Made for You
Page 42
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I check the time. “We need to go soon. How do we get you downstairs?”
“Carefully.” Eva flips her veil back up and motions to the door. “Open that, grab my crutches, and let’s go.”
I comply, and once we reach the top of the stairs, Eva looks at the bannister for a moment.
“Put the wheelchair brakes on for me, and hand me one of my crutches,” she says.
Once she has a crutch in hand, she hoists herself out of the chair and leans on the crutch. “Now I just need to—”
“Eva, we discussed this!” Mrs. Tilling is standing at the foot of the stairs now. Her hands are on her hips, and the look on her face is fierce. “And having Grace help you no less.”
“Let me guess: you’re not to do this on your own?” I whisper.
Eva offers me a sheepish look. “I am perfectly capable of it.”
Nate is already halfway up the stairs looking at the two of us with an expression of irritation that rivals Mrs. Tilling’s. “Are you trying to get me fired?”
“I can do this,” Eva insists.
He puts an arm around her. “Give the crutch to Grace.”
I expect her to argue, but after a moment, Eva sighs and hands me the crutch. Nate lifts her into his arms like she’s a bride, and Eva loops her arms around his neck. With no visible effort he carries her downstairs. At the landing, Mrs. Tilling stands with her arms now folded over her chest and an assessing look on her face. She walks over to the front door and opens it, and Nate carries Eva out to her car.
Miss I-can-do-everything accepted his help with far more tolerance than I would expect. I follow them with the crutches in hand. Mrs. Tilling fusses over Eva, who’s in the backseat, and Nate stares at Eva with an intensity that is near embarrassing to witness. At least, he does until he catches me watching him. Then, his face becomes blank.
“I’ll grab her chair,” he says flatly as he walks past me.
I slide into the front seat and turn around to smile at Eva. “Between Nate and me, you’ll be well guarded from curious onlookers today.”
Mrs. Tilling shoots a grateful smile at me before she turns to Nate, who has returned with the wheelchair. “Do you know how to fold it down or should I get my husband?”
“I’ve done this before,” he says with what sounds like sadness in his voice.
A few minutes later, he’s in the driver’s seat adjusting mirrors and the seat. We’re all silent as he drives toward the cemetery for Micki’s graveside service, and I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am: this could’ve been Eva. We could’ve lost her. The thought makes me reach back for Eva.
Eva reaches up and takes my outstretched hand, and we stay that way until we reach the cemetery.
DAY 13: “THE FUNERAL”
Eva
WHEN NATE PARKS AND cuts off the engine, I release Grace’s hand and flip my veil down. My heartbeat feels erratic in my chest, and I have the sudden urge to beg them to keep driving, to not stop here, to escape the stares and questions and grief that wait beside Micki’s still-open grave.
“Are you ready for this?” Grace asks when Nate goes to the trunk to get out my wheelchair.
“No.”
The trunk closes, shaking the car with the force of it.
“Do you want to go back?” Grace twists in her seat to face me.
“Yes, but I’m not going to.”
Nate opens the back door on the passenger’s side. I sat with my back to the driver’s side door so my broken leg could stretch across the backseat, but I can’t get out that side. Once the door is open, I use my hands on the seat and my left leg to slide myself to the door. I pause at the edge of the seat when Nate asks, “Would it be okay for me to lift you?”
“I can do this. Just make sure the chair brakes are on.”
“They are.”
Grace is standing behind the chair, and Nate is at the open car door. When I start to stand, his hands go to my hips. He steadies me, and I gasp.
“Are you okay?”
“You startled me.” It’s not really a lie. He did startle me, but that wasn’t why I gasped.
“Sorry. I’ll warn you next time,” he says.
He helps me into the chair, and I pull the veil down over my face again.
“You don’t need that,” he whispers. “You’re beautiful, Eva. Remember that.”
He’s so at ease that it’s frustrating. I want him to feel the same adrenaline rush as I do, but he seems completely unmoved by touching me.
I tug at the black gauze, making sure it covers as much as possible, and then put my hands on the arms of the wheelchair. It still feels a little unnerving to be in the chair, as if it could topple and spill me out. I’m sure Nate is careful, but we’re outside and there are rocks and things.
Grace steps around the side to straighten my skirt. She stays to my side as he pushes me up the path to where the service will be starting soon. It’s a little ridiculous that I’m coming in like some grand old matriarch. All that’s missing are gloves and heavy jewelry.
My nervousness spikes at the sheer sense of exposure I feel in being outside. Not only do I need to face my classmates, but I worry that the person who hit me is here. Logic says that’s unlikely, but in so many of the crime television shows my father likes, the criminal likes to appear at places to enjoy his or her victory. Attending Micki’s funeral fits that. My hands tighten on the arms of the chair as panic wells up in me.
