Blindness (6 page)

I don’t really remember if he was good or
not, but the fact that I recognize his name must mean something.
He’s smiling now, and I realize then that he doesn’t smile much
either. I decide not to tell him though, because I didn’t like how
it made me feel when he said the same thing to me.

“Thanks, I was a’right,” he says, his face
turning a little pink from my attention. “I was trying to become
great, though. That’s how this happened,” he adds, slapping his
hand along his thigh. I just bunch my brows and look at him, not
understanding.

“I had a little bit of an accident. Sort of
didn’t make a trick. Cut my leg to shit. Tendons. Everywhere.
Almost lost it,” he says. My mind instantly visualizes him hurting,
and
I’m
pained at the thought. I want to fix him. He’s
always wearing jeans, so I don’t know what his injury looks like,
but I’ve seen the limp. “I don’t rehab as much as I should, so
that’s why I still use the chair sometimes. I get…tired.”

He becomes distant after that. I want to ask
more questions—I always seem to when I’m with him—but I don’t.
Instead, I make a mental list. Maybe I’ll have another day, another
moment, like this.

We pull up to the driveway, and Cody backs in
near the front door. He runs into the garage and comes out with a
dolly, which he uses to help me haul the desk up to my room. He’s
struggling at the stairs with the weight of the desk and his leg. I
can tell he wants to do this on his own. I’m below him, pushing on
the wheels to make them move a little easier, but I’m letting him
believe it’s all his strength.

Once the desk is in my room, I busy myself
immediately, putting my lamp in place and pulling out my boxes,
paper, and drafting tools. I almost forget that Cody is in the room
with me until I hear him chuckle at the door. He’s leaning against
it, his frame filling it more than I thought it would—170 pounds
seems reasonable now that I’m looking at the ridges of his muscles
along his forearms and the tightness of his shirt around his
chest.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore you,” I say.
“It’s just…I missed this desk.” I smile at it and move my hands
along the dents one more time.

“Yeah, I can see why,” he says, stepping
closer and touching it, too—almost lovingly. “It suits you.”

Somehow, I’ve come full circle with Cody
again, my heart racing at his words. I instantly crave more
conversation with him, but he’s out the door and down the hall the
second I turn around. I finally collapse on my bed—the bed I share
with Trevor, his brother, whom he hates. I slap my hand to my
forehead and kick my shoes from my feet.

It’s time to call Aunt Caroline and take my
penance for missing Mac’s ceremony last week. I might as well get
all of my guilt over at once.

Chapter 4:
Home Sweet Home

Caroline was more understanding than I had
expected her to be when I told her I couldn’t make Mac’s ceremony.
I was suspicious, but when I called her a week later, she still was
willing to let me off the hook. I think she’s in one of her
depressed phases—she’s always quieter and more forgiving then. And
even though I was grateful that she wasn’t giving me a guilt trip
this year, I was also worried—Caroline had a habit of spiraling
downward when she got depressed. I made a mental note to call her
again this weekend. But I wouldn’t visit—that was my line.

I had managed to busy myself enough with
school and drafting over the last two weeks to make the time away
from Trevor pass quickly. When he left, I had expected to feel sick
with loneliness, missing him. But I didn’t. I think, perhaps, that
first week, I used Cody as a distraction. But I hadn’t seen Cody
since he helped me move my desk in, and last night was the first
time in a week I didn’t spy on his garage from my window before I
went to sleep. It seems my little infatuation had run its course,
and I was thankful.

I’m cutting up tomatoes and cucumbers at the
counter, looking periodically out the large window, when I hear the
front door fly open and the sounds of travel bags roll in. I wipe
my hands on my apron and run to the door to greet Trevor, kissing
him with two week’s worth of pent-up sexual frustration. He finally
stops me, grabbing my arm, and holding it out to the side.

“Hey, maybe next time you can kiss me without
the knife in your hand,” he jokes, looking at the giant butcher
knife held firmly in my grip.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” I say, turning and
heading back to the kitchen. Trevor follows. “I heard you come in
and got excited. Not trying to stab you, I swear.”

