Page 20 of Devil's Due

It’s said quietly but is enough to make my eyes open. Pushing down on my hands I pull myself upright. “Nearly drifted off there for a moment.”

“That’s why I spoke quietly. Didn’t want to wake you if you were asleep.” Again, she interprets my unspoken question. “Your breathing, it was different.”

“You notice a fuck of a lot, don’t you?”

She resumes her place at the other end of the couch as I tuck into a ham, cheese and lettuce sandwich. Good shit it is. “You’re not eating?”

“I just had a piece of cheese while I was making that for you. I’m not hungry.”

I eye her critically. What she hadn’t added out loud was that she was too concerned about Max. She doesn’t look tired, just worried. Maybe it will take her mind off things she can’t control if I get her talking. I could talk about bikes, my favourite topic, or I could ask about her.

Choosing the latter, I begin. “So, you recently moved to Pueblo? For work?”For a lover?

“Something like that.” Her legs, which she had curled up under her, straighten out. She’s tense, I can see it. Okay, I don’t know her well enough to pursue a topic she’s uncomfortable with. It’s none of my business.

“Are you alright, I didn’t ask. Hurting?”

“I was just bruised and shocked, Beef. I’m fine. I’ve got a bit of a headache, but nothing too bad. Probably more tension than injury. And God knows bruises don’t bother me. I get enough of them. You should have seen my legs when I first moved in.”

“This your furniture?”

A shake of her head, making her hair fly around her shoulders. “No, I… rented it furnished. Didn’t know where anything was.” She chuckles. “Spent enough time on my hands and knees mapping it all out.”

“You’ve got amazing hearing.”

“Yes. I’m lucky that way.” When I think that’s all I’m going to get, she tilts her head on one side. “I don’t mind you asking, if you’re interested.”

I am. “Have you always been blind?”

Her head moves side to side. “I’ve got a condition called retinitis pigmentosa. It’s an inherited condition, but for generations it hasn’t appeared in the family. I was born fully sighted, but my vision started to deteriorate early on. I was about five when my parents acknowledged something was wrong with me. If they approached from the side, I didn’t notice them until they were right in front of me. They took me for tests and got the diagnosis. Nothing to be done, and eventually I’d lose more of my vision. Some people retain some, I’ve lost most. In good daylight I can sometimes make out shapes, but not always. I was lucky though. My condition is often related to another that also causes deafness.” She shudders. “Thank God I don’t suffer from that.”

“When did you lose your sight to the extent you have now?”

“When I was in my early twenties. You mentioned my hearing. Going back to when I couldn’t see people in my peripheral vision, I started listening more. Because I had some vision it helped to distinguish what made what sound, if that makes sense? It helped when I lost my sight entirely.”

“You have Max to help you. What will you do while he’s recovering?”

Her lips purse. “Be a hermit?” Her comment is followed by a self-deprecating laugh. “I have a white stick, but it’s not as good as a dog.”

Putting down my empty plate I ask, “Why not? Not all blind people have dogs, surely?”

“They don’t. Looking after a dog is too much of a chore for them, and they manage with just a stick. But have you seen someone waving one? Weaving it back and forth to see what’s in front of them?”

I nod automatically, then give myself a mental slap. “Uh uh.”

“Imagine a table. Imagine trying to walk through a restaurant, an unexpected chair pushed out in front of you.” She laughs again, a sound I find endearing. “The stick hits empty air if I’m waving it between the legs. Told you, I’m no stranger to bruises, tripping up or falling down.”

I can’t help it. I’m interested, but tired. I yawn.

“You’re half asleep. Anyone would be after that long ride. Rather than heading on to your clubhouse, why don’t you stay here tonight? I’ve got a spare room.”

I look at her sharply. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“Why should I?”

“You don’t know me at all. I could be an axe murderer or jump your bones in the night and molest you.”

That laugh again. The one I prefer over her tears earlier. It’s followed by chuckles, and then she can’t seem to stop. “I’m not afraid of you, Beef. I don’t really know why. Not offering to share my bed, but something tells me it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to have your hands on me. Not an offer, but no, I don’t think you’re a threat. As for being an axe murderer? I’ll take my chances.” She chuckles again.

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