Page 146 of Light in the Dark
This gets me another sniff. "That bad?"
"Let's just say school wasn't my strongest suit." I hold out my hand to her. "Riley Crowe, at your service, madam."
She puts her hand in mine—her hand is tiny. I could wrap my fist around hers, and it's not like my hand is as big as Bear's. Big, deep, sad green eyes find mine. "I'm Cadence Cresswell."
"Cadence?" I repeat. "Wow. That's…a really beautiful name."
She tries to smile and doesn't quite make it. But hey, it's the thought that counts. "Thank you.”
"So, Cadence. What has you crying alone way up here at this hour?"
She shrugs. “I am certain you do not want to hear about my silly problems.”
"Sure I do. Beats the hell out of what I was doing."
She sneaks a look at me. "What were you doing?"
"Driving around thinking aboutmyproblems." I realize, belatedly, that I never let go of her hand—I'm holding it as if we're trying out a new extended-duration handshake. So, I keep it. See if she notices.
"It is silly."
"I dunno," I say. "I feel like if it's got you crying alone at the ass end of a two-stop-light town like this, it's something." I shrug. "You don't gotta tell me shit, though. I'm just not very good at minding my own business. You can tell me to fuck off."
"Oh, I could never do that."
"Sure you can. Won't hurt my feelings. Mainly because I don't have any."
"No, I just…I do not speak in that manner.” She lifts a slender shoulder. "I am glad you stopped, however. It is nice not to be alone." She looks at me curiously. "What…what did you mean?"
"About?"
"Not having feelings."
"Oh." I laugh, wave a hand. "Just being an idiot. Most of what I say is bullshit, just F-Y-I."
"So youdohave feelings?"
"Well, sure. I just don't know what they are." I beat my fists against my chest. "Ook-ook, caveman tough. Caveman not self-actualized."
She giggles—and it's the most musical sound I've ever heard. "Caveman know big words."
I laugh with her, and it…it feels amazing. I dunno why.
I steal a longer look at her—she's sitting down, so it's hard to tell how tall she is, but she’s not tall. Not short either, just not tall. She’s slender. Willowy. She's wearing an ankle-length dress, white with little blue flowers on it. Not much by way of cleavage showing—the dress isn't cut for that, so I can’t really tell what’s rocking under there; the neck scoops only a few inches below her elegant ivory throat. She has the most delicate hands I've ever seen. They flutter on her lap constantly, fidgeting, drumming, like restless birds.
"You don't wanna talk about it?" I ask. "If I'm being nosy, please tell me off."
She shakes her head, her strawberry-blond ringlets bouncing. “You are not being nosy, you are being sweet and kind." She levels those huge green eyes at me—and I swear, her face is 75% eyes. Mesmerizing green eyes. Mossy pools. "My funding got cut."
"Funding for what?"
She sighs. "I am a medical doctor. I've spent the last six months putting together a mission trip to South Sudan to provide emergency medical care. I raised almost half of the required funds from private donors, but I was relying on a big grant from a corporate sponsor, and I just found out that they pulled out of our agreement. I am supposed to leave in two weeks. It is too dangerous, they said. I will never raise the funds now, and I will have to return the money I raised, and…I…I do not know what to do, now."
“You're a doctor?" I ask. "I'm sorry if I sound surprised, you're just…you seem pretty damn young to be a doctor already.”
She smiles, nods. "I am twenty-four."
"And you're a fully licensed doctor?"