I drop the knife in the sink, and turn into
Trevor’s ready arms. He picks up where we left off, the weapon now
out of my reach. I’m pressed firmly against the sink, and he’s slid
his hands up the front of my apron and under my blouse, when we
hear someone clear their throat.

“Sorry, just needed to brew some coffee.
Don’t really have a pot in the garage,” Cody says, looking over my
shoulder and out the window. I’m mortified, and instantly tend to
my disheveled hair and clothing. Trevor seems less embarrassed,
more bothered.

“Maybe you should buy your own damn coffee
maker,” Trevor says, his voice sounds a little harsh, and his gaze
turns back to the hallway where his bags still rest. He looks back
to me and gives me a chaste kiss, I think a little put off that we
had to cut our moment short. “I’m going to take my things upstairs.
Come on up when you’re done here, we’ve got a lot of time to make
up for.”

Trevor bites at my neck and smacks my ass a
little as he leaves. I watch as he stares at Cody while he walks
out of the room. Cody doesn’t take his eyes from the window,
though. I can tell he’s fighting against something. His jaw is
tight and twitching. He doesn’t move until Trevor’s completely
gone.

I’m embarrassed that Cody walked in on us.
I’m not much for public displays of affection. I also have this
heaviness in my chest—a tightness I haven’t been able to shake
since the awkward family dinner where everyone but me pretended
Cody was invisible. Feeling like I should explain myself, I start
to talk, but Cody instantly holds up his hand to stop me.

“Really, none of my business. You two are
living here…together…and I walked in on you. I was rude. I’m
sorry,” he says, still unable to make eye contact with me.

“You just surprised us, that’s all,” I say,
clearing the counter of my mess from the salad I was making for
dinner. I take the droppings to the trash, and move to the sink to
run my hands under the water just as Cody reaches for the faucet to
rinse out a coffee pot. Our hands touch briefly, and we both jerk
back.

“Sorry, just had to clean out this pot. I
don’t think they’ve used it in ages…it’s dusty,” he says, still not
looking me in the eyes.

“Go ahead,” I say, taking my apron off and
rolling it up with the ties. My focus is intent on the stream of
water. I watch as Cody fills the pot completely, twice, and swishes
the water around before pouring it in the sink. His hands are
meticulous, like a surgeon, and I’m spellbound. He leaves the water
on as he turns away from me.

“All yours,” he says, before he busies
himself with the packet of coffee in his hands. He’s looking
through the cabinets, searching for filters, when he just stops,
his shoulders slumping, and his head slung low. When I hear his
breath escape in a long, defeated whisper of a moan—something in me
breaks.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. “No filters? I know I
saw some the other day. I’m sure I can find them.”

I slide over to stand next to him, and reach
up on my tiptoes to move a few of the boxes out of the way. I’m
desperate to find them for him, somehow believing that I can take
away whatever pain this is that’s constantly brewing behind his
eyes if I can just find the damn coffee filters.

I pull the cocoa down, along with some boxes
of tea, before I see the white edge of the filters, and I grab
them. I turn to face Cody, and am immediately struck by his
closeness—my body buzzing from the instant rush of adrenaline. He’s
inches from me, and I can feel the heat from his breath radiating
along my neck and cheeks. He’s taller than me, by a few inches, and
his chest is wide enough to swallow me whole. Even in his torn-up
T-shirt, I can see the well-formed muscles underneath. His eyes are
fixed on my face—not moving, not blinking. I gulp, though I try to
mask it with a small cough.

“Hey, you know what?” I force the words out
despite the rapid-fire beating happening in my chest. “You should
just take this.” I put my hand on the coffee maker and reach for
the plug, but Cody stops me, putting his hand on mine. He bites at
his bottom lip as he stares at our hands now. My eyes are wide as
I’m staring at them, too.

“I can’t. It’s not mine, and I won’t take
anything
from them,” he says, his voice hardened and
sure.

Confused, but also not wanting to offend
Cody, I try to reassure him that no one would miss it. “Really, I
don’t think I’ve seen anyone make coffee…besides you,” I giggle,
mostly because I’m nervous, and my damn heart won’t stop speeding
up. “Take it.”

