Pretending Ch. 2

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Simon was frustrated over the next few days. Connie went to lengths to avoid him, although since they lived together, she couldn't avoid him all the time. After three days, frustration turned to a strange sort of admiration. It was impressive how she managed to see him for the barest minimum of time every day. She left early, came home late, then went straight to her room.

He wondered when she ate, since she declined any invitations to eat with him, whether it was in the apartment or out at a restaurant. She was never rude—she didn't ignore him or not speak to him—but she acted like she was afraid of him. Connie had never done that before, and he began to think perhaps he'd said something to offend her without knowing it.

When Friday rolled around, Simon took advantage of having worked extra hours the previous couple of weeks and went home before lunch. Today, he decided, Connie was going to talk to him beyond "Hi, see you later." He would plant himself in front of the door if he had to, and make her say something. This was ridiculous. He missed her and wanted his friend back.

He sighed as he thought back to high school days, and how they had become fast friends their first year. He had just moved into the area, and they were in the same homeroom. She had sat in the row next to him, and when she saw him reading a copy of Dune one day, she started talking to him about it. It was one of her favorites, and they became so involved in their conversation they almost missed the first period bell.

She had introduced Simon to her group of friends, and they'd all gotten along well. It had been great for Simon. There had always been someone to talk to, go to a football game with, and things like that. The circle had remained pretty intact for all four years, with only a couple of people leaving because their families moved.

Simon, Connie and the others had attended their senior prom in a large, friendly group, with no defined couples. It had been all he could do not to gape at her that night, she looked so lovely. She had worn a sleeveless red gown with a straight skirt, and a shawl that her mother had made, from yarn that had some kind of sparkles in it. Her eyes had twinkled as they all talked and laughed, her long black hair tossing from side to side. For the first time, but not the last, Simon had wished he was her boyfriend.

The group had decided they would go to the beach afterwards.

It wasn't fair, Simon thought now, as he had then. None of them had been drinking; they hadn't even brought anything with them. Not that each of them hadn't had a beer or some wine at one point, but they'd seen enough schoolmates die in alcohol-related accidents after proms and graduations that they'd all pledged not to do it for their own prom. They piled into three cars, with changes of clothes and picnic baskets, and headed off to the beach.

He and Connie had been in separate cars; she had gone with her friend, Rachel, who was driving her brand new Corolla. How Rachel had loved that car. He should have made Connie ride with him. Rachel had panicked when an SUV full of drunk college students came tearing around a bend. She had turned the wheel the wrong way and the SUV had hit the little Corolla, flipping it up and over through the air. Simon's heart had caught in his throat as he pulled over when the car came back to the ground, and he thought he'd be sick as it flipped over two or three times before stopping.

One of the other boys had called 911; all Simon could think of was getting to Connie and the girls. Everything was a blur until they got to the hospital, and even then all he remembered was sitting in the waiting room until he was allowed to go sit by Connie's bed.

Rachel, Connie and a third girl had all survived, but had sustained serious injuries. Rachel had a broken arm, and a concussion. The other girl, in the back seat, had fared better, but still had a broken collarbone and several broken ribs. Connie, on the passenger side where the SUV had hit, had taken the worst of it. The airbag had deployed, but it hadn't helped.

She, like Rachel, had a broken arm and a concussion, and she shared some broken ribs with their other passenger. Her leg had been the worst. It was broken, the bone had poked through the skin, and some skin had been sheared off by the force of the landing. Simon had sat countless nights, it seemed, by her bedside, sharing the duty with her parents and older sister. Connie had borne up well, and gone through months of rehab and physical therapy. Now, years later, she had only the scar and a slight limp to show what she'd been through.

Since the accident, he'd only seen her in jeans, slacks, or long skirts and dresses.

Not that she'd been one for micro minis, but he knew she wasn't comfortable in anything that displayed any of her leg. He didn't care, though. To him, the scar was just proof that she was alive. If he had the guts, he would tell her that, and how much he loved her.

Right, he thought. If I had the guts . . . and apparently, I don't.

x-x-x-x

Connie stretched and yawned at her desk. She couldn't put it off any longer—it was time to go home. So far she'd been successful in her attempts to avoid spending time with Simon. She knew she was being silly, juvenile even, but she couldn't help it. The episode with Ron had embarrassed her to no end, and she couldn't look Simon in the eye.

The worst part was that she knew Simon wouldn't say anything if she did talk to him about it. He would hold her hand, or put an arm around her shoulder, let her talk, and then find something to say that would make her feel better. So she was doing this for nothing, and denying herself just about the only comfort she could get.

She had told her sister about it, and Emily had sympathized and even understood why she was avoiding Simon. Emily had, however, told her in no uncertain terms how ridiculous she was being, and that she should get herself together. She had derived some consolation from talking to her sister, but it wasn't quite the same.

Connie sighed as she shrugged on her coat and left the office. The weather was turning colder and it bothered her leg some. Maybe I can moonlight for the weather service, she thought as she stepped outside. Lost in her thoughts, she jumped a foot when a voice next to her said, "Hi, there."

She gasped and looked up to find—Simon. He was smiling, albeit a bit sheepishly. She guessed he hadn't meant to startle her. "Hi," she said.

"I'm sorry," he said, taking her arm. "I didn't mean to sneak up like that. I thought you'd see me when you stepped outside."

"What are you doing here?"

"Well, I missed you." He stopped at his car. Connie had taken the bus into the office, as her car was in the shop. "You've been avoiding me, and I wanted to talk to you, so I came to pick you up. Surely you'd rather be in my nice warm car than on the freezing bus." He held her door open.

Connie stared for a few moments and then said, "Thanks." She sat down in the comfy seat, enjoying the warmth.

Simon came around and got behind the wheel. "So," he said, "I was thinking we could hit the steakhouse, then go to a movie or maybe watch one at home. But you're going to talk to me and tell me why you've made yourself so scarce the last few days."

"All right." Connie sighed. He was right, and so was Emily. This had to stop. She had to collect herself and act like the adult she told herself she was.

Simon drove to a local restaurant called The Steak Place, which was exactly what it said. There was no chicken here, nor fish, unless you got it to go with steak. They went in, were seated and placed their orders. Even though it was Friday, it wasn't too crowded, as they managed to hit the slow period between the dinner and late-night rushes.

"Okay." Simon tipped his glass towards her, "talk."

Connie stared at her fingers for a minute. "There isn't much to say. I'm sorry for how I've been acting. I was just embarrassed."

"Why?"

"Because of what happened with Ron." She slumped back in her chair, unable to look at him. "I know you must think I'm a complete idiot when it comes to guys. And I guess I am. Doesn't matter anyway, I'm getting out of the dating scene for a while. I don't care who my sister tries to fix me up with."

"I don't think that," Simon told her. "I do think you've had some bad luck, but that's not your fault. Some people, they act one way at first, then you get to see the real them later. I know it's lame, but at least you found out about him early."

"I guess," said Connie. "It's just . . . you know, when he said that . . . about my leg . . . ." She stopped, feeling tears well up.

"Hey." Simon reached over to catch her hand. "He was a jerk. Some day, you will find someone who doesn't care about that scar. Or who loves it because it's part of you." Like me! A voice inside him cried out. He ignored it. "The scar is just a mark. It doesn't define you. Anyone who can't see past that doesn't deserve you, anyway."

"Thanks." Connie managed a small smile. "How is it you always know what to say to make me feel better?"

"Ancient Chinese secret." He grinned. "Now, what movie shall we watch?"

"Let's watch something at home. I'm too tired to go to a theater. At least if I fall asleep at home, I won't be wasting money."