by Laura Wiess
The barista arrives and after a quick scan of the menu, we order an espresso macchiato and a mocha latte, almond macaroons and a very decadent-sounding chocolate dessert for two.
“Hold up,” he says before the barista leaves, and looks across the table at me. “I never asked if you had dinner.”
“Oh, I had a late lunch,” I say with a dismissive shrug. “I’m fine.”
He gazes at me a moment as if deliberating. “Well if you get hungry they have some great wraps here, so . . .” He glances at the barista. “We’re good. Thanks, Jed.” And when he leaves, Eli sits back and cocks his head, smiling slightly and gazing at me.
“What?” I say, getting a little nervous. Is there something on my nose? My eyes? My teeth? Do I need to hit the ladies’ room right now?
“Nothing, I’m just thinking about your prom buddy and how his loss is definitely my gain,” he says. “Nothing like being in the right place at the right time.”
“I know.” I smile back, cheeks warm. “And why were you there, anyway?”
“Because I wanted to see you.” He looks at me like no other guy ever has, like he likes me and wants me to know it, like he’s having a blast and is real enough not to hide it. “So, prom queen.” There’s mischief in his eyes. “Want to dance?”
“Here? Now? Are you serious?” I say with a surge of excitement as the band goes right into Lifehouse’s “You and Me.” “What about Daisy?”
“She’ll stay.” His smile widens. “Come on, we’ve got the place to ourselves.” He slides out of the booth and stands there with his hand out, waiting for me.
I take it, heart pounding, feel his fingers close around mine, warm and strong, and feeling very self-conscious, follow him to the dance floor. He slides an arm around my waist and, still holding my hand, tucks our hands up between us, my knuckles resting against his chest, his brushing my bare collarbone.
Nothing in the world could have ever prepared me for this.
“Okay?” he says, smiling into my eyes as we slowly sway together.
I nod, hoping he can’t feel my knees quivering.
“Good.” He pulls me closer, fitting me to him, and rests his cheek against my hair. “You look beautiful, you know.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, pierced by happiness so sweet it’s almost unbearable.
The band never lets us off the dance floor, going straight into song after song, from “Wild Horses” to “Fade into You” to others I don’t recognize and barely register. I am lost, melted into a dreamy, shimmering haze of sensation. Eli releases my hand, sliding both his arms around my waist as mine slip up around his neck. My cheek nestles on his shoulder and my nose against his neck, breathing him in. His lips brush my cheek, his breath warm and uneven, and his arms tighten—
“Get a room,” someone calls in a voice heavy with ribald laughter.
“You dick,” a girl snaps. “He was finally gonna kiss her and you ruined it.”
I blink, rudely wrenched from the dream, and step back, embarrassed.
“Guess we have an audience.” Eli gazes at me, eyes smoky, cheeks about as pink as mine must be, and gives me a small, wry smile. “Nice, huh?” He takes my hand, sends the bulky, big-mouthed guy at the far table a good-natured You’re killing me, dude look, and leads me back to our booth.
Our coffees are lukewarm but we drink them anyway, mostly, I think, so that we don’t have to talk. I sneak peeks at him from beneath my eyelashes, wondering if he’s as shaken as I am, and once, when he glances up and our gazes meet, I think he is.
And when the silence stretches too long I somehow manage to clear my throat and say, “Daisy’s being really good.”
“Yeah, she is,” he says, leaning back and looking under the table. “Hey, you.” He reaches under and pets her. “Doing okay?”
Her wagging tail swishes against my knees.
“So how old is she?” I ask, breaking off a tiny chunk of macaroon and popping it into my mouth.
“About a year and a half,” he says, sitting back up and tucking his hair behind his ear. “I was supposed to take her to the vet’s for a checkup because she’s drinking more than usual but that was back when Corey, uh, did his thing and I keep forgetting to make a new appointment.”
