Stella and the Boxer

Chapter 41

“Do you need to now? We can stop.”

“No.”

A nice, quiet minute passes, and the sounds of Jeff Buckley fill my ears.

“Are you cold?”

“Not any colder than I was ten minutes ago – that’s the last time you asked, by the way.”

He frowns at me, then turns back towards the road, then looks back at me again, “I’m just trying to be nice.”

“Well, stop. Just enjoy the ride and don’t worry about being nice to me.”

I smile, but he doesn’t.

I squint towards the front windshield, wishing I had more of a view – malnourished grass seems to be all there has been for miles.

Suddenly, a flash of skin and black ink invades my vision, “If it’s too sunny, you can pull this down.” Charlie’s hand flips the visor down, covering half of my view with dark cherry leather.

Even though I’m only missing half of nothing, essentially, I flip the visor back up and cross my arms in my lap.

“I’m fine.”

I hear him huff, “You were squinting. I thought…”

“I have sunglasses. I’ll put them on if the squinting becomes a bit too much,” I say it dryly, but with more irritation than I wanted to portray. Charlie is always fussing over me, but never this much – I’m starting to actually find it annoying.

He takes a deep breath, and then reaches for the dial on the music, turning it up slightly, as if to distract his own thoughts – and mine.         

Nearly three minutes pass this time – I time it by a song – before Charlie’s phone begins to ring in his pocket.

He huffs again, lifting himself slightly in his seat so that he can pull the phone from his jeans. As he lifts the phone to read the screen, it falls from his hands into the floorboard.

“Damn it,” he says under his breath, pushing his hand back through his hair in irritation.

“Here, I’ll get it –”

“No,” He says quickly, blocking my reach, “I’ll get it in a second.”

“You’re driving. Why can’t I just grab it for you?” I ask defensively.

The phone is still ringing – an annoying, default tone – and the squawky, uneven sound is making my head spin.

“Just leave it, Stella,” he says, raising his voice only slightly. This time, I am the one who lets out a huff.

The ringing finally stops.

Charlie only allows a moment before he makes his own attempt to apologize.

“Stop trying to be nice to me,” he smirks, mimicking my earlier statement. He turns his head towards me, and then back towards the road, and repeats the actions – like before.

His eyes are hidden from me behind his sunglasses, but worry is evident in his brow.

“It’s not like you would’ve answered it anyway,” I pout immaturely, propping my elbow up on the ledge of the passenger side door and laying my chin against my fist. Then, I tilt my forehead against the cold glass of the window and wait for his response.

His delay tells me that he knows what I meant, but he chooses to deflect, “Of course I wouldn’t have answered it. Phones and driving are sort of taboo these days.”