by Sarina Bowen
“I’m so sorry,” Griffin says gently. The way you’d speak to a baby. “I would never have said anything flip about a tire if I knew.”
I shake my head again, and I realize there are tears on my face. How did they get there? I take a deep, shaky breath of cold air.
“You miss him all the time, I bet,” Griff says. Like that’s helping. “I do too. Every day. It used to hit me the worst when I’m in the orchard. But now it’s when I’m holding the baby. I want so badly for Dad to meet him.”
A sob lurches out of my chest. And I sit right down in the snow and cover my face with my hands.
My idiot brother sits down next to me. “I think you’re right about me, by the way. I had this idea that I cared more about everything. You’re awfully good at hiding the things that bother you. Like you’re this fun guy who doesn’t worry that much. It isn’t true though, is it?”
I shrug. “Depends on the day of the week.”
He laughs. And then he wraps an arm around me. “Come inside, okay? I still think we have a lot more talking to do. But not tonight. Come on.”
I take another deep breath of the cold Vermont air, and I let myself be led.
Thirty-Eight
Chastity
I’ve already walked down the long driveway to the road when I hear shouting.
I stop suddenly, listening. Is that Dylan’s voice? It’s hard to tell from this distance. And anyway, it ends after just a few seconds.
The Shipley boys can be boisterous. It kills me a little to think that they’re out having fun in the snow, when I feel like my life is over.
Dylan had seemed freaked out earlier, though. When Leah spilled her news, he looked like someone had punched him. Or maybe I just wish it were true.
Leah spilled her plans before I had a chance to get used to the idea. I’m still so upset, and I don’t know what to do about it.
So I’m walking home alone. It was either that or sit at the Shipley’s table and cry.
A couple of minutes later, Isaac’s truck ambles along, the headlights illuminating the snowy road. I step to the side and wait for him to pass.
But of course he stops. “Chastity,” Isaac says after rolling down his window. “Come on, sweetie. Get in the truck.”
It’s cold, and I’m not wearing a hat or gloves. I open the back door, and climb in right next to Maeve, who’s in her car seat. “Santa is coming!” she says. “Gotta sleep.”
“That’s right,” I whisper. “If you’re awake he might fly right past your house.”
I learned about Santa when I was little. I went to a real kindergarten before our Divine Pastor decided that school was a terrible influence. The teacher read us a story about Christmas Eve. I didn’t understand it, so I went home and asked my mother.
“It’s just a lie,” my mom said. “A lie that sinners tell their children to make them behave. There’s no Santa Claus in the bible, Chastity. There’s no Christmas holiday, either. If you walk the true path of Jesus, you don’t need any lies.”
Mom’s “true path of Jesus” turned out to be full of lies too, though.
And now Maeve is getting all the things her parents were denied. There’s a giant Christmas tree in her living room. Tomorrow she’ll receive a pile of presents. They won’t be expensive, but that’s not the point.
“The only sin of Christmas is the unrecyclable plastic in these toys,” Leah had told me my first year here. “My kid deserves the same red and green hype that everyone else has.”
I get that. But what I don’t get is why Leah wants to move back to the hellscape where we were told these lies?
I’ve only begun getting over all the bullshit they taught me. Two thousand miles of distance isn’t enough.
After Isaac parks the truck, I remove Maeve from her car seat. Inside the house, I kiss her goodnight, and then go upstairs to my room and close the door. Heartsick, I put on my most comforting flannel pajamas and crawl into bed.
I can’t sleep, though. So when Leah opens my door an hour later, I’m just staring at the darkened ceiling. “Chastity?”
“Yeah?” I croak.
She comes in and sits down near my feet. “Are you sleeping with him?”
“What?” I sputter. “Why?”
What I don’t bother asking is who. Because I guess I’m not fooling anyone.
She lays a hand on my ankle. “I’m trying to figure out why you’re so upset about the move. And that’s all I could come up with. Is it true?”