“So call now while you’re thinking of it and leave a message on their voice mail to call you back,” I say, pouring some water into my cupped palm and leaning over in the booth, then carefully sticking my hand under the table and offering it to Daisy, who laps it up. “Then it’ll be done.”
“Nice,” he says, giving me a look of admiration, and does, reciting a quick list of symptoms—drinking more, peeing a lot, losing some weight—that one by one steal the shine from his eyes, and by the time he hangs up, his face is solemn.
I take my time drying my palm with my napkin to give him a chance to recover.
“I’ll be right back,” he says after a long moment, and slides out of the booth. “Do you want anything?”
“No, I’m good,” I say, watching as he heads for the men’s room, wondering why every single conversation has to lead back to that terrible day and hoping it hasn’t ruined his good mood, the night, my chances forever.
I sit for a minute, trying to figure it out, then give up and rummage through the clutch bag for my phone.
Nadia’s probably sent me a hundred texts by now and I should call my parents and tell them I’m not at the prom, I’m at a coffeehouse, but if I do and they tell me to come home then the night is over and I really don’t want it to be.
I mean, it’s only quarter to ten.
But when I find my phone I see it doesn’t matter anyway because it’s broken.
Great. It must have happened when Becca shoved me and my purse hit the sidewalk.
“Crap,” I mutter, and glance up to find Eli standing there looking apologetic. “What?”
“Jed says it’s gonna start getting busy, so we should get moving,” he says, bending and picking up Daisy’s leash. “Come on, girl. Time to go.” He rises, flicks back his hair and says, “Feel like taking a walk to the little park?”
The little park has huge old weeping willow trees and a flower garden with a gazebo where they take a lot of wedding pictures. It’s on the outskirts of the town near the minimall and will bring me a lot closer to home, which is good, considering I’m supposed to be in by midnight.
“Sure,” I say, gathering my things.
Eli holds the door for me and, smiling, I step out into the night.
Chapter 25
It takes us a good half hour to stroll out to the little park, with Daisy taking full advantage of being outside again and stopping to sniff every single blade of grass that she considers even mildly interesting.
“C’mon, Daze, you’re really pushing it,” Eli says dryly as the dog pauses over a crushed and ancient cigarette butt. “I know what you’re doing. Let’s go.” He’s got the leash wrapped around his wrist and my shoes dangling from the same hand, and the other holding mine.
I like it.
Daisy gives him a merry look, stops so I can scratch her head and, tail wagging, picks up the pace and leads us straight down the cobblestone path into the little park, where the huge branches of the graceful willows create living curtains around soft, deep pockets of darkness and the air is sweet with the mingled scents of lilacs, lily of the valley and the ever-present autumn olive.
“Wow,” I say in a hushed voice as we round a bend and come to the fountain. The air is cooler here, alive with the sound of swirling, rippling, dancing water.
Daisy goes right over, sticks her head in and drinks.
“Want to sit down?” Eli says, waiting until Daisy’s finished and motioning toward one of the benches placed far enough from the fountain to be dry.
“Sure,” I say as he sits next to me and knots Daisy’s leash around the leg of the bench.
“Is this okay?” he says, sitting back up and settling his arm around me.
“Perfect.” Wild, fluttery t
endrils of possibility spread through my veins as I breathe him in—the stirring scents of clean cotton, sun on skin, and a darker, woodsy musk, maybe sandalwood—and feel his calloused hand run gently up and down my arm.
“Yeah, it is,” he says softly, resting his head against mine.
A strand of his hair slips forward and down across my collarbone. It’s sleek, black silk in the moonlight and I wind it gently around my finger, then ease it free again.
“Cold?” he murmurs, and I sigh, nestle closer. He shifts, stretching his legs out in front of him, and I am very much aware of the heat coming off of his lean, muscled forearms, the way his faded jeans fit over his thighs, the tingle as the patch under his bottom lip brushes my forehead. His breath sweeps softly across my skin; his heart, quick and strong, beats under the palm I’ve settled against his chest. I don’t remember putting it there, don’t remember when his hand first slipped up beneath my hair to caress my neck.
