“Mind if I take a look at your eye?” asked Bruce, just like that, as if they saw each other yesterday, as if they were walking through the garden together.
“I thought you were a PhD, not a MD,” said Liza. Bruce ignored her comment. He pulled her hand from her face and tilted her head up. It was flurrying. The cold snow felt good on her face, but the sunlight felt like a laser.
“I don’t think there’s any major damage, but you should have a doctor look at it. Where’s your car?”
Liza pointed. “On Front. Near the frat houses.” Before she could organize any of the questions in her head, he was leading her by the hand toward Front. She could barely see. Her foot clipped a light post as they were exiting the garden. Bruce slowed down and put his arm around her waist. He was wearing khakis and a grey hoodie like he was the night she and Jake saw him in Adams Square.
When they made it to her car, he led her around to the passenger side. “Where are your keys?” he asked. Liza dug them out of her purse. The eye hospital wasn’t far. She could probably make it herself. He took the keys out of her hand and clicked the car open. Then they were winding through the city.
The pain dulled to a simmer. Liza thought about everything that had happened over the last six months: Scary Witch Hat Guy, her econ paper, escaping from Brad in Adams Square, Jake’s theories. She turned her head so she could watch Bruce’s reaction with her good eye. “So, how’s Michael?”