I slam my eyes shut. “Will you kill him if it is?”
“Maybe.” She lets out a sigh. “That isn’t very fair of him.”
“Why not?” I demand. Dylan has been nothing but truthful with me since we started up. “It was all my idea.”
She’s silent for a moment. “How does that end well?”
“It doesn’t,” I say flatly. “You don’t have to say it.”
“He’s just—”
“I know, Leah. Everyone knows.”
“Have you been careful?”
“Yes. I got an implant last week, if you must know. And they did a pregnancy test just to be safe.”
“Oh.” She clears her throat. “I’m sorry. This is really none of my business. I’m sorry,” she repeats. “I just don’t want to see you hurt.”
That’s pretty much a given, though.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“If it weren’t for Dylan, how would you feel about moving to Wyoming?”
“Terrible.” But after I say it, I stop and think it over. “I don’t know, honestly. I like it here. But…” My head is a jumble. I can no sooner imagine Vermont without Dylan than I can imagine my own face without a nose.
“You know I can’t make you go with us, right? I wouldn’t do that. And you’re an adult who can make her own decisions.”
“Yeah. Sure.” But we both know it would be really difficult for me to stay in Vermont on my own. I can’t afford to.
“I feel terrible that I wrecked your Christmas. I was just so excited about the ranch.”
“It’s okay,” I say listlessly. “I’d rather know what you’re planning.”
“Sleep now,” Leah says. “Maeve will probably wake you up at six.”
“Okay,” I promise. “Night, Leah.”
“Night, sweetie.”
I don’t sleep, though. I lay awake for hours.
At some point I get up and root around for my phone. There’s a new text from Dylan. Would you please call me?
I’m feeling just crazy enough to do that, but now it’s one in the morning, and if his phone rings, it might wake up half his house.
Another half hour passes. I finally throw off the quilt and stand up. I’m being stupid. I spent the whole day not talking to Dylan, because I didn’t want everyone to know that I’m having sex with him, and that he’s probably going to break my heart.
But Leah had guessed anyway and now she knows the truth. And right this second I need Dylan. No matter what happens later, I just want him to hold me and tell me it’s going to be okay.
So I start getting dressed. Wool socks. Jeans. A turtleneck and a thick sweater. I grab my wallet and phone and tiptoe downstairs to put on my coat. On my way through the kitchen, I stop to scribble a note for Leah. Took a midnight walk to see D.
She won’t approve, but tonight I don’t care.
With a hat, boots, and mittens on, I set out into the night. The snow has stopped, and the moon has risen. If you haven’t walked on a snowy night in the moonlight, you couldn’t possibly understand how bright everything is.
It’s only two miles, and the temperature is in the twenties. I’m not cold at all. There’s not even a breeze.
I cross Isaac’s cow pasture, which hooks around behind Griffin and Audrey’s bungalow. It’s brighter here than it would be on the road. Since the snow is new, it’s completely untracked. I reach the edge of the Shipley orchards before I see evidence of another living creature, in the fo
rm of deer tracks in the snow.
It’s funny how safe I feel right now. In theory, I could end up face to face with a bobcat or a pack of coyotes. But Isaac has only seen a bobcat twice in the ten years he’s lived here, and coyotes are noisy.
I’m not afraid of the dark, and I’m not afraid of the nighttime. People are far more frightening. In my experience, they do their worst in broad daylight. Right to your face.
I love the silence as I plod past rows of apple trees, their gnarled branches bare, reaching up toward the sky like bony fingers. I love everything about this place. And what’s more, I fought hard to be here. I got on a bus in Casper with every cent I’d saved up, and when I ran out of money in New York State, I hitchhiked the rest of the way here.
I’m not going back. It’s just that simple. I’ll tell Dylan. I’ll ask his advice. Even if he doesn’t love me, he’ll still help.
We’ll always be friends, right? he’d said.
I can’t see the farmhouse until I get past all those apple trees. Finally, I’m crossing the meadow, passing the tractor shed, and then the barn.