The night slows, blurs. Awareness rises, skin smolders. His fingertips graze my cheek, soft, questioning, and I lift my chin, hold his smoky, half-lidded gaze until his mouth finds mine and then we are both seeking, finding, staying.
Chapter 26
We kiss forever, hot and hotter, straining, tangled, delirious, until Daisy sticks her cold nose right into our joined faces and snuffles, forcing us to fall back and away, laughing, gasping, stunned, hair disheveled, lips soft and tingling, the top of my strapless gown and the bottom of his T-shirt in disarray from our hungry, eager hands touching, stroking, exploring the thrilling and mysterious unseen.
“Holy shit,” Eli says, and shakes his head, dazed. “Rowan.” His sleepy gaze drops to the front of me. “You have to fix that or . . .”
I blink and glance down at myself. “Oh.” I tug the fallen side back up to a respectable height. “Better?”
“No,” he murmurs, and leans forward to kiss me.
“Do you know what time it is?” I ask dreamily when we finally come up again for air.
“Sure,” he says, holding up his watch and hitting the glow-light button. “Eleven thirty-seven.” He kisses my nose. “Time to get you home.” Laughs huskily. “Hell, where is home? I don’t even know where you live.”
“We’ll probably make it,” I say, easing out of his arms and sitting up.
“Then let’s get moving,” he says, leaning over and untying Daisy’s leash. “I don’t want to get you in trouble. I don’t want anything to mess this up.” He rises, his voice soft now, his gaze wondering, and draws me to him in a hug, enfolding me in an embrace that says far more than any words he could ever speak.
And when we finally start walking up Victory Lane our hands are clasped tight and our steps swift with purpose because I don’t want to be late either, don’t want to be grounded, don’t want my parents to associate anything negative with him, or with me with him.
“It’s right up here,” I say as we’re halfway past the woods.
“You live across from the overpass,” he says in a peculiar voice.
“I do,” I say, and tighten my fingers around his. “That’s why my father got the call and was there so fast. Because he was home, and close.” I hesitate. “He caught me cutting school and brought me home.” I glance up at him, see his set jaw and feel my stomach sink. God, I don’t want to end the night like this. “So I guess if I hadn’t cut school he would never have been here, and then we never would have met.”
“The ripple effect,” he says after a long moment, and gives me a small, sideways smile. “Corey jumps and the ripples just keep spreading.” He sighs and shakes his head quickly, impatiently, like he’s trying to dislodge the thought. “Anyway.”
Oh, hell.
“This is it,” I say, trying to sound cheerful after we walk past the rest of the woods in silence and reach the foot of my driveway. My mother’s car, my father’s Blazer. Stripe in the porch window, the TV light glowing in the living room.
“Eleven fifty-two,” Eli says, checking his watch.
“We made it,” I say, and take a reluctant step backward, our hands still joined but slipping now. “So thank you for tonight. Best prom I ever had.”
“Hey,” he says softly, and steps closer, pulling me into his arms. “Don’t mind me. It’s not you, Row.” His voice is muffled against my hair. “The whole overpass thing . . . I’ll tell you about it sometime, okay? But not now.” He draws back, searches my face, and his mouth curves into a smile. “Now’s for me taking your phone number and username and e-mail and—”
“Okay, but Becca broke my phone,” I say, and for some reason that strikes us as hilarious and the shimmering night rings with our laughter until I say, “Shh, shh! Come on, shh,” and whisper out my info, leaning against him as he punches it in and saves it in his phone. “I really have to go now.”
“Yeah, you do.” He kisses me one last, head-spinning time and lets me go. “Good night, beautiful girl.”
“Good night,” I say, backing slowly up my driveway so I can still see him.
“You’re gonna hear from me,” he says, ambling backward up the lane toward the overpass. “Count on it.”
“I will,” I say, and then, frowning, “Why are you going that way?”
