Night Shifts Black Read Online Free PDF Page A

especially confused when I apologize to him for messing up my own order,
but she’s a good sport and promises to be right back with my coffee.
    “Living on the edge
today. I don’t know if I can handle all this excitement,” I say after she
leaves.
    “Wow. So Sheltertown really
was a small town, wasn’t it,” he teases.
    “Shelteron,” I
correct. “And yes, it was.”
    “They didn’t have
coffee there, I presume?”
    “They only have orange
marmalade in England?”
    He grins. “You think
I’m English.”
    I blush. I do. Well, I
did.
    “I guess that means
you’re not.”
    He shakes his head. “No.
South African.” I also think he might regret embarrassing me. “Don’t worry
about it. I get that all the time, believe me. Especially here.”
    “Yeah, I know.
Ignorant Americans.”
    “I didn’t say that.”
    “You were thinking
it.”
    “Really? You know me
well enough to know what I’m thinking?”
    No. I know him well
enough to know I have no idea what he’s thinking.
    “So you weren’t
thinking it?”
    He smiles and shakes
his head. “No. I really wasn’t. I’ve lived here since I was fourteen. My accent
isn’t a true South African accent either. I can’t blame anyone for not being
able to place it.”
    “What brought your
parents to the United States?”
    His eyes shift. Uh-oh.
    “As fate would have
it, nothing, actually.”
    I go into triage mode.
“Well, then. At least I understand your love of oranges.”
    He laughs again, but I
sense it’s more from relief that I let the parent comment slide. “Oranges? You
know nothing about South Africa, do you.”
    “Sure, I do.”
    “What? Name one
thing.”
    I tap my fingers as I
think. “Um…it’s in the southern part of Africa.”
    He grins. “It’s true.”
    “Don’t ask me for
something else, though.”
    “After that response,
I wouldn’t dream of it.”
    I give him a look and his
return smile plunges deep inside of me.
    “Fine, smarty-pants.
Then name one thing about Shelteron.”
    “Anything?”
    “Anything.”
    “Ok. Well, it only has
one traffic light. I should say, a light that flashes yellow, anyway.”
    I scrunch my nose. I
want to laugh. I don’t know why I don’t. Maybe I’m afraid I won’t stop.
    “Am I wrong?”
    I smile instead. “No.”
    I notice his hand
resting on the table. It’s further on my side than seems natural, his sleeve a
little long and covering his wrist all the way to the middle of his palm. I
want to touch it. To feel the warmth of his fingers. Or maybe they’d be cold.
My fingers are always cold. That would be awkward, my cold hand stunning his. I
abandon the idea of reaching for my glass and causing an accidental collision.
My eyes rest on the ring, and I freeze. He caught me.
    The warmth
disintegrates as he draws his hand away and tucks it in his lap. I wonder if
he’ll explain. I want him to tell me the truth almost as much as I don’t. I don’t
want to be reminded that he’s someone else to someone else. I don’t dare to
speak. There are no words for this.
    “I was married.”
    Was. Divorced?
Widowed? I don’t know how to ask. He’s not going to offer. But he’s no longer
someone else’s someone else. That much is obvious.
    He shakes his head.
“Anyway, let’s not do personal stuff, ok?”
    I nod. “Sure,” I say,
as if there’s any other response I could give. I’m not here to marry him. I’m
here…the chair. My heart starts beating faster. Is she the ghost? I want to
look at it as if there would suddenly be new clues after this revelation. I
have to look, but I can’t. He doesn’t either. I watch his eyes instead, waiting
to see where they go. They’re staring at his hand. I can’t see it anymore, but
I’m sure he’s looking at the ring.
    He still wears it.
    My heart shatters.
    He’s widowed.
    I try to catch my
breath. I want him to know that I know, but I don’t know how to tell him
without words. Useless, volatile words that I can command at will on paper