Page 17

Mike

O nce we are in the truck, I turn on the radio and adjust the air vents while Danielle fiddles with her seatbelt. “So, what exactly is the Miller Special?” she asks.

“In this context it means I’ll make you my spaghetti carbonara.” I might not be the best cook in the world, but that is one dish I’m confident I can knock out of the park.

“Sounds amazing. Who doesn’t love pasta, bacon, and cheese?”

“Exactly. Plus, it only takes fifteen minutes, and then we can move on to more important things.”

“Oh? Do you have something specific in mind?”

“I was thinking we could continue where we left off last night, as long as you’re into it. I can show you what else is included when you order the Miller Special.”

“I might be able to be persuaded.” She laughs and we fall into a comfortable silence.

When I sneak a peek at her, Danielle is rubbing her eyes. Come to think of it, they are looking a little red. I hope she wasn’t crying with Jake, but the two of them seemed to be in a good place when I walked in on the conversation.

She is quick to offer, “Oh my gosh, I was outside for hours. The pollen is worse this year than I remember. I’ve been stuffy all day. Do you have any tissues in here?” I know she was sitting outside for a while, so maybe it really is just allergies, but I get the sense it’s more likely that there are also some memories making her emotional. It’s okay if she doesn’t feel ready to share those with me yet.

I nod at the glove box and she opens the latch. Danielle glares at me as she pulls something out.

“What is this?”

I see it too late, the pill bottle in her hand.

“Wait. They aren’t mine.” The words fly out of my mouth.

She closes her eyes. Her lips stretch into a thin, hard line, and my stomach drops.

“This bottle has Jordan’s name on it. Why are Jordan’s pills in your truck?”

Dammit, Jordan.

“I guess he forgot them.” I know how it sounds, but she has to believe me, right? I’m telling her the truth.

“Mike, you have to know how this looks. This morning I saw a photo of you at a party surrounded by alcohol, and now you’re telling me Jordan forgot that his… acetaminophen with codeine was in your truck?” She emphasizes the words as she reads them. After the discussion we had last night, I understand why Danielle is upset about the pills. I’m not sure how she came across that photo from last night, but I haven’t done anything wrong.

“You said you were sober, but this is an opioid. It’s a narcotic,” Danielle says, her eyes glued to the little orange bottle in her lap. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to believe.”

As if I didn’t know that. I bet I could list every opioid on the market in under a minute if someone asked. “Look, you have every right to be skeptical. I don’t know how Jordan could have forgotten. But I didn’t know they were there.” It sounds like a lame excuse, the kind I used to give my mom when she would ask why the money was missing from her wallet.

Danielle dumps the contents of the bottle into her hand.

“What are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m worried about you. First that picture, and now there are narcotics in your car.” She picks through the medication in her hand. “The bottle says they issued thirty pills, Mike. The date on this prescription is yesterday. Why are more than half of them missing already?”

“Are you serious?”

“There are only twelve pills here. Where are the other eighteen?”

“What?” I can’t believe this is happening. “Do you think I’d be thinking straight enough to have this conversation if I took eighteen pills?”

“How should I know what you did with them? Maybe you stashed them somewhere? Maybe you sold them? Just tell me the truth.”

I blink at her. “I am. I don’t know where the other pills are.”

She doesn’t answer, she just draws a shaky breath and shakes her head. This is bad.

“I can tell you this much, if I had known those pills were there I might have been tempted. But I didn’t.” All I can do is be honest with her. “I know how it sounds, but…”

She doesn’t let me finish the thought before cutting me off. “Stop the truck.”

“Seriously? You’re being ridiculous. Just talk to Jordan, he’ll tell you.” I should know better than to call a woman ridiculous or say that she is acting crazy. That’s like one step away from blaming the fact that she is mad on her period. But what am I supposed to say if she is being ridiculous and she does have her period? “Those pills are not mine. It’s that simple. Ask him.”

Except I know it’s not.