Getting into the house should be easy. I know there’s a key under the doormat. I also know they don’t usually bother locking the kitchen door.
There’s a motion-detecting light that comes on as I approach the back door. As I blink into its brightness, I have my first moment of hesitation. I know I’m welcome in this house, but not necessarily at two in the morning.
Welp. I’ll just have to be very quiet. I unlatch the screen door and try the doorknob.
The door swings right open.
See? It’s a sign. I quietly remove my boots, and then tiptoe through the kitchen toward the staircase.
Everyone knows that if you don’t want the stairs to squeak, you have to stay at the edges. So I pick my way up the treads, my toes on the far right side.
The hallway upstairs is dark, but not too dark to find my way. Dylan’s room is past the bathroom on the left. There’s still a sign on the door he made when he was a kid. NO SISTERS. I can’t believe it’s still there, and it makes me smile.
Holding my breath, I turn the doorknob.
It doesn’t move.
Okay, this is a setback I did not expect. I raise my knuckles and tap as lightly as possible.
Nothing. He’s sleeping. Of course he is.
But I’ve come this far, and I remember him telling me how easy it is to pop the lock. I fish my wallet out of my coat pocket, remove my ATM card, and slide it between the door and the frame.
The lock pops immediately, and the door swings open.
I step inside the room, where moonlight casts shadows across the bed. Dylan is sleeping curled up on his side, which is not like him. I take a step forward to peer a little more closely at him.
That’s when he rolls, leaps to his feet—arms outstretched for battle—and lets out a blood-curdling shout.
And I shriek like I’m starring in Night of the Living Dead.
Then several things happen very fast. First, I realize it’s not Dylan on that bed. It’s Rickie. I’d forgotten all about Rickie.
Second, the doorway behind us begins to fill with faces. So many faces. Daphne’s, followed by Ruth’s. And then Alec’s and May’s.
“What’s happening?” someone gasps. The lights flip on.
“Chastity?” Ruth says sleepily.
Rickie gapes at me. Then he drops back onto the bed and puts a hand over his chest. “Holy crap. Did you just pop the lock on the door?”
“I—” My heart is in my mouth, and it’s just dawning on me that this is going to be very embarrassing. “Where’s Dylan?”
Daphne laughs. “In the bunkhouse. Is he expecting you?”
“Uh…” My face begins to heat. “Not really. I just...” …have no explanation for why I’m here.
“So this is just a booty call gone wrong?” Alec asks. “When I snuck into May’s bedroom I was way quieter.”
“Don’t brag, sweetie,” May says. “We can’t all be born for mischief. Night, everyone.”
“Later,” Alec says. “The fifth stair from the bottom squeaks, by the way. For next time.”
“And honey, watch out for the bunkhouse stoop,” Mrs. Shipley adds. “It’s made of granite and always gets icy.”
“I…” I swallow hard. “Okay. Sorry.”
She yawns and walks away. Daphne also melts into the shadows of the upstairs hallway, snickering as she goes.
That leaves me alone with Rickie. “Hit the light switch?” he says.
I flip if off. He lays back down and sighs. “Took a year off my life there, Chass. I actually punched the last person who snuck up on me while I was sleeping.”
“I’m really sorry,” I whisper. “I had no idea you’d be in here.”
“S’okay,” he says, tucking his cheek against the pillow. “My heart rate should return to normal by New Year’s.”
“Goodnight,” I whisper. “Let me know how I can make it up to you.”
“Just don’t do that again.”
I retreat, closing the door. And then I hear Rickie get out of bed to lock it behind me.
For a moment I just stand there in the hallway, trying to catch my breath. Then I make my way downstairs again, avoiding the fifth step from the bottom.
I tiptoe into the kitchen, where Grandpa is standing in the moonlit window, drinking a glass of water. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you,” I whisper.
