Page 62 of Down Shift (Driven 8)
“Getty, don’t. Please don’t.” He tugs on my hand for me to look at him, and I can’t just yet. “No one knows anything about being in your shoes unless they’ve walked in them. But I’m not thinking that. Not at all. I’m thinking how much courage you must have had to leave that life. One others thought was full of privilege and perfection, but instead it was like a prison.”
“Not so courageous now, though, when I saw my father standing in the bar today and my first thought was to run again.” I choke on the words. Another tear falls. The heat of the confessions feels like they’ve stained my cheeks red. “And then you brought the car and it was running and . . .” My words trail off and my train of thought gets momentarily lost in the emotion.
“What did he want, Getty?” There’s concern in his voice. And maybe some anger.
“He wanted me to stop my charade, as he called it, and come back home. That as Ethan’s wife, I need to uphold our family’s social status,” I mimic in my father’s stiff baritone, and laugh listlessly. “I told him a word he’s never heard from me before: no. That I was staying put.”
Zander squeezes my hand and when I turn to look at him, his smile is wide and proud.
“Then he told me he’s picking me up tomorrow night for dinner so he can talk some sense into me. Make a plan to mitigate the gossip when I return.”
Zander must sense the resignation in my voice. “If you go, I’m going with you.”
His words shock the hell out of me and are nothing close to what I’d expected to hear. Yet I’ve never heard anything sound better. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
Please go with me.
“You’re not asking me. I’m offering.” He nods his head resolutely as if the discussion is over.
“He’s not going to respond well to your presence.” And why am I apologizing for a man who obviously has no regard for me?
“Even better.” Zander smacks his hands together and rubs them. “There’s nothing I like more than to thumb my nose at authority.”
We stare at each other with matching smiles, hips resting on this heap of a car amid the beauty of nature, and there is a sense that something has shifted between us. Trust has been exchanged. Boundaries have been crossed.
So many doors have been opened.
Even though all our questions haven’t been answered or our fears completely confessed, we both seem okay with the secrets that still remain. This is a huge step forward for the both of us. A leap of faith.
We stand with my head resting on his shoulder and our fingers entwined—in the middle of an unexpected bright spot in my new life—and I feel utterly naked even though I’m completely clothed. It’s unnerving. It’s exhilarating.
It’s empowering.
And it’s about time.
Chapter 18
GETTY
Out of habit, my eyes scan the streets on the drive home through town as if we’re going to accidentally run into my father. I hate that I’m back to this feeling after being on my own for over four months. It reminds me how I felt in those first days—like a fugitive on the lam about to get caught and dragged back to jail at any moment.
Zander pulls into the driveway and the minute we enter the house, I’m immediately restless. Maybe it’s the Now where do we go from here? realization or just a sudden thrust back into my reality when the lookout point was more of a reprieve.
Keeping busy, I put dishes away, fold a load of laundry, change the sheets on my bed. Zander’s on the couch when I enter the kitchen, legs stretched out, feet crossed at the ankles, his laptop on his thighs. He doesn’t look up or bug me and I’m thankful for the space he’s given me, because even though I’m relieved at having told someone, my mind is now working a million miles an hour. I grab a drink and then put it back down, my stomach suddenly in knots. Unsure what to do next, I walk into my bedroom, where a blank canvas looks tempting to me, but for the first time, I’m not sure what to paint.
Resigned to this unsettled feeling, I opt for a long, hot shower that does nothing to ease the discord. After I dry off, I slide on my robe and the smile is automatic when I see Zander’s products on the counter tipped over, crooked, backward. The irony is it’s so perfectly messed up that I know he did it on purpose.
His intent makes the act so much sweeter. And my next decision that much easier to make.
The house is quiet when I exit the bathroom and I catch myself moving toward the sliding glass doors leading to the outdoor deck. By the light of the moon I can make out the tools still strewn around the platform, the errant two-by-fours waiting to reinforce the existing structure, the patchwork quilt of wood still waiting to be sanded and painted.
But it’s the lights on the water that hold my attention. The boats coming home to their families or ones leaving on a new journey. I watch them for what feels like forever, my legs chilled beneath the robe and my breath fogging the window in front of me. I stand motionless in the darkened hallway, because like at the restaurant, I lose myself in the story I create for each one of the glimmering lights.
Because sometimes thinking about others makes it so much easier to forget about yourself.
“Getty?” Zander’s voice is soft as he steps up behind me. And I don’t jump, because for some reason, I knew he’d find me. Bring me back when I’m trying to forget myself.
“Hmm?” I keep my eyes on the lights, their stories still loud in my head, but my body is most definitely shifting its attention toward his undeniable presence.
