A/N: Thanks to all those you reviewed the first chapter. I usually respond to every review individually, but the login/submission page gave me fits a while back and I kept getting error messages on my replies to reviews. To avoid spamming people I eventually decided to only reply once whether I got an error message or not, SO I want to apologize to anyone who didn't get a response for their feedback (or to anyone who might have gotten 2 or 3 responses while I was still valiantly trying to shove things through).
Winding Roads – Chapter 2
April 23rd, 2003
You see her looking at you, casting fleeing sideways glances in your direction as the two of you wait in line for your snack orders. She has tried to be discreet, hiding behind a curtain of dark, curling hair, so you pretend not to notice her stare. Even though you've done nothing but notice her for the last five minutes.
Something about her is scraping at the back of your brain, insisting you should recognize her from somewhere. So far, though, you haven't been able to catch a proper look at her face, forced to settle for too quick glances that reveal only one incomplete piece at a time. This little game between you has gone on for almost five minutes and you're half tempted to say something to her, maybe introduce yourself, but your desire to avoid a stilted conversation has so far kept you silent.
Your inner debate is still raging when the cashier is suddenly demanding your attention, distracting you with the jumbo pretzel and Sprite you ordered to nurse through the second half of the game. You take them with a small smile of thanks and move out of line, ready to return to your seat and relax instead of playing memory with a woman you probably don't know anyway. You're almost to the tunnel when you cast one more look over your shoulder, in a last attempt to stamp a past to the woman's face. But when your eyes find her through the crowd she has turned her back on you and the only thing you can see is the back of her head.
You resign yourself to live with the mystery and take a bite of your pretzel, not surprised to find it cold and under cooked. You're halfway up the ramp that leads back into the arena, the court just visible, when your steps drag to a halt and you turn around.
Out on the concourse, near the far wall, you spot a line of empty tables. There are no chairs and the tables are just large enough for a drink and maybe some nachos, but you don't particularly care about that.
Decision made, you retrace your steps and walk directly to the nearest open table. You brush some crumbs to the concrete floor, set your things down, and wait. All you want is one look you tell yourself, one full glimpse of her face just to see.
You shake your head and wonder why this is bothering you so much. It shouldn't matter whether you know this woman or not, whether you can place her or not. You don't consider yourself an overly curious person in general, but in this case it is definitely getting the better of you.
It isn't long before the woman gets her own order and turns back toward the concourse. Her eyes are downcast and a lock of long hair as fallen across her cheek but all doubt has been erased. You know her, that much is certain, but how you know her is a mystery.
You stare hard at her face and try to come up with something. She's too young to know from school so you think she might be a patient. You meet so many that sometimes their faces melt into one another, blending until you can't remember them specifically but only as a part of a whole. But that doesn't feel right, either. You feel your brow furrow in thought.
As you watch, you notice she is juggling two sodas and a cup of cheese fries as she makes her way to the condiment table. You step forward with some half formed notion to help when a man bumps against her shoulder and upsets her balance. He reacts quickly, stopping to offer an apology while one hand reaches out to catch her drinks should they slide from her grip. She manages to catch herself quickly and shares a laughing smile with the man.
The smile is what does it. It sparks your memory and ignites the burning ember of recognition into flame. She's the runner from the park, the young woman you found lying in a puddle, wet and dirty, cursing like a sailor.
Relief and a vague sense of excitement hit you. For months you thought of her every time you ran, especially when you passed the spot where you found her. You wondered about her often, if her ankle had been broken as you suspected or if, once healed, she'd started running again. For a time you actually watched for her, hoping to see her on the trail so you could ask how she was and what she'd been up to. But you never did see her and over time you forgot to look at all. Now you can hardly believe she's here, five feet away.
You start to approach her but hesitate. There are few things more awkward than trying to convince someone they're supposed to know you when all they can do is stare back at you with increasing confusion. You don't want to put either of you through that kind of scene, but your mind whispers that she was looking at you first.
You set your soda on the table and close the distance.