“No,” he says forcefully. He sets the pot
down on the counter and pushes it away. Seconds later, he’s walking
out the kitchen door, slamming it shut with enough force to cause
me to flinch. My eyes are stinging with tears, a sensation I’ve
fought off for years. I stand there stiffly and hold my breath,
trying to stop them from forming—almost willing my eyes dry. When I
hear the low rumble of Cody’s truck, I let a single tear fall down
my face. Seconds later, I hear Trevor’s steps coming down the
nearby stairs, and I take a deep breath and tuck
whatever-that-was
deep inside.

I had planned on making a romantic dinner for
Trevor and me, but after my encounter with Cody, I wasn’t up for
cooking much. I didn’t like that every interaction I had with him
left something behind—like a scratch I had to tend to and just
couldn’t seem to leave alone.

If I was being truthful with myself, Cody was
starring in my thoughts more often than Trevor since the night he
joined us for dinner. I know it isn’t right, but I also know it’s
an innocent crush. I’ve never really had a crush, a distraction
that helps me miss Trevor less while he’s away. Cody is just a
checkbox in life I need to get through.

But tonight, I belong to Trevor—I wasn’t
allowing myself to entertain any of my distractions. I pulled out
my best puppy-dog eyes and begged him to take me out, which he was
more than happy to do. If he had his way, we’d be at a different
bar or club every night, meeting other couples, networking and
partying until dawn. Trevor is an extravert, always the life of the
party. I guess that’s why he’s done so well in school, and with his
apprenticeship interviews—he knew the right people, and when he
didn’t, he knew where to find them so he could get them in his
corner early.

I, on the other hand, am more comfortable at
home, tucked away in some nook, curled up in a chair like a cat. It
was probably from the years of living with Mac and spending nights
at home on my own. Even when Mac and I really started to connect,
we still didn’t go out much. Maybe a celebration dinner at the
burger joint or a backyard party at one of his cop friend’s houses,
but that was about as formal as it got.

Nothing about me was flashy—not my wardrobe,
not my hair, not my makeup. I worried a little that I might not fit
in if we ended up moving to Washington. I didn’t have that
polished
look that I imagine everyone else in a big city
had. I’m presentable. I would even admit that I could be pretty.
But I was forgettable—floating through my relationships with people
like a ghost. Trevor was the first person to really
see
me.
And I was learning from him just how important things like
mingling
could be—making an impression. And I had gotten
better at it.

We decide on a cute little seafood spot by
the river. It’s one of my favorite restaurants—we went there a few
times when we first started dating. The place has dancing on the
pier, and Trevor holds me close after dinner for a few songs,
swaying me under the stars.

Being close to him, breathing him in, reminds
me of why I fell in love with him in the first place. Trevor has
this power to make me feel safe—my worries completely dissolve.
When we first started dating, I was struggling with some of my core
classes like political science and philosophy, and he just took
charge, tutoring me and quizzing me on pre-test nights, sometimes
until two in the morning. I always felt guilty, and would tell him
to go home and get some rest, but he insisted he stay until I knew
my material—all of it. And he never left me feeling vulnerable or
unsure of myself, even though it meant he’d be sleeping without a
pillow in a dorm-room study lounge.

He’s filling me with the same sense of
security tonight, and I find myself melting from it. The wooded
smell of his cologne, the feel of his hands and arms against my
body, the way his biceps look wrapped tightly in his black
button-down shirt—has me full of desire. I’m dizzy with lust by the
time we get home, ready to rip his shirt and tie from his chest the
moment he puts the car in park. But my heat quickly cools as soon
as I register the shear number of vehicles surrounding us in his
parents’ driveway.

“Shit!” Trevor says, as he swings the car
door open, and flings it shut.

I climb out slowly, my ears registering the
thumping sounds coming from the garage, and the unmistakable noise
of people, probably dozens, laughing and talking inside. Trevor is
nowhere to be seen, so I start to make my way closer to the garage.
I’m about to climb the stairs up to the carriage house when I hear
Cody’s voice. It halts me—the chill I’d managed to rid myself of
tonight is back the second he speaks.