Walk With Me

13. Unspoken Words

"How was your week? Besides the hand, of course," I ask Tommy, bringing my eyes to his now. I'm really getting used to seeing those eyes looking back at me.

He glances down to his hand, examining the damage. I remember reaching for him yesterday without even thinking. After all of our interactions the last few weeks, we've remained physically distant, never reaching out for one another. I saw that cut and before I could process what I was doing, I was holding his hand between mine. It was instinct to reach for him. Once I did, I seemed to enjoy his touch a lot more than I probably should have.

"Good. Nothing too exciting. Just a few of the usual customers along with a couple newbies," he so casually answers, pulling my thoughts away from his touch.

A small laugh escapes me at his nonchalant response. "I like how you make it sound like just another day as a grocery clerk or something."

I have actually really enjoyed his work stories. Some of them are so ridiculously outlandish that I have to question if he's telling the truth. Though, I seem to have an instant sense of trust when it comes to him.

He responds to my comment with that laugh that seems to appear more often than I have been used to in a while. I like it. I like the little dance my heart does and the slight flutter in my stomach. Something that has become a regular lately when I'm with him. Yet another thing I look forward to on our walks.

"I mean, there is a sense of routine to it. A pattern if you will. But there's always the unexpected to throw you off. Sometimes it's something small other times it's a bit more of a rush. Requires me to be a little more alert," he responds.

I think about what he's saying. Sometimes with the lighthearted stories he tells me, I forget about the other side to his job. The absolute shit he has to see. It's the stories he purposefully chooses to withhold that probably weigh on him the most. The ones that ultimately need to be said out loud.

"Do you ever get scared?" I ask without actually thinking about my question. I don't mean to go deep or to pry about something he doesn't really want to talk about.

He doesn't immediately respond and the change in his expression has me second guessing my rash question. I quickly start to speak to take back my words when he beats me to it.

"I think everyone gets a little scared at some point," he says, letting his eyes connect with mine again. He's not just speaking for himself at this moment. He's doing what he always does, reading me. "But that's when the adrenaline and tactic take over. When your brain shifts into a gear above normalcy. Putting everything on high alert. It's like all of your senses come alive, working together to make the right decision."

I consider his use of words, reflecting on my own struggles lately. "Have you ever made a wrong one? Decision, I mean."

I see his mind sorting through my words. He's digging for the deeper meaning. Doing what he does best, the very thing I need him to do.

"Depends on what we're talking about. If we're talking I should have ordered the steak kind of decision, then yes. I have made plenty of those," he bends down to pick up a stick from the ground, throwing it into the water for Stella. I watch as she dives into a shallow wave, coming out with the piece of driftwood. She runs to me now, dropping it at my feet as I bend to pick it up. I throw it back out, watching as she chases again with joy. I can't help but smile as she dives into the water again.

As Tommy begins to speak, I shift my eyes back to his. "Now, if you're talking about the life altering kind, the ones you have to truly trust your gut on, then no. I think when you make those decisions, you're making them for a reason. One that you've usually thought out, that you decided on because it felt like the complete right thing to do. I don't think you can be wrong when you trust your gut like that."