Free Between the Lines by Jane Charles Page A

“There’s a café. Let’s rest a bit.” She glances at her phone.
“They’re only open for another half hour or so, so we’ll have to hurry.”
    She turns
in the opposite direction. Ellen knows this place so well that she doesn’t even
consult a map. I’m not sure I could find my way back to the entrance without
one.
    “I’m
thirsty anyway.”
    We decide
just to get a drink and relax, and I try not to sigh after we get a table and
sit, but it feels good to be off my leg. After the waitress takes our orders
and returns with a beer for me and glass of wine for Ellen, she turns to me,
elbows on the table. “So, tell me about yourself.”
    It takes
me aback. We’ve been together, almost non-stop, since we met. Of course, that
was only a few days ago.
    “I know
your father’s a dick. Your words, not mine, since I haven’t met him, but what
about the rest of your family?”
    “Let me
see, my mom is great, dad not so much. I have a younger sister.”
    “How old
is she?”
    “Twenty-one.
She plays soccer for the University of Rochester.”
    “So, it’s
okay for your sister to play soccer.”
    I laugh.
“It’s a girly sport, you know.”
    She rolls
her eyes. I’d like Ellen to meet mom and my sister, but I doubt she’ll ever
meet my dad.
    “Catholic
family,” I add. “If possible, my mother would have had eleven disciples after
me and my sister, but she couldn’t have any more kids.”
    “I
thought there were twelve.”
    “My
mother would never name a kid Judas, so she was going to settle for eleven.”
    “What’s
your sister’s name?”
    “Mary.”
    Her eyes
go wide. “You’re real name is Gabriel, isn’t it? As in the angel.”
    My face
heats. “Yeah. I hated it as a kid. And, neither one of us missed a single mass
until we my dad determined football was more important.”
    Her jaw
drops. I don’t know where she stands with religion but I’m having too nice of a
time to enter into that potentially volatile topic. The quickest way to
determine friend from foe is to discuss religion or politics and I’m so not
ready to find out where Ellen stands on either.
    “What
about you?” I ask. “Any siblings?”
    Ellen
glances away and lifts her glass of wine, taking a drink, not answering me. Did
something happen? I sure as hell don’t want to bring up painful memories, not
when we are having such a great day.
    After a
moment, she puts her glass on the table. “I have an older brother and sister.
They still live in Nevada. So do my parents.”
    She
didn’t want to talk about her dad before. Now I remember assuming they’re
estranged.
    “I’m the
baby, and always did my own thing, much to their disappointment.” She laughs,
trying to make light of a situation though I get the feeling there’s nothing
funny about it.
    “How’s
your leg feeling?”
    This is
like the hundredth time she’s asked. “It’s fine.”
    “Don’t
lie to me,” she snaps. “I don’t like it.” Suddenly she’s cold, as if she’s
angry. “The longer we walked the heavier your limp got. I didn’t say anything
because you want to act like it’s no big deal. There’s nothing wrong with
babying an injury.”
    Yes there
is, I almost say. Only weak people rest. Push through. You’ll be stronger
for it. Be a man. I can hear my dad’s words echo in my mind. Guys who
pushed through injuries, usually only made it worse. Is that what I’m doing by
forcing myself to walk around after twisting it? Or, I’m in denial. It hurt
like hell when my foot slipped out from under me and I sure as hell do not want
to have another surgery. Maybe I should be at home, foot up and icing it. Not
walking around the Metropolitan Museum of Art. “Okay, it hurts.”
    “It’s why
you made up the excuse for getting something to drink instead of just coming
out and saying ‘hey, I need to sit for a bit. Do you mind?’”
    She’s
right. “Sorry. I just don’t want to appear weak, okay.” God, I hate admitting
that to her, and to