Chapter 56

Sitting in the passenger's seat, I gazed out the car window as the landscape zoomed by. There was something I needed to say, but I didn't know how to begin, or even scarier, how the conversation would end.

Already, my stomach was tied up in knots. Who was I kidding? I knew exactly how it would end.

Badly.

I didn't want it to end that way, but with Joel's current mood, I couldn't see any other possibility.

With lingering dread, I gave him my third or fourth sideways glance. He hadn't said more than a few words after closing the storage unit and getting into the driver's seat of his car, only after holding open the passenger's side door for me.

It was such a crazy mix of contradictions – the old-fashioned chivalry combined with his simmering silence. I still didn't get it. And the way it looked, he wasn't remotely interested in explaining.

Deciding to get this over with, I cleared my throat and said, "Hey, Joel?"

He didn't even look. "Yeah?"

"I've been thinking…" I hesitated. "I really don't think you should do this for me."

Still looking straight ahead, he said, "Do what?"

"The repairs and stuff. I just don't feel right about it."

It was true. I didn't. It was a funny thing, accepting favors. Sometimes it felt alright, like when there was some chance of doing a favor in return. But other times, it just felt wrong.

This was one of those times, and I couldn't quite figure out why. But I did know that I was feeling strange and awkward about the whole thing.

Plus, I didn't want to owe him. Cripes, I already owed him – too much, in fact. There was no need to add to the list, right?

In the driver's seat, Joel said nothing in response. He didn't look. He didn't twitch. He didn't even change his expression.

I waited a few more seconds before saying, "You heard me, right?"

"Yeah, I heard you."

"And?"

"And…" He spared me half a glance, before returning his eyes to the road. "Too bad."

Too bad?

This time, it wasn't funny. I turned in my seat to stare at him. "I'm serious."

"Yeah? Me, too."

"What does that mean?"

"It means you agreed to let me do it. Too late to back out now."

"I don't care what I agreed to." I lifted my chin. "It's not too late, and I've changed my mind."

He hit the brakes – not hard, but enough to slow us down considerably. A moment later, he was pulling off to the side of the road. He cut the engine and turned to face me. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why the change?"

"Because you've done enough already."

"Bullshit."

I rolled my eyes. "Well that's just great. Your favorite one-word response."

"It's not my favorite."

"Oh yeah?" I said. "Then what is?"

"Fuck."

I stared at him. I couldn't even tell if it was a serious answer. I muttered, "Oh, that's nice."

He said nothing, and our gazes remained locked. The visual standoff lasted practically a whole minute before he said, "Just tell me. What's wrong?"

"With me?" I said. "Nothing. What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

I gave him my snottiest smile. "Bullshit."

If he was amused, he didn't show it. "Is this about the painting?"

"No."

His eyebrows rose just a fraction. "You want me to say it again?"

"Say what again? Bullshit?" I gave a bitter laugh. "No thanks."

He said nothing, and the silence stretched out. In spite of my best intentions, I started squirming in my seat. "Alright," I finally said. "Maybe I just don't want to owe you."

"You won't."

"Except I already do."

"No. You don't."

I gave him a pleading look. "Look, we can go round and round about this forever. But we both know that's not true."

When he said nothing, I started rattling off just a few of the things that he'd done for me. "You gave me a ride. You mowed my lawn. You even stopped me from getting robbed." I made a scoffing sound. "Twice."

His expression remained stony. "That was nothing."

"It wasn't nothing." With an effort, I softened my tone. "And besides, I just realized, I shouldn’t be accepting so much."

"Yeah? Why not?"

Suddenly, I felt like crying. "Look, why does this have to be such a big deal?"

"Because this morning, you were good with it. Now, you're not. What changed?"

"I don't know." I blinked long and hard. "If anything's changed, it's you."

"Right." He closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them again, I saw the first sign of any real emotion. Regret? Uncertainty? I was still trying to decide when he said, "Just tell me. What'd I say?"

I blew out a long, shaky breath and reminded myself of all those wonderful things he'd done for me. And now, he was asking for something in return – the truth about what was bothering me.

All things considered, it wasn't too much to ask.

In a quieter voice, I said, "I just realized something. That's all."

His voice grew quieter, too. "Yeah? What?"

"I realized…" Damn it. How to put this? "Well, that we're probably not as close as I thought we were." I ran a nervous hand through my hair. "I mean, here, I've been boring you with all of my troubles, and I guess we're not really to that point yet."

"What point?"

Oh, God. He was seriously going to make me explain it? "You know, where we're sharing all these stupid, intimate details." I tried to smile. "So I guess I just figure it's time to dial it back a bit, you know?"

Watching me from the driver's seat, he grew utterly still, but said nothing.

Hoping to take the edge off, I gave a weak laugh. "I mean, I can't have you fixing my plumbing and stuff when we're just hanging out. It's not fair. To you, I mean. So now I feel all funny about it."

"Hanging out," he said. "That's what you think we're doing?"

I wanted to scream. Of all the things for him to zero in on, why that? In a moment of frustration, I blurted out, "Well, what are we doing?"

As an answer, he turned to face the road ahead. And then, to my infinite frustration, he fired up the engine and shifted the car into gear. A moment later, we were, once again, cruising down the lonely country road.

I sank down in the passenger's seat and tried to decide who I was more angry with – me, for not just letting it go, or him, for not understanding why I felt so funny about it.

The remainder of the short drive passed in stone-cold silence that grew more oppressive with every mile. I wanted to say something, but I didn't know what.

From the look on Joel's face, there was nothing he wanted to hear – not from me, anyway.

When we pulled up to my house, he got out of the car and walked around to the passenger's side door. He pulled it open and waited for me to get out.

If that wasn't a hint, I didn't know what was.

Silently, I got out of the car and then watched with growing despair as he climbed back into the driver's seat and shut the car door behind him.

My heart was begging him not to go, but my mouth refused to form the words, even as he fired up the engine and drove away.

Staring after him, I had to give him credit for one thing – he hadn't peeled out of the driveway like an angry teenager. But that was a cold comfort later that night, as I climbed into bed and tried to figure out exactly what I'd done wrong.