I’m afraid I lost him, too. That he died in that alley. In the end, I never even got his name, and now he’s most probably dead.
He was my responsibility. I found him and then I let him down. Nobody seems to know what happened to him. He’s gone.
I sigh, closing my eyes.
‘Cut the melodrama, Evie.’
That’s what Blake would have said. In fact, that’s what he always says. ‘That’s too deep, Evie. You’re overthinking this, Evie. Stop playing at being a hero. Leave people to their fate. What is it to you? What do you owe them?’
Screw you, Blake. It’s not about owing. It’s about giving. About righting an injustice. About caring, something you’ll never understand in your life.
***
Next day at work I’m rearranging the running shoes on their supports, after a family of five decided to examine them all and then conveniently forgot where they’d found each one, when I hear my name.
“Hey, Ev!” Cassie bounces in my direction, grinning widely. “Want to grab some coffee after work?”
“Sure.”
I like Cassie. With her doll face, gray eyes and long blond curls caught in a ponytail, she’s so cute I want to pinch her cheeks. She never fails to greet me and ask me how I am. Customers love her, and especially the kids. She’s a whirlwind of energy and joy.
“I know just the place,” she gushes, eyes bright. “They make the best coffee in town. You’ll see. And the cupcakes!”
Sounds good. But I don’t say yes immediately. I don’t want to go to another cafe. I realize with a jolt that I want to see that guy again, see if he’s there across the street today, too.
Crazy. “I don’t know...”
“Oh, we can go wherever you like,” Cassie says and waves a hand back and forth. “I don’t mind. Honest.”
I smile at her. I really want us to hang out together. I’ve never had any real friends—the bitches at my high school sucked at pretending they liked me—and the need to start over fills me to bursting.
“There’s this donut place,” I start and see her face split into another grin. “Close by. We can grab something and sit outside to eat it. They have benches and tables. I mean, it’s cold, but at least it’s dry today.”
“Sounds good to me,” she quips. She moves closer, helping me rearrange the shoes, and looks down at my leg when I limp to the next row. “I’ve been meaning to ask you... Did you sprain your ankle? Want me to have a look at it?”
“No, it’s fine.” I straighten a blue-and-silver running shoe. “It’s really fine.”
“You limp,” she points out, sounding concerned. “It’s been what, two weeks now since you started working here? If it’s a bad sprain, you should have it x-rayed to see if—”
“It’s not my ankle.” I wipe my hands down my jogging pants. “I broke my leg seven months ago. It’s almost healed now.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“It’s okay. It was an accident.” I remember the pain vividly. I remember the bike plowing into me, the moment of confusion and searing agony. Then I’d lost track of time, probably blacked out, until the flashing lights of the ambulance seared my eyes.
It’s not okay. It changed my life. Made me scared to go out of the house for months. Caused me to lose track of the people I was trying to help. And not to forget... ‘Who will want a cripple like you now?’
Jesus.
“Hey...” Cassie’s gray eyes are a bit wide, her mouth downturned. “I touched a sore topic, didn’t I? Put my foot in my mouth again? I do this a lot, poking my nose where it doesn’t belong. I’m sor—”
“Don’t be.” I reach out and squeeze her arm, giving her a quick smile. “Accidents happen. Life happens. Who knows? Maybe it was for the best.”
She doesn’t look reassured, and I think about my words as I get back to work. Truth is, I can’t see what’s good about breaking my leg and not moving out of the state, or about fighting with my parents. Well, apart from not having to be around Blake anymore.
But what is done is done.
***