“I have another coat behind the seat.”
That was a lie.
He had his work hoodie.
Close enough.
He wrapped the leather jacket across her shoulders over the white fur.
The contrast almost made him laugh.
She noticed.
“What?”
“My jacket probably cost less than one of your boots.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Does that bother you?”
“No.”
“Then why mention it?”
“Because I’m trying to make you stop looking like you’re about to cry.”
That surprised her.
It almost worked.
Almost.
Then a black sedan appeared far down the road.
The woman’s face changed.
The single father followed her gaze.
The sedan continued away.
It did not slow.
“Yours?”
he asked.
She said nothing.
He waited.
Snow struck the shelter roof.
Finally she whispered:
“It was.”
The single father looked back at her.
She stared after the disappearing taillights.
“He left me here.”
The sentence sounded impossible even to her.
The single father did not react immediately.
“Who?”
“My fiancé.”
He looked toward the road.
Then at the wheelchair.
Then her clothing.
“You had an argument?”
She laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“You could call it that.”
“Did he know the buses were suspended?”
“Yes.”
The single father’s jaw tightened.
The woman noticed.
“You don’t know what happened.”
“No.”
“You don’t know me.”
“No.”
“You don’t know him.”
“No.”
She stared.
“Then don’t make that face.”
“What face?”
“The one where you’ve decided he’s a terrible person.”
The single father glanced toward the road again.
“He left a woman using a wheelchair at an empty bus stop in fourteen-degree weather.”
He looked at her.
“I’m comfortable with my preliminary assessment.”
She nearly smiled.
Then stopped herself.
“He said I needed time to think.”
“About?”
The woman’s eyes filled again.
The single father immediately regretted asking.
She looked toward her hands.
“Whether he still wanted to marry me.”
The single father said nothing.
The woman continued because the silence was easier than pity.
“We were supposed to be married in April.”
“Tonight he told me he has spent two years convincing himself the accident didn’t change anything.”
Her voice became smaller.
“But it did.”
The single father’s expression softened.
“He said he doesn’t want a marriage where he has to take care of someone forever.”
She swallowed.
“And then he said…”
The words stopped.
The single father waited.
She looked toward him.
“He said I should be grateful he stayed this long.”
Anger moved across the single father’s face.
The woman laughed through tears.
“Still making the face.”
“Worse face now.”
She wiped beneath one eye.
“He said most men wouldn’t choose ‘damaged goods’ when they had options.”
The single father looked toward the road.
For a moment she thought he might actually walk after the sedan.
Instead he reached down, picked up her dropped glove, brushed snow from it, and handed it back.
“He’s wrong.”
The woman looked at him.
“You don’t know that.”
“I know nobody who loves you should need you smaller to make himself feel generous.”
The sentence landed harder than he intended.
Her expression changed.
The single father immediately looked uncomfortable.
“That sounded like I rehearsed it.”