by Laura Miller
I wait for his eyes to find mine. “I do.” I nod. “Unfortunately, I do.”
“You said: If we don’t make it, I just want you to know that I was gonna marry you, and we were gonna have two kids, and we would be the happiest two people in all the world.”
I listen to him recite my own words back to me.
“And then you said ...,” he goes on.
I feel the weight of his stare, and I can tell he’s waiting for me to finish his sentence.
I sigh because I remember, because I don’t want to say it, because I do want to say it.
“I love you,” I say. “I said: I love you.”
He presses his tongue to the inside of his mouth and forces his cheek out, as if he’s in deep thought. “You did.” He nods. “And you know what I learned that day?”
“Isn’t it pretty obvious?”
He laughs. “No, not that. I already knew that.”
“What?”
“Never underestimate this boy, Iva. I know more than I let on.”
I shake my head in a scolding way. It, of course, doesn’t faze him.
“No,” he goes on, “I learned that we say what we already should have said when it’s almost too late to say it.”
His words are sharp and painful, and they force me to look his way.
“So, um, in perfect human fashion ...” He stops and drops his gaze. “I’m gonna just throw this out there.”
My heart jumps into my throat. I try with all my strength to swallow it down. I have no idea what he’s about to say, and I have no idea if I’m prepared to hear it, either.
“Iva, it’s been fun trying to win you back.” He moves his fingers so that they touch mine, and then slowly, he covers my hand in his. I close my eyes and let the feel of his touch flow over every inch of my skin.
“But if I’m honest with you,” he says, “I was doing it because I told myself that if I ever ran into you again, I would do just that—I’d win you back.” He turns his head and rests his eyes in mine for a moment, but then all too soon, he shifts his focus to the black sky again. “Shit,” he quietly curses, “I’ve thought way too much about you in the last seven years that I, at least, had to do me right by trying.”
He stops and clears his throat. And in those couple seconds of silence, I feel my heart slowly slipping deeper into my chest. I was expecting this, but I don’t think I was as prepared as I thought I would be. We were kids. Just kids. And now, he sees it, too.
“But, Iva,” he says, “being with you this week, I realize that I don’t love you like that boy back in Sweet Home loved you.”
I take a deep breath in. I can do this. I can hear this. I already knew it. And I need to hear it—straight from his mouth. We’ve grown up. We’ve grown apart. We’ve chosen our own paths—paths that don’t lead back to one another anymore. And maybe ... Maybe he is in love with someone else.
“Iva ...”
My breathing has become this shallow sequence of tiny breaths, like the pattering of rain on a window. And suddenly, I realize that all that’s running through my mind is closing the door I secretly fought for so long to keep open. And somehow, amongst the storm, I manage to find the soft, warm glow in his eyes.
This hurts like hell—just like it did the first time.
But I know it’s necessary.
“I don’t love you like that boy anymore,” he whispers.
“Iva! Berlin!”
Instantly, both of our attentions move to the little bar’s back door.
It’s Natalie.
“Iva. Berlin,” she calls again.
I let go of a long-held breath. Berlin sighs.
“We’re over here,” he says.
Our hands fall apart, and we sit up and watch Natalie walk—not so gracefully—over to us.
“You guys wanna head out?” She plops down onto the table’s surface.
Berlin and I look at each other. I wonder if he can tell that I’m asking him to make the call.
I’m almost thankful for Natalie’s interruption. I had already heard enough.
“Yeah,” Berlin says, “okay.”
“Okay then,” Natalie proclaims, pulling on my arm. “Help me back to the door, Ives. My heels can’t take the mud in this sea of ... mud.” She stretches out her arm over the grassy space between the table and the bar.
And with that, I give Berlin a small smile before taking Natalie’s arm.
After Isaac drops Natalie and me off at Natalie’s house, I help Natalie to her room.
“You know, I don’t have a thing for Isaac, despite what everyone says,” she says, kicking off her heels. “I mean, not a serious thing, anyway.”
“I know,” I lie.
“I mean, he’s cool,” she says. “It’s just ... He’s Isaac, and I still remember him as that scraggly, little boy that cried his eyes out the whole first week of kindergarten.”
I watch her collapse, with all her clothes on, into her bed.
“Well, I’d say he’s probably grown up a lot since then,” I offer.
“Yeah,” she says, pulling the covers up over her shoulder. “Maybe.”
She slides her hands under her pillow and closes her eyes, and I quietly make my way back to the door.
“Iva.”
“Yeah?”
“Can you keep a secret?”
Her eyes remain closed, but her expression is happy.
“Yeah,” I say.
“I love Isaac,” she whispers.
I smile. I’d