“Jordan? Your roommate who was drinking with you last night, and then had his pills around you? Never mind the photo and the bottle I saw with my own eyes, that's the guy you want me to believe?”

“No, actually, I’m the guy I want you to believe.”

“Stop the truck, Mike. I’d like to get out now.”

“Danielle, come on. I haven’t used for three years. I’m telling you those aren’t mine.” I’ve said that last sentence plenty of times before, but the difference is this time it’s true.

“Clearly, they are not yours. That’s why they have another person’s name on them. But that doesn’t really mean much, does it? You said so yourself. Things belonging to someone else never stopped you from taking them before. You told me that.”

Her words steal the breath right out of my lungs. It’s only been one day since I told her about my addiction. She’s already throwing things in my face that happened years ago. Things she knows nothing about. Not really.

I once took a fastball in the sternum. I swear that hurt less than this. But what sucks the most, as much as I hate it, is that I understand. After what I’ve told her about taking meds from my grandmother and what happened with my dad, why would she take my word for it when some pretty damning evidence just fell into her lap? Logically, she shouldn’t. I guess I just hoped she really saw me. I need her to believe I am a better man now than I used to be. Clearly, she does not.

I hit the steering wheel in frustration and she jumps. Shit. I need to rein it in.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” I squeeze the wheel until my knuckles are white and try to keep my voice calm.

All of the softness in Danielle is gone, and she is all business when she speaks again. “Michael, I asked you to pull over. I’m not comfortable with you driving right now.”

I’m Michael now? I don’t think I have ever heard her use my full name that way. The only time I have seen her anywhere close to this angry is when Jake interrupted our date. Her contempt has never been directed at me. This is different. She isn’t just mad, she’s legitimately frightened. I hate it.

“You honestly think I would get behind the wheel with you if I were high?”

“Pull. Over.” Her voice is firm, but her body language is killing me. I can tell by the way she is leaning away from me with one hand on the door handle that I’m scaring her. Just by sitting here. She’s uncomfortable because of me. Or at least what she thinks of me.

My chest cracks in half as I fight against every instinct I have to pull her toward me, and I roll the truck to a stop on the side of the gravel road. But then a new wave of righteous anger hits.

“I have been sober the entire time we have known each other, not to mention years before that. I work damn hard every day to stay that way.”

Yet, obviously Danielle still doesn’t trust me, and that is bullshit because I have never lied to her. Not once. Not about anything important. The only thing even close was asking to ride back to North Bay with her after the gala, and I have no regrets about that.

I didn’t have to tell her about my past, but I did because I’m invested in making a real go of this thing between us. Apparently, she can’t see that. This blows. How long am I going to have to pay for the choices I made when I was nineteen?

As soon as we are stopped, she opens her door and hops down into the grass.

“Danielle. Please. Get back in the car,” I say through gritted teeth.

“I can’t do that. I need a minute to think.” She puts her hands on her hips and tilts her head toward the sky, like she’s searching for answers in the clouds. After a deep inhale, she sneezes twice. Maybe she wasn’t totally lying about the allergies. I lean over and get the tissues out of the glove compartment. When I toss them to her gently, she catches them and sighs a reluctant “Thank you.” I just grunt. Even if she can’t stand me right now, and I’m pretty pissed right back at her if we’re being honest, I can’t seem to stop wanting to take care of her.

I get out and slam the door then sit on the tailgate while Danielle paces back and forth. She alternates between chewing on her thumbnail and wrapping her arms around her stomach. She isn’t talking to me, but I want her to know I am right here in this with her and I’m not going anywhere. So while she mutters to herself and pokes angrily at her phone, I sit still, frozen on the back of my truck until Alice pulls up in her Volkswagen and parks behind me. I’m still sitting and watching helplessly when Danielle gets into her friend’s car and they drive away. I have no choice but to get back into my truck alone. Now it’s just me and the bottle of pills she left on the front seat.