40. Josie

40

Josie

T he knock on my car door startles me. I look up to see a burly, bearded man peering in.

Dabbing the ratty tissue at my eyes one last time, I sigh and roll my window down. "Hey, Pete," I say, doing my best impression of a girl who hasn't been crying for the last fifteen minutes after a run-in with her ex.

"Hey, Josie." The tone in his voice tells me I've failed miserably at my attempt to look or sound like my heart hasn't shattered all over again. At this point, I'm not sure there's much left.

"I should go," I say, pointing my thumb over my shoulder in the general vicinity of the road. I don't have anywhere else to be right now; I just don't want to be here, in the parking lot of the rehab center. I just don't want to feel this sad or lonely anymore.

"Take a walk with me?" Pete asks, ignoring what I've said and reaching out his hand.

Pete Santos is a guy who's pretty damn hard to say no to. It's not that he'd push. He wouldn't--he's too gentle a giant for that. But I can see in his eyes an insistence that tells me he's not leaving a friend in distress.

Tugging on my hat, I step out of my car and hit the locks. I slip my gloves back on as I take a look at my friend. He's dressed the same as always: in sneakers, basketball shorts and a beat-up backwards ballcap with the BU logo on it. In a nod to the chilly weather, he's sporting a cut-off hoodie today.

We're walking down the street and I'm following his lead. We take a left on Hamilton and I can see the sign for Drip up ahead. It's the original location, not the campus one where Mel works, of course, but it's almost as good.

"You're shivering, Josie. Let me buy you a cup of tea?"

I nod because there's never a bad time for a tea, and also because I don't want to be alone right now.

"How are you not freezing?" I ask. "I know you're from the great north, but still...It's 30 degrees."

"That's nothin'," he teases, smiling. "Actually, I'm sweating. I ran all the way here. You're lucky it's not a few degrees warmer, Josie, or I'd toss my hoodie and get a little sun."

Pete's been known to walk around campus bare-chested, whether he's tossing a Frisbee on the main lawn or sprawled out on a bench by the fountain, "catching rays" in 50-degree weather.

"You ran to the rehab center?" I ask, walking into the coffee shop as he holds the door for me. "Don't you usually run inside, on a treadmill or something?"

We stand in line and Pete looks at me, kindness shimmering in his eyes. "Usually. But Van texted an SOS and?—"

I go still at the mention of his name and my eyes dart toward the door. I should have realized this was more than a coincidence. Still, the rehab center isn't far from campus, so I guess my muddled mind didn't think much of it. Having tea with a friend on a cold day is one thing, but an intervention is another. As much as I love Pete, I'm not sticking around to hear all about how I need to be patient or give Van space right now. He can have all the space he needs, as far as I'm concerned. The Van and Josie Rules worked for years and it's time to reinstate them.

"Don't go, Josie, please," he says, stepping up to the counter. He orders a caramel frappe for himself and a cup of tea for me, then heads toward the cushioned chairs along the back wall.

I look longingly at the door, and then back at Pete.

My brain is the part of my body that protects me. It processes fear, it anticipates disaster. It keeps the rest of me in check. My dad used to tell me that my amygdala was always in overdrive, and it's probably true. I'm wired for the worst, and life has often seen fit to provide it.

My brain is telling me to leave. To send Pete a text saying, Sorry but I can't stay and talk right now.

But my friend is sitting patiently at a too-small table. He ran all the way here to see that I was okay. My dorm will be too quiet and too empty. My house will be too loud and full of questions.

The barista sets our cups on the counter and I scoop them up.

"You stickin' around?" he asks as I hand him his cup and take a seat.

"Yeah, on one condition. And thank you for the tea, by the way."

"Anytime, Josie. And what's this condition?"

"I don't want to talk about Van. I don't want to hear about how he's going through a rough time—that's obvious, but you and I both know he's not the only person to go through tough times. And please don't tell me that he loves me. I know that already," I say, using the hard brown paper napkin to dab at my stupid, leaky eyes. "What I don't know is why he's deliberately hurting me, hurting us. But that's not a problem I'm going to solve today. So I'm not staying to talk about Van, but I would love to hang out with my friend Pete."

He smiles and his teeth are a brilliant white next to his dark brown beard. "That works for me, Josie."

We spend the next hour just talking, and it's the break I didn't know how to give myself. I suspect Pete needed it just as much as I did. It's all just normal stuff, but it's the kind of normal I need right now after the drama and upheaval of the past few weeks.

Pete coaches the local high school team and they're playing Zane's school at districts next month, so I joke that we'll be rivals. He asks all about the kids and laughs when I tell him about Milo's recent brush with authority.

I ask about his mom, since I know she's been through so much, and I'm heartbroken when he tells me her most recent scans showed that the cancer has returned. We're quiet for a minute, because sometimes there's just nothing good to say.

He tells me that his brother Leo is starting at Bainbridge next fall and plans to play hockey, too. Pete's excited to start student teaching and he tells me he's sure I'll get the library job I want.

"They'd be crazy not to hire you, Josie. I can just see you sitting on a carpet with a big stack of books doing Storytime for a bunch of kindergartners. Or helping a middle schooler find the book that makes life a little confusing. I'm serious, Josie. You're gonna do great."

"Thanks," I say. "Same to you. I would not want to teach biology to a bunch of thirteen-year-olds, so I'm glad there are people like you who really want to do it."

Pete takes his cap off, smooths out his mass of curls, and slips in back on. "They're a lot of fun, actually. And from what I've seen so far, teaching middle school isn't all that different from wrangling a bunch of college hockey players."

It's getting late and real life is calling, so we gather up our trash and get ready to go when I hear someone call my name.

"Josie? Is that you? Hold up a sec."I hear my name and turn to see Claire Fowler waving to me from her spot in line.

"Oh, Pete, can we stay for a minute? Claire's here and she wants to talk for a second."

Pete gets a strange look on his face. "I can guarantee she wants to talk to you and not me. That woman hates my guts."

"That's not possible," I say, shaking my head. "You are universally liked. You're a teddy bear. Who doesn't like teddy bears?"

"Claire Fowler," he answers quietly. "I'm serious, just wait. You'll see."

He leans back in his comfy chair and sure enough, when Claire approaches, she only talks to me. She doesn't even look at Pete, much less say hello.

Claire smiles broadly at me. "Listen, I've got to go, but I really want to talk to you a little more about the Read to Rover program. I'm thinking of doing a feature on it for our next edition. You have my number, right?"

I scroll through my phone and find it. "Yep, and I'd love to talk to you about it. We have another one scheduled right after break if you want to take some pictures."

"That would be perfect. Thanks, Josie," she calls as she grabs her order and walks out.

I turn to Pete. "She acted like you weren't even here."

"Told you," he says, shrugging.

I'm dumbfounded. "What did you do to make Claire so mad?"

Pete shakes his head. "I have no idea."

We leave the coffee shop and walk back to my car. A cup of tea with a friend didn't solve all my problems, but it made some of them a little easier to handle.

I pull up to the hockey house a few minutes later and Pete gets out. For a second, I'm tempted to follow him and ask Van just what the hell his problem is.

But that's not my style.

And besides, I already know what his problem is. I just don't know how to fix it.