Letters in Time by Reiss Susan (i love reading books .txt) 📕

TJ shifted the truck into park and looked at me. His hazel-green eyes drilled straight into mine and quietly said, “You want to know what I think? I think the way you get over your fear of driving, maybe the way to get you over your fear of anything, is to get mad, really mad. If that helps, get good and mad. Doesn't matter to me."

I looked down at my hands clenched in my lap but didn’t say a word.

After a few moments, he drew in a deep breath and said quietly, “You’re right.” He gave a curt nod and repeated, “You’re right. I’ll take you home.”

We rode the rest of the way home in stony silence, the kind that makes you want to shiver from the cold. TJ stopped the truck at the front steps of the Cottage. I gathered my things and put my hand on the door handle.

“Wait, Emma, let me—” he said, as he launched himself out of the cab.

“I don’t need to wait for anyone,” I called out after him. “I can take care of myself.” I opened the door, took out the cane, and slid from the seat.

“I guess you’ll have to, now that Jack is gone,” he breathed. He raced up the steps, unlocked the front door, and came back to me.

“What are you doing?” I asked. It seemed everything he did irritated me. “You don’t have to walk me to the door. We’re not on a date.”

"No, we're not," he said. "I thought I might help you up the steps and hold the storm door open while you made your way inside. This isn't Philadelphia, you know. I was raised a Southern gentleman and you’re trying to navigate with just a cane."

I bit out the words as I reached for the railing. “Well, fine. You can stand there and watch me do this by myself.”

It took everything I had to pull myself up each one of those steps. Pain was shooting down my leg and up my back. I worked hard to keep my face blank. My anger flared as I realized he was right.  I needed help. But I wasn’t going to ask for it.

I cleared my throat, hoping my voice would sound normal. “I guess I should thank you for bringing me home. You spared me from spending one more minute with that awful woman.”

“Awful woman?  Who are you talking about?” TJ asked, sounding a little defensive.

“Why, Catherine, of course. She never stopped talking. And her gossipy comments. She should be a reporter for some celebrity magazine.”

At the top of the steps, I dropped my cane. I didn't know whether to scream or cry when he picked it up and held it out to me. I wanted to stomp inside, slam the door, and lock out the whole world. Instead, I grabbed it and struggled the last few feet to the door.

“Thank you again for your help,” I managed to say through clenched teeth. I felt like a bomb was about to go off inside me. The man was only trying to help. Only I didn’t want his help. I didn’t want anybody’s help.

He must have sensed that I was about to snap and took a quick step back. “Good night, Emma.” He turned and danced down the steps back to his truck.

I should have let it go, but I couldn’t. I called after him. “One more thing, TJ.”

He turned.  “Yes, ma’am?”

“Don’t go making decisions for me ever again.”

"Excuse me?" He sounded lost.

“You heard me.   Don’t ask someone to come by to say hello. Don’t sign me up for any groups. Don’t do anything without asking.” I could hear the acid in my voice, could almost taste the bile in my mouth. “Especially some two-bit writing group.” His silent surprise allowed me to continue. “You’re not the boss of me, TJ. Nobody is.  I’m the boss, only me. My ex-husband couldn’t control me and neither can you. Not you. Not those women. Not the doctors and all their minions.” I was screaming. “You don’t get to decide anything for me.”

Proud of my declaration of freedom, I turned quickly, too quickly, and went down hard.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“If you looked in the dictionary this morning for the definition of the word hubris: excessive pride or self-confidence, you would find my picture.”

—Emma’s Journal

I lay sprawled on the floor like a broken doll. White-hot pain flashed from my hip to my foot. Pain shot up my back. The throw rug for muddy feet by the door was my downfall. Above all, the humiliation was too much to bear. Tears burst through and wouldn't stop. I don't know how long I lay there soaking my top, the rug, and the floor with my tears.

When the sobbing slowed, a handful of white tissues appeared in front of my face. TJ hadn't left. He hadn't run away. He'd gone to find the tissue box and came back to wait until I was ready to use them. He didn't say, poor baby. He gave me room to find my own way. I was grateful. And a little guilty. I hadn’t been the nicest person.

I'd been taking out my frustration on other people since I'd arrived on the Eastern Shore. I didn't do that when I was in Philadelphia because, I now realized, I hadn't spent much time with people. Oh, I had friends. They'd come to the hospital and rehab, but I think they were relieved when I went home. They could focus on their own lives again. They teased me about watching daytime talk shows, reading,