She's got her face turned down, stuffing napkins into the pockets of her jeans, oblivious to your approach. You wonder if you should clear your throat or if you should wait until she's done emptying the bin of napkins to make yourself known. She looks up and catches your gaze before you can decide.
She starts in surprise but you don't know if it's because you've surprised her or if she recognizes you as the man she was staring at in line. You step forward and offer her a friendly nod.
"Hi. Kate, right?" You smile and pretend to be unsure even though the memory of your meeting feels fresh again and you suddenly remember the whole thing perfectly.
In response her face goes blank, her jaw slackening a little. She schools her face into a polite smile almost immediately, but you can see a flush being to creep up her neck and she starts to fidget with the napkins in her hands
For a moment her face goes blank, but she recovers quickly, a hesitant smile crinkling her brow. You notice a flush begin to creep up her neck as she fidgets with the napkin in her hands and you realize that, despite her staring, she has no clue who you are. And as the uncomfortable silence stretches it hits you that she's not going to remember. Belatedly, you rush to re-introduce yourself.
"You don't remember me but I'm…"
Suddenly Kate's eyes go wide.
"Wait!" Her hands fly into the air and she holds them out as though she can physically stop your words. Your own name dies in your throat and you wait, amused by the enthusiasm suddenly radiating from her. The cornered look in her eyes is gone, replaced with excitement.
"You're the doctor. You paid for my cab." Her words spill forth in a rush, almost unintelligible because she doesn't seem to be able to get them out quickly enough. As if she thinks you'll interrupt her before she can prove herself. "You're...you're Jack."
Her look of triumph is comical and you chuckle softly, happy to be remembered.
You shove your hands into the pockets of your jeans and nod. "That's me," you admit.
"Wow." Her eyes fix on yours and it's like she can't look away, like you're some supernatural apparition suddenly appeared before her. "This is unbelievable. I can't believe you remembered me. How are you?" She takes a step forward and for a second you think she is going to hug you and you step forward on instinct, but she only pats your arm.
"I'm great, thanks." you say, ignoring a pointless sense of disappointment. "What about you?"
"I can't complain."
Her smile widens and there's a fondness in her expression that is both surprising and gratifying. You feel an unexpected surge of pleasure at her reaction and your own smile stretches into a grin.
You nod meaningfully at her foot. "You're walking better than you were the last time I saw you." It's not witty but it fills the silence and keeps her talking.
"Yeah I am, aren't I? And you were right." She slides the foot in question forward and you both stare at it. "It was broken. I ended up on crutches and had to wear a walking boot."
You grimace in sympathy. "That's too bad."
"It actually wasn't that bad. The boot was this really bright turquoise and it got me a lot of attention. You'd be surprised how many people start conversations with you about that sorta thing."
As someone who works in a hospital, you know first hand how willing some people are to inquire about another's injuries and share the stories of their own, so you nod.
"I can imagine. Have you managed to steer clear of any more pot-holes?"
Kate's smile deeps and she looks up at you slyly.
"I've been steering clear of running. I ride a bike these days." She laughs at herself and leans forward like she's about to tell a secret. You lean toward her. "I should probably add that it's a stationary one."
You shake your head. "Well, at least that should keep you off crutches."
"That's definitely my number one priority these days."
The words feel like an ending, like the perfect place to say goodbye and go your separate ways without awkwardness or having lingered too long. If your first meeting was a book, it was one left unfinished, put down before you knew how everything turned out. But today the last sentence has been read and you can walk away, curiosity satisfied, the end. The thing is, you're not quite ready to close the book. You search your mind for some way to carry on the conversation.
Thankfully she does it for you.
"Is this your stuff?"
She moves past you and sets her food beside your pretzel and Sprite, safe on the round table where you've forgotten them. You catch up and move your things to one side to make room for hers.
"I owe you money," she says when she's settled.
The words are so abrupt and such a change of subject you don't follow her. Your confusion is plain and she has to remind you again of the cab you paid for. She has one hand in her pocket, presumably to pull out money, before you can assure her it doesn't matter.