“Carefully.” Eva flips her veil back up and motions to the door. “Open that, grab my crutches, and let’s go.”
I comply, and once we reach the top of the stairs, Eva looks at the bannister for a moment.
“Put the wheelchair brakes on for me, and hand me one of my crutches,” she says.
Once she has a crutch in hand, she hoists herself out of the chair and leans on the crutch. “Now I just need to—”
“Eva, we discussed this!” Mrs. Tilling is standing at the foot of the stairs now. Her hands are on her hips, and the look on her face is fierce. “And having Grace help you no less.”
“Let me guess: you’re not to do this on your own?” I whisper.
Eva offers me a sheepish look. “I am perfectly capable of it.”
Nate is already halfway up the stairs looking at the two of us with an expression of irritation that rivals Mrs. Tilling’s. “Are you trying to get me fired?”
“I can do this,” Eva insists.
He puts an arm around her. “Give the crutch to Grace.”
I expect her to argue, but after a moment, Eva sighs and hands me the crutch. Nate lifts her into his arms like she’s a bride, and Eva loops her arms around his neck. With no visible effort he carries her downstairs. At the landing, Mrs. Tilling stands with her arms now folded over her chest and an assessing look on her face. She walks over to the front door and opens it, and Nate carries Eva out to her car.
Miss I-can-do-everything accepted his help with far more tolerance than I would expect. I follow them with the crutches in hand. Mrs. Tilling fusses over Eva, who’s in the backseat, and Nate stares at Eva with an intensity that is near embarrassing to witness. At least, he does until he catches me watching him. Then, his face becomes blank.
“I’ll grab her chair,” he says flatly as he walks past me.
I slide into the front seat and turn around to smile at Eva. “Between Nate and me, you’ll be well guarded from curious onlookers today.”
Mrs. Tilling shoots a grateful smile at me before she turns to Nate, who has returned with the wheelchair. “Do you know how to fold it down or should I get my husband?”
“I’ve done this before,” he says with what sounds like sadness in his voice.
A few minutes later, he’s in the driver’s seat adjusting mirrors and the seat. We’re all silent as he drives toward the cemetery for Micki’s graveside service, and I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am: this could’ve been Eva. We could’ve lost her. The thought makes me reach back for Eva.
Eva reaches up and takes my outstretched hand, and we stay that way until we reach the cemetery.
DAY 13: “THE FUNERAL”
Eva
WHEN NATE PARKS AND cuts off the engine, I release Grace’s hand and flip my veil down. My heartbeat feels erratic in my chest, and I have the sudden urge to beg them to keep driving, to not stop here, to escape the stares and questions and grief that wait beside Micki’s still-open grave.
“Are you ready for this?” Grace asks when Nate goes to the trunk to get out my wheelchair.
“No.”
The trunk closes, shaking the car with the force of it.
“Do you want to go back?” Grace twists in her seat to face me.
“Yes, but I’m not going to.”
Nate opens the back door on the passenger’s side. I sat with my back to the driver’s side door so my broken leg could stretch across the backseat, but I can’t get out that side. Once the door is open, I use my hands on the seat and my left leg to slide myself to the door. I pause at the edge of the seat when Nate asks, “Would it be okay for me to lift you?”
“I can do this. Just make sure the chair brakes are on.”
“They are.”
Grace is standing behind the chair, and Nate is at the open car door. When I start to stand, his hands go to my hips. He steadies me, and I gasp.
“Are you okay?”
“You startled me.” It’s not really a lie. He did startle me, but that wasn’t why I gasped.
“Sorry. I’ll warn you next time,” he says.
He helps me into the chair, and I pull the veil down over my face again.
“You don’t need that,” he whispers. “You’re beautiful, Eva. Remember that.”
He’s so at ease that it’s frustrating. I want him to feel the same adrenaline rush as I do, but he seems completely unmoved by touching me.
I tug at the black gauze, making sure it covers as much as possible, and then put my hands on the arms of the wheelchair. It still feels a little unnerving to be in the chair, as if it could topple and spill me out. I’m sure Nate is careful, but we’re outside and there are rocks and things.
Grace steps around the side to straighten my skirt. She stays to my side as he pushes me up the path to where the service will be starting soon. It’s a little ridiculous that I’m coming in like some grand old matriarch. All that’s missing are gloves and heavy jewelry.
My nervousness spikes at the sheer sense of exposure I feel in being outside. Not only do I need to face my classmates, but I worry that the person who hit me is here. Logic says that’s unlikely, but in so many of the crime television shows my father likes, the criminal likes to appear at places to enjoy his or her victory. Attending Micki’s funeral fits that. My hands tighten on the arms of the chair as panic wells up in me.
