Free The End of the Line by Jim Power

asked.
    Latesha
froze.
    He
looked at her with a mixture of hope and fear. “Maybe sometimes you have to
take chances,” he repeated. “You said so yourself.”
    Latesha
looked at him, turned away and glanced at the ground, then slowly brought her
eyes back to his. She was confused, almost afraid. But there was something else
in her countenance, something inexplicable. Yet no words passed her lips, and
there was nothing in her body language or expression to conclude the matter one
way or the other.
    “I’m
sorry,” Peter apologized, blushing. “I was way out of line. I put you on the
spot. Please forgive me.”
    They
both looked away for a moment, then, with perfect timing, glanced at each other
for a split second before again turning their heads. The two of them were in
limbo, treading on the very precipice of human relations. It could go either
way, and they both knew it. With one word, one furtive glance, she could sever
all connection between them forever.
    “It’s
warm tonight and I’m thirsty,” Peter explained, flushed with embarrassment. “I
want to buy a bottle of water at the store, that’s all. But I’m a stranger to
you and I had no right to be so forward.”
    “You
didn’t do anything wrong,” she suddenly blurted out after a long pause. Her
heart pounded and it took her a moment to control her breathing. “You’ve been a
perfect gentleman from the moment we met.”
    “Well,
that leaves me in a quandary, doesn’t it?”
    “What
do you mean?”
    “My
quandary is that I want to be a gentleman, but sometimes you have to take
chances. Sometimes you need to be bold.” He paused and searched her face for a
clue to her inner feelings. “If I ask to walk to the store with you, I am being
bold and not being a gentleman, but if I don’t ask you, I would never forgive
myself for squandering the chance.” He smiled and held up his hands. “Do you
see my dilemma?”
    She
considered his words for several seconds. “Well,” she began, “it may be bold of
you to ask me if we can walk to the store together, but you did it in a very
gentlemanly way.”
    “And
your decision is?”
    “Is
it my decision?” she probed. “Are you putting all the pressure on me?”
    “It’s
entirely your decision,” Peter said firmly, “and we both know it.”
    They
looked at each other very strangely. Again there was an incredibly awkward
moment, the type of moment where people sweat and feel short of breath, the
type of moment where people feel mortified, drawn irresistibly to a point in
time, yet fearful, apprehensive, afraid.
    “We
can walk together,” Latesha suddenly said, as if the words escaped her lips
without being okayed by her brain first.
    “I’d
like that,” Peter answered with a look of immense pleasure.
    Latesha
suddenly saw her father staring out the window. He was glaring at her in a way
she had never seen before and he was wildly gesturing with his hands as if he
had lost his mind. Latesha was embarrassed by his behavior, but Peter did not
see him and for that she was thankful.
    “What
a nice piece of work,” Peter unexpectedly said, walking up to a sign hanging
from Latesha’s mailbox. It was eighteen inches long, six inches high, and made
of beech wood, the grain sanded and stained to perfection. Written on it in
black capital letters was the name THOMAS .
Peter rubbed his fingertips over it and then turned to Latesha. A gust of wind
tossed his hair and he had to brush it away from his face. “This is incredible
workmanship,” he said. “Where did you get it?”
    Latesha
glanced at her father with a flustered look and then met Peter’s eyes. She
moved slightly toward the road so that when looking at her, Peter would have no
chance of seeing Mr. Thomas. “Dad made it,” she said, trying to control her
voice.
    “Do
you have another one like it?”
    “There’s
one in the porch,” she said with a confused look. “Why do you ask?”
    “I’d
like to show it to someone, if I could.