The look on her face tells you it does.
"I pay my debts."
You shake your head. "I appreciate the thought, but it's not necessary. I wanted to help."
She doesn't listen to you and starts counting bills. The bills are crumpled and mostly singles, but she lays them flat on the table between you with deliberate care. You watch her count the money out loud, amazed she seems to remember how much the fare was, and you almost let her do it, just so she can gratify her pride. But you won't take her money because you refuse to be paid for doing the right thing for someone in need. You flatten a hand over the bills and slide them back in her direction.
"I can't take this."
"Yes, you can. I insist." She taps your hand lightly with the tips of her fingers.
"No." You shake your head. "I insist."
"You're really going to make me feel guilty about this forever?"
You laugh and it's on the tip of your tongue to tell her she can pay you back with coffee but you swallow the words before you can make a fool of yourself, unsure where the ridiculous thought even came from.
"I was being a Good Samaritan," you say instead. "We don't accept payment.
She sighs, continuing to look reluctant and stubborn but finally decides to let you win the argument.
"Fine," she sighs.
"So, you must be a pretty big Lakers fan." You point to the O'Neal jersey she's wearing to change the subject.
"You know it." She smiles and takes the bait. "My boyfriend is slightly obsessed so we're here a lot. What about you?"
For a split second her mention of a boyfriend throws you. But you're only off balance for a moment, not sure what brought on the surge of surprise in the first place.
"A friend of mine has season tickets and he asked me along." You shrug. "I'm actually more of a Clippers fan."
"The Clippers?" She reacts just how you expected. Her eyebrows raise and she looks at you like you just tried to convince her the sky is orange. One side of your mouth quirks as she takes a moment to digest the information and, with exaggerated care, crosses her arms over her chest. "Dodgers or Angels?"
It sounds like a challenge and you stare into her suspicious gaze. "Padres."
"The Padres? I don't believe it." She laughs and shakes her head, her eyes never leaving yours. The prolonged eye contact makes your stomach clench in a way you haven't felt in years, and you look down and clear your throat uncomfortably.
From the arena you hear the buzzer announce the end of half time. You glance at your watch, surprised how much time has passed. Around you people begin to answer the call, walking double-time to reach their seats before the start of the half. You look across the small table to Kate.
"I'd better get going." Her face is apologetic. "Tom will think I've been kidnapped."
"And he's probably hungry." You dip your chin toward her fries.
"That, too." Carefully she gathers her food, ready to attempt her precarious juggling act on the walk back to her seat.
"Do you need any help?" You know she'll turn you down but you ask anyway, because you hope you'll be proven wrong.
She smiles at you like she's not surprised you offered and shakes her head. "I'll manage," she assures you. "I'm actually better at all this then I look, I've had a lot of practice."
You'll have to take her word for it, but you have your doubts as you watch her cradle one soda against her chest and hold the other soda and fries in her hands. The one soda looks unstable but you don't say anything.
"It was nice to see you again."
Her eyes meet yours and the earnestness is back in her expression. "It was nice to see you, too. I'm glad you said something. I saw you in line earlier but couldn't place where I knew you from."
"Yeah, I could tell."
You smile again and notice color seep into her cheeks.
"I thought you might have noticed. I hope I didn't weird you out."
"No, it was fine. I was trying to figure out who you were, too." You could keep going but realize she's ready to leave and that if you don't say goodbye now you'll just keep thinking up reasons to make her stay. So you force yourself to smile firmly and nod. "Take care of yourself, Kate."
"You take care, too." She looks at you for another long moment and you start to think she isn't as eager to walk away as you believed, but then she's giving you a wave with her cheese fries hand and turning back toward the game.
You gather your own things and watch her go, waiting until she dissolves into the crowd, just to make sure she doesn't need help after all. She moves easily, never coming close to spilling, and as she disappears you think she was as pretty and kind as you remembered. The last thing you see is a wisp of her hair as she turns into the arena, and the last thing you think, before slowly making your way back to you own seat, is that you'll probably spend months thinking about her again.