The Collision on Hardwood Drive Read Online Free PDF Page A

with the warmth of his body close to me. As I relaxed, the lump forming in my throat dissolved.
    I sat up, slowly, an d looked in his eyes. He smiled, the expression gentle on him. “All right now?” I nodded, sitting back in the seat next to him. “Do you want to talk about her?” he asked.
    I did, surprising my self with how much I wanted to talk about her in this moment with Rob. I hadn’t even wanted to think about her death before now.
    “I miss her a lot,” I told him. “It’s been really difficult on my dad too. Not just her death—though that was plenty difficult—but all the rest too.”
    “What do you mean ‘t he rest’?” Rob asked.
    I explained. When my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer earlier this year, my dad took a leave of absence from his engineering company. When the chemo wasn’t working, they invested all their savings into a risky stem-cell transplant. At first, it seemed to work. My mother got stronger, and she kept insisting that she felt better. Two months after the transplant, her doctor called to let her know that the cancer had spread to her lymph nodes and her bones. He explained that the transplant often causes a surge of white blood cells, causing the body to release an excess of serotonin, masking any physical feeling of deterioration. Once her cell levels returned to normal, she weakened rapidly. She spent the last four weeks of her life on pain medication, floating in and out of consciousness.
    “A week after she di ed, my dad tried to go back to work. He wanted to distract himself from the grief, but of course, the company hadn’t held his position for him,” I said, my voice growing bitter with each word. Rob’s eyes widened. “He worked for that company for thirty-five years,” I said, darkly, under my breath.
    I tried to cleanse m y voice of the bitterness washing over me, tried to finish the story. Rob was a good listener. I wanted to tell him about myself without spewing venom all over our conversation.
    “Anyway, to make a l ong story short, he’s about to lose the house. The bank foreclosed on him. That’s the other reason he was up here this weekend—we looked at a few apartments. He’s pretending to make the best of it, but I know it’s difficult,” I said, quietly.
    Rob sighed, keeping one arm around me. I breathed slowly and studied my hands. I wasn’t sure how Rob would respond to that story. Michael couldn’t handle it, after all. Anytime the word cancer was mentioned, he changed the subject awkwardly. It was abundantly clear to me that he had no interest in discussing the situation—he didn’t even consider himself involved in my life and my family.
    “I’m sorry,” I said, trying to lighten my tone and shake Michael out of my head. “I know cancer talk probably isn’t what you had in mind for tonight.”
    Rob lifted a hand to turn my face toward him. “I’m glad you told me,” he said, earnestly. “I know it’s not easy to share that kind of shit with someone you hardly know. Thank you for telling me. Listen, Stephanie—if there’s anything, anything I can do, you just say the word.” He looked at me so intently that I knew his offer was serious.
    “No. No, really, I’m sorry,” I said, touched by his genuine sympathy. I felt safe and warm next to him, but I didn’t want to ruin this evening by continuing to dwell on my sob story.
    “Tell you what, why don’t we switch gears for a while?” I asked. I was suddenly overwhelmingly aware of his solid thighs pressed against mine, his broad chest pressed against my side.
    “Sure, but anytime y ou want to talk about this—I’m happy to listen,” he said. “How does some fresh air sound? We can head out to the pool, clear our heads.”
    His lips were danger ously close to mine. I could almost taste the spicy bourbon on his tongue. Cool, fresh air suddenly seemed a necessity.
    We slipped throu gh the back door, stepping onto his backyard terrace. A huge pool splayed across the