The Things She Says(28)
“I’m really sorry, VJ. I’m in St. Louis at my grandparents’ house. I had to let my old apartment go. They wanted me to sign another six-month lease or get out, and the condo won’t be move-in ready for at least three weeks. My grandparents had an extra room and my boss is letting me work remotely. I had no idea you’d be moving so soon.”
“No problem. I totally understand.” There were bound to be loads of fifty-cent-a-night hotel rooms in Dallas.
“Do you have another place to stay?” Beverly’s clear concern was almost her breaking point. “I know a few people who wouldn’t mind.”
Depending on the kindness of strangers. Even more pathetic. “That’s okay. Thanks anyway. I’ll find something else. I’ll call you soon to give you my new phone number.”
And that was that. Now she was homeless for the next three weeks.
VJ was eerily still for so long, Kris considered taking her temperature.
Each time the car passed another exit, he anticipated instructions to turn off so they could visit the world’s largest ball of twine or the Petrified Wagon Wheel Museum, which VJ would artfully turn into a way to make him crazy. Or make him think. Or thaw him out a little more.
Each time she didn’t speak, he grew more frustrated. He recognized the wisdom of taking big, giant steps back from that line. He did. He just didn’t like it.
During the stage-five discussion, he’d had a hard time keeping his attention on the road and off her mouth. It wasn’t only the things she said, but the way her lips formed the words, and how she never hesitated to spit out what was on her mind.
Twice, he’d had to physically restrain himself from pulling onto the shoulder in order to put that smart mouth to better use.
“You know what?” VJ said after several miles and several provocative images later of what those perfectly formed lips could do.
“What?”
“I turn twenty-five in two days, and I’ve never been outside of the state of Texas.”
They’d have parted ways by then. He frowned at the sudden compulsion to stick around until her birthday and shower her with presents and champagne. “Do you want to go somewhere in particular or just over the state line?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t had the luxury of thinking about much more than the next dime in the bank. Mama was sick for so long and everything I planned to do...” She trailed off, and he had to swallow at the despondent note in her voice.
“Where would you go, right now, if money was no object?”
“Greece,” she said instantly. “To see boats bobbing in crystal-blue water and watch the fishermen pull up nets. Like you talked about at lunch.”
“Greece is nothing special. I couldn’t leave fast enough.” He’d walked out the door at sixteen and never looked back. Every once in a while, he missed odd things, like the strong tang of homemade tsipouro, which he used to drink with the help in the kitchen while Cook pretended not to notice. Strange—he’d lived in America now for the same length of time he’d lived in Greece. Sixteen years. Each place claimed half of his life, shaping him in different ways.
“Kris. I watched you talk about it. You can’t pretend you don’t miss it.”
He downshifted, then couldn’t figure out why he’d automatically gone for the gear shift when there was nobody in front of him.
No, that was a lie.
VJ unsettled him, and his response was to do something with his hands. Something other than touch her.
“I don’t know what you think you see when I’m having a regular, old conversation. My eyes are not the window to my soul,” he said lightly.
“What is?”
“My films,” he blurted out and then regretted it.
He opened his mouth to change the subject and suddenly didn’t want to. Soon, he and VJ would arrive in Dallas and he’d never see her again. A margin of safety existed inside the car where real life didn’t—couldn’t—intrude. Her presence sharpened and clarified his thought process. His emotions. Why fight it? “No one else knows that.”
“Because you hang out with all blind and deaf people?”
In spite of the somberness coating the back of his throat, he laughed. How did she do that? He had the capacity to fall into moodiness for days—had, many times—but she blew right through it as if it didn’t exist. “Yeah. I guess so. But I don’t sit around having heart-to-heart talks with anyone about why I love being a director, either.”
“It’ll be our secret, then.” She smiled, and it dove right into his stomach. He forced his attention back to the road and tried to forget how her breast felt like velvet, which was impossible with the scent of coconut wafting in his direction as she leaned forward and said, “Tell me another one.”