Count On Me(67)

Well this isn’t at all what I expected when I got here.

“Well, hello to you too.” I choke out through my laughter. “Looks like I wasn’t the only one missing someone.”

She pulls back and shakes her head which I hope means she missed me too.

The way I feel about Isabelle has never had anything to do with the way she looks. It’s just impossible to be that shallow and one track minded when I’m with her. There’s no denying that she’s beautiful. The way she looks now, I see that she shares a lot of the same features as her mother. From the blonde hair and blue eyes, to the shortened height and tiny hands, it’s almost like the two of them could be twins.

It’s her eyes that I focus on the most, even though her peach colored lips hold their own separate kind of appeal. They’re a light blue, like the sky on a spring day before the clouds get in the way. They’re reflective and every second that I stand here staring at them, I can see reflection and the way I look when I’m completely absorbed in her. If it’s possible for a person’s heart to shine through their eyes, then that’s Isabelle right now.

Pressing my lips to hers, I allow myself to take in not only the softness that I’ve been missing for hours, but also the scent. It’s peaches and cream this time. Every day is a new experience when I get to smell her, but this one might be my favorite. She really is good enough to eat and just admitting that makes me sound like such a chump.

“So,” I ask breaking away from the kiss, watching as she laces her fingers through mine. “You gonna tell me what that welcome was about?”

She squeezes my hand once, telling me yes and then lifting our hands she points to the house. Well, if she wants to tell me something and she wants to do it inside, I’m more than willing to go along with it. Not only have I been dying to see her again, but I’m also curious to know why she seems so damn happy all of a sudden.

It’s only when we’re both locked inside and sitting around the kitchen bar that she passes the paper across to me and I see the words she’s written there. The minute I do, my heart drops in my chest.

So, I went to the doctor today.

I knew she was hiding something from me, but I had no idea it was something medical. I thought that maybe she was starting to regret agreeing to come to the game or that she really didn’t want to go to the dance after all, definitely not this. Is something wrong with her? I didn’t even know she was sick. The questions flood my mind and I close my eyes in an effort to force them to stop.

She’s happy right now; I need to focus on that. Nothing else matters.

“When?”

Her answer as usual is quick, something I’ve come to expect from her. She is definitely a writer.

After school. I know that you’re gonna figure out I lied to you and I’m sorry for that, but I had to do it.

Isabelle, my Belle, lied to me. I can’t seem to see anything else on the page but those words. It’s not a big lie and judging from the way she’s been acting since I showed up, I know I shouldn’t focus on it, but I can’t stop myself. It’s just something that I never thought her capable of doing.

Maybe she’s not so different from me after all.

“Why did you go there? Are you sick?”

Well duh Kay, I’m autistic, of course I’m sick.

There’s not a damn thing funny about that, but the happy face steadies me. She’s attempting to make a joke and I need to see it for what it is and not overreact. She’s the one that’s actually dealing with this and I’m the one losing my shit. How wrong is that?

“You didn’t answer my question.”

I went to talk to my doctor about what’s wrong with me.

“There’s nothing wrong with you.”

She blushes and it turns me inside out. Even when her cheeks are completely red, she’s gorgeous. I wasn’t trying to say anything sweet, but her reaction shows me that it’s just something I do easily when it comes to her. I hope it’s something I get to do forever.

Kay, it’s about my speech problems.

“What about them?”

I wanted to know what’s wrong with me. I wanted to see if there’s a way that I can talk again.

“Did he tell you something good? Is that why you’re so happy?” I ask, even though it’s not the question I really want an answer to. I want to know why she felt she had to keep it from me.

She nods and then starts scribbling on the paper, but this time she’s taking her time, almost as if she’s making sure she gets everything out.

“Can you also tell me why you felt like you needed to hide it from me?” I ask as she’s pouring her heart out on the page. She looked like she was about to stop once the words came out, but just as quickly as she paused, she started again. It’s only when she slides the paper over and I see she answered both that it makes sense.