Right Where You Left Me

fued with a sixty year old man

A week goes by since the party.

Nate and I have gone back to our usual routine of awkward smiles and casual nods, except occasionally he tries to make conversation. The longest conversation we've had since the party looked like this:

Nate: Hey.
Me: Hi.
Nate: How was your day?
Me: Great. I read a book and cried.
Nate: What book were you reading?
Me: Looking for Alaska. Again. I think I'm addicted to that book.
Nate (tips his head back and flashes his perfect white teeth as he laughs): You're funny.
Me: I know.

Very long conversation, I know.

I sip my iced coffee and flip through the pages of another book I recently bought. In the book, the main character went skinny-dipping in the lake with all her friends at nighttime. I'd love to do that. But I don't have friends and I'm deathly afraid of the lake at nighttime, with the clear water looking like an endless black abyss.

Nancy knocks on my door and opens it a sliver. Her hair is tied in a bun, with paint flecks on her clothes. She's attempting to repaint the entire house. So far? She's only done patches, and the walls are a mess of gray with smudges of white.

I set down my book. "What's up?"

She flashes me a wild grin. "Wanna tag along with me?"

I shrug. "Depends. Where to?"

Her grin grows wider. "The sheriff's office."

"Oh?" I ask. "Why?"

"You know why," she sighs. "Nate, that little shit. Got caught spray painting on the side of the apothecary. I told him if he's going to spray paint, he should at least try not to get caught."

"Sure," I say. Nate and I seem to be on good terms, and I'm curious as to what he was spray painting.

Once we're in the car,I open the passenger's door. I see brown paper bags filled with groceries piled on the seat and floor. Nancy winces and attempts to clear away the groceries. "Sorry, dear, I'll just move them -"

"No worries," I say. "I'll just sit in the back. Please don't lean like that, I don't want you to hurt your back."

Once we're all settled and speeding down main street towards the edge of town, where the sheriff's office is, I finally speak again. "Why the apothecary?"

She gestures vaguely with a wrinkled, soft hand adorned with flashy chunky gold rings. "The usual. Nate and Mr. Sutton fail to get along, and they're always hitting each other where it hurts the most."

I snort. "Only Nate would get into a feud with a sixty year old man."

"Well, what can you do? Never liked Sutton anyway, especially after he 'accidentally' gave me laxatives instead of my ibuprofen." She shrugs and grins at me in the rearview mirror.

Approximately thirty seconds later, we pull into the miniscule parking lot with a grand total of three parking spaces next to the sheriff's. One spot is occupied by a police car and the other two are empty. I'm not surprised by the lack of vehicles; everyone who works at the office lives within walking distance.

Inside, a lone clerk works at a desk with a computer. On one side of the room is a gray-blue couch and a television. On the other side there's a wall lined with brochures about drugs, criminals and parenting. Nancy walks up to the desk and smiles at the clerk.

"Me again," she says. Her voice sounds nice enough, but I can detect a hint of mockery. "Can I see my grandson, please?"

"Sure. Give me one second." The clerk holds up her pointer finger and clacks a few keys on her keyboard before dialing a number on her phone.

"Hello? Yes... Someone is here to pick up Nate... Yes, Nate Miller. Please come quick... Nancy has quite a temper..."

Nancy narrows her eyes at the snide comment, but doesn't say anything.

One minute later, Sheriff Wong steps out of the door behind the desk. With a receding hairline, more gray hairs than black, and wrinkles everywhere, Wong looks a little old to be the sheriff. But he does his job well, and most of the time he's reasonable.

Understandably so, he doesn't provide much slack to Nate, who's been in the sheriff's office a total of fifteen times.

Nate steps out of the door next. He's taller than Wong, but definitely not as stocky, so he doesn't look particularly threatening. He's in soft gray sweatpants and a worn black hoodie. His brown hair is mussed and he looks like he hasn't slept in a while, which makes sense since he probably spent the day here.

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, his gaze darting to his grandmother before resting on me. His eyes are gray-blue, kind of like the sky right before it rains. His tongue darts out to lick his lower lip, which is dry and chapped. There are purplish dark circles under his hooded eyes.

"And we meet again, Nancy," Wong says, addressing Nancy. He hands a clipboard with a few papers on it to her. "This is Nate's third offence for vandalization of private property, but it's only his second offence involving Mr. Sutton in particular, and Sutton has agreed to not press charges..."

"Knew it," Nate murmurs in my ear.

I startle and turn around, surprised to see Nate right behind me. I didn't even notice him move. I frown. "You knew what?"

"I knew Satan wouldn't press charges," he tells me. "Probably gets a thrill out of catching me in the middle of the night."

I can feel warmth radiating off of him, his chest inches from my back. I turn around fully to create some space between us. "Satan?" I echo.

He shrugs sleepily. "Satan, Sutton. Same thing, yeah?"

"Right." I nod slowly, a smile beginning to form on my lips.

Nate mirrors my growing grin with a smirk of his own and scratches the back of his neck again. "What are you even doing here?"

"Your grandmother convinced me to retrieve you from prison. I couldn't help but succumb to her impressive persuasive abilities."

"Prison, yeah?" The corner of his mouth curls into a smirk, amusement dancing in his hooded sleepy eyes.

"Yup," I say, popping the 'p' and turning away. Sometimes Nate was so attractive it hurt. This was one of those times.

"Well, he's free to go," Wong finishes. "Just sign right here, Nancy, and he'll be yours again."

"He was always mine, thank you very much," Nancy snaps. She snatches the pen from him, signs in the necessary places, and turns around to leave.

We're just out the door when Nancy turns around. "Oh, and it's Ms. Watson to you," she says. "Thank you for being such an amazing service to our thriving community."

She slams the door as she leaves.