“Eh. You know what’s disturbing?” he asks. “Having to piss three times every night when you’re old. Enjoy being young, kid. Don’t waste it.”
That sounds like good advice. So I go back outside to find Dylan.
Thirty-Nine
Dylan
I sleep fitfully in the bunkhouse. My body is exhausted, but my brain can’t stop turning over all the things that happened tonight.
And I still haven’t caught up with Chastity.
As I turn over for the hundredth time, I could swear I hear the bunkhouse door open. My eyes flip open in the dark, and I listen to the quiet footfalls of someone approaching.
“Dylan?” comes a soft voice through the door.
“Yeah?” I croak. “Chastity?” The door opens, and in she comes. At two in the morning! I say the first thing that comes into my head. “Holy shit, how’d you get here? And how’d you find me?”
“I walked,” she says. “That was easy. But finding you was not.”
“Wait.” I sit up fast. “Did you knock on my bedroom door? Because Rickie is kinda jumpy—”
“Knocking would have been smart.” Chastity—still in her coat—perches on the edge of the bed. “But you once told me how to pop the lock. So I scared the heck out of Rickie, terrified the both of us, and then we woke up the whole house. Now everybody knows I was trying to sneak into your room.”
“Oh shit,” I whisper. “Is it horrible that I’m not sorry? I need to see you.”
Her eyes get wet. “I need to see you, too.”
“Get in here.” I pat the spot on the bed beside me. “Take off that coat. And those boots. I need to hold you.”
Chastity wipes her eyes and sheds her coat. The moonlight shows me the curve of her cheek and the shine of her hair as she leans down to shed her boots. And I forget how to breathe for a second, because I just love her so hard.
Maybe I’m the dumbest man alive. I don’t know how it took me so long to realize how I really feel. And now I need to tell her. “I don’t mean to complain, because you walked all this way. But could you hurry? I’m dying here.” I open my arms wide.
She kicks her boots aside and launches herself at me. I catch her against my chest and squeeze. All the tight places inside my chest finally loosen up. “Chastity, please don’t go to Wyoming. You hate it there. And I need you too much.”
A giant sob shakes her body, and her arms wrap even more tightly around me.
Don’t cry, I almost say. But that’s ridiculous. Sometimes you just need a good cry. So I hold Chastity against my
body, rubbing her back and stroking her hair.
“I’m sorry,” she sniffs. “I never cry.”
“I’m just glad you’re here. I really don’t want you to leave.”
“I can’t stand the idea of leaving,” she says with a sniffle. “But Leah really deserves my help. And I don’t know how I could make it here on my own. I don’t know what to do.”
My heart lurches. “You’re not on your own. Jesus. I’ll help you figure it out. My family will help, too.”
She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I’m sure you would. But then I’ll owe you just as much as I already owe Leah.”
“You won’t owe me,” I insist. “Because I love you. And I don’t want you to go. I need you too much.” I’m going to keep saying that until I’m sure she’s heard me. “And I love you.”
Chastity picks up her tear-stained face, as if she can’t quite make sense of those words. “Dylan.”
“It’s true. I promise.” I wipe a tear off her cheekbone. “I’m in love with you, which is kind of inconvenient if you’re leaving Vermont. But if you give me a chance, I’ll make it worth your while to stay.”
A beat later Chastity is still staring at me like I have three heads. I will probably have to say that a few more times before she believes me. Or—wait—Chastity needs actions, not words. So I take her face in my hands and kiss her instead.
There’s a lot of kissing after that. We both need it.
Maybe I’ve been a little slow to figure us out. But one thing is clear—we’re both very sexual people, and not just in the sense that we have a high sex drive. (Which we obviously do.) It’s a key way that we communicate.
When I unzip her jeans and push them off, I’m telling her that I need to feel her skin against mine. And when she puts her palm under my T-shirt and over my heart, it’s because she needs that connection.
We kiss and kiss until we can’t breathe. And then we lie face to face, legs entwined. “You could spend the summer right here,” I point out.