“Because I live up there,” he says, giving me an owlish look. “In the town houses past the shopping center. I’ve been walking Daisy down this road ever since we got here.” His smile turns teasing. “Don’t pretend you never saw me go by.”
“I didn’t,” I say, laughing and thinking, Wow, more ripple effect.
“Yeah, well, you’d better go before I get you in trouble,” he says with a smile that stops my heart, and then follows Daisy across the street and up onto the overpass, where they grow smaller and smaller until they disappear from sight.
I turn and find my mother at the door. Her face is lit bright by the sunporch light and my father is standing behind her, Stripe in his arms, his face lost in shadows.
“Rowan?” she says, holding open the screen door. “How was it?” There is excitement in her voice, anticipation, love and worry too, the worry that someone might have hurt her daughter, been cruel to her, laughed at her, ruined her first special evening.
And even though it’s too new to share, too magical to scrutinize, there is still no way to keep this feeling to myself, and so, beaming, I say, “Absolutely amazing,” and the relief in my mother’s smile, the delight, draws me to her like a magnet and as she’s enveloped in my fierce hug and laughing in surprise, my father reaches out and gently touches my cheek as if to say he’s glad I’m home safe and then turns, shoulders slumped, drowning in sorrow, and trudges back into the house.
“So, tell me everything,” my mother burbles, drawing back in excitement. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving,” I say absently, watching him go, and then follow her into the kitchen, where we eat oatmeal cookies and I tell her a lot but not everything, and by the time we’re done I’m exhausted.
“You go ahead, I just want to clear the table,” she says. “Good night, honey. I’m so glad you had a good time.”
“Good night,” I mumble, and lurch away up the stairs.
My parents’ bedroom door is shut so my father must already be in bed. I hesitate for a moment, tempted to knock, to tell him about Eli and say good night, but if he’s somehow finally managed to fall asleep it’ll wake him up and that would be terrible, so I just stagger to my room, peel off my clothes, drag on my pajamas and fall into bed.
Best night of my life, I think dreamily, and that’s the last thing I remember before sleep envelops me.
Chapter 27
In my dream Eli and I are trying to dance but the music is wrong, the beat too fast, drumming, pounding—
Bam! Bam! Bam!
I open my eyes and shoot bolt upright, dazed, disoriented, blinded by the sharp early-morning sun, and hear it again.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
“What the hell?” I croak, throwing back the covers and scrambling out of bed. “Mom? Da
d?” I stagger over and open the door in time to see my mother, hair disheveled and barely awake, coming out of her bedroom. “What is that?”
“I think someone’s at the front door,” she says as the pounding starts again. “Jesus, it’s six o’clock on a Sunday morning. Honey? Nicky, can you get that?” She starts down the stairs, me hot on her heels. “Nicky? God, what did he do, lock himself out? Nick?”
“Dad?” I call, growing uneasy because the pounding is urgent, intense, and he isn’t answering and there’s something wrong, I can feel it because why would he knock on the front door when I know he has a spare porch door key hidden outside somewhere; why isn’t he using it?
“I’m coming,” my mother yells, but she’s moving too slowly, taking too long, and the pounding won’t stop, so I slip past her down the stairs to the door, fumble with the dead bolt and yank it open.
Vinnie is standing there in uniform, his police car parked in the driveway behind my mother’s car.
The spot where my father parks his Blazer is empty.
I don’t understand that, it doesn’t make sense, and I look back at Vinnie for the answer, Vinnie whose face is a miserable, ravaged, sickly gray-green, Vinnie who is crying, his eyes sunk into tragic, wounded black holes brimming with the end of the world, and in that split second before the earth gives way I grab on to his arm and in a high, tight voice that doesn’t sound anything like me say, “What happened? Where’s Daddy?” and when he says those terrible words that he can never take back, my mother makes a hoarse wounded-animal sound and, reaching for him, begging, cries, “Are you sure? Are you sure?”
“Yes,” he chokes out, weeping. “I’m the one who found him.”
