Romance Impossible(43)

"Absolutely," I said, making a dismissive hand gesture. "It'll be no trouble at all."

"Well...thanks," she said, the confusion starting to temper her initial gratitude. "Just let me know when you can come over."

"Tomorrow afternoon?" I suggested.

"That would be great," she said. "Thanks, again, really. I have to go - but thank you."

She hurried out the door. Back in his corner, Liam made a small, disapproving grunt.

"Liam, my man," I said, walking over to his station and clapping him on the shoulder. "Listen - you wouldn't happen to have a pickup truck, would you?"





***



As it turned out, Liam did not have a pickup truck - but his brother did. I had to take him out for drinks to ply it out of him, but it was a worthwhile endeavor.

I missed the turn to Jill's place about three or four times, cursing bitterly as I had to turn the massive vehicle around in some poor person's driveway, trying not to knock over their mailbox and flowerpots. And, ideally, not ruin the truck. Although from the state of it, I doubted that Liam's brother would even notice.

Regardless, I would have to give Liam his pick of shifts and overtime for the next few months to repay this favor. But, again - a worthwhile endeavor.

Jill lived in a bank of townhouses, painted in '70s beiges and browns. There was ample parking, and I pulled up as close as I could, backing into the space so that the bed of the truck hung out over the sidewalk.

When the doorbell echoed through the house, a loud, resonant barking came as the answer.

A few moments later, the door popped open.

Jill had her hair down, and she was smiling.

To say that I realized I'd never seen her like this would be an understatement. It was more than that; it was that moment when you see someone you know, but can't immediately recognize them because of some dramatic change in their appearance. Obviously I knew who she was. I knew what she looked like. Logically, I understood that simply wearing her hair down couldn't possibly change her appearance that much. It didn't justify the way my brain stuttered.

"Hi," she said, her voice softer and brighter than usual. Her mouth was still slightly open, like she'd been planning to say something else, but her eyes were drawn to my arm - more specifically, the ink markings on it. "Sorry," she said, after a moment, dragging her eyes back up to my face.

"It's all right," I said, amused by her sudden bashfulness. "You can look."

I stepped over the threshold, extending my arm to give her a better view. Some of it was an abstract design that had been drawn by a girlfriend at the time - that was my compromise, for not actually getting her name done, and it turned out to be a good decision on my part. The words had been added later.

Ever tried, ever failed, no matter.

Try again, fail again, fail better.

Not the most original, but it had seemed profound at the time.

It had captivated Jill, though. Always supposing her interest wasn't just an excuse to stare at my arm.

"I almost got that tattoo," she said. "The quote, I mean. In the end, I never got up the courage."

"Never been under the needle?"

She shook her head.

"Well," I said. "Don't believe the hype. It's not nearly as bad as people say. If you've been hurt in a kitchen before, you've gone through much worse."

"Yeah, but that's different," she said. "You don't expect it. Isn't the anticipation the worst part?"#p#分页标题#e#

"It is," I agreed. "But once you realize it's not as bad as you thought, everything gets easier."

Suddenly, she seemed to snap back to reality. "Oh, shit - I'm sorry, you're just standing there. Come in, please. I don't know what's wrong with me. Thanks again for doing this."

"Please," I said, as she stepped away from the doorway to let me in. "Please don't be silly - it's nothing."

"It's not nothing," she said, her eyes ducking down to the floor. "But I won't argue with you over it."

I followed her inside, onto a wood laminate floor that was buckling slightly under my feet. It was something to look at - something other than the sway of her hips. She was wearing jeans, had I ever seen her wearing jeans before?

"I should warn you, I have a dog," Jill said, over her shoulder. "I promise she's friendly."

As if on cue, I immediately heard the click click click of canine nails on the floor.

"You don't say." I smiled as the mottled gray pit bull trotted up to me, tail swinging high, a hundred and forty pounds if she was an ounce. She snuffled at my hand curiously, then sat down to lick, her tail thumping on the floor.

"Go to your bed, Heidi," Jill said, after a moment, in a gently authoritative tone that Heidi immediately responded to. She ran over to a bed in the corner and curled up, even as Jill unnecessarily added "Stay. Good bed. Good stay." She glanced at me. "Don't want her underfoot while we're moving heavy objects, trust me. She always thinks she's helping."