Page 87 of Nerdelicious
Needing some air, I step out onto the square patio. It’s basically the fire escape and the size of a small coffee table, but still. It’s mine.
The sounds of the city surround me, distant honking, tires shrieking against the pavement, voices blending and filling the night air with a distant murmur. It’s the sound of home.
But when I look up, I can’t see the stars.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I was once troubledby the many paths that lay before me so I decided to be admirable at everything.
–Cyrano de Bergerac
“Night, Beast.”
Lucas passes me on the way to his car, and I throw him a two-fingered wave, waiting until his door is closed before shoving the key in my ignition. But before I put the truck in gear, I check my phone.
I miss you.
It’s two a.m., way too late to write back. Or too early. Four a.m. in New York. My fingers hover over the keyboard. But then I toss the phone down on the empty seat and get moving.
Driving home from work isn’t the same without Fred next to me. I glance over at her side of the cab.
Nothing is the same.
School is starting next month, and I’ve been trying to distract myself until then by working as many hours as possible. When classes start, I’ll still work part-time, helping after school in the kitchen at Bodean’s for a few hours each night. Anything to keep my mind from lingering on the woman with a boy’s name, the heart of an angel, and a tendency to ramble when she’s nervous. It would take me a full twenty-four hours to reach her if I kept driving.
When I pass the tree where we used to park, I almost give in to the urge.
But when I reach the turnoff that stretches down to the ranch, I take it.
The next morning, Grace is in the kitchen, sitting on the counter with her laptop open next to her.
She jumps down when she sees me. “You want coffee?”
I nod and she practically flies to the machine to pour me a mug.
She’s been doing this ever since Fred left.
“How was work?”
Fine, I sign.
“Are you hungry?” She smiles at me. “I can cook something for you. I’m really good at slapping together sandwiches and pouring milk into cereal.”
I shake my head no.
Her smile droops and she pivots away, facing her laptop.
I grimace and rub a hand through my hair. I miss Fred. It’s difficult to pretend otherwise. Grace has been doing her best to be positive and upbeat and make me feel better, but I know it’s only because she’s harboring guilt.
It’s not Grace’s fault. She’s just a kid who already has enough to deal with. Staying is my choice. But part of me wishes I could leave. If I knew Grace would be okay, maybe I would go to New York.
I set down my coffee and walk over to her, leaning back against the counter so we’re facing each other.
Are you coming with me today?I sign.
She nods. “Of course. I have an appointment later, too.”
According to the doctors, my larynx is weak from disuse. The larynx itself is a muscle that houses the tissues and vocal cords used to create sound. I’ve got to strengthen those muscles in order to produce anything more than moans and shrieks. But first, I have to push through the swamping anxiety that threatens me every time I try.
