realize what it was. The sign out front readFairview. I had serious doubts about any view from those buildings being anything close to what could be considered “fair.’”
Still, I sat in the car and waited as she disappeared through a door and into the building. Hanging out a few extra seconds, just to be sure, I then pulled my phone down and hit the button in my GPS for home.
As I drove away, I realized she had left a glove on the seat. It looked handmade, crocheted and a light pink color that was honestly surprising as something she would wear. It was alone, meaning it must have fallen out of one of her pockets. I picked it up and stuffed it in my coat and pulled the car back out onto the street. It was a good little drive back to my place, so I turned on the radio and tuned it to my phone.
Driving toward the interstate, I felt like every song that came up could have been about her, and the buzz of her lips on mine kept vibrating all the way home.
ChapterThirteen
Julia
“Iused to really enjoy my weekends, you know,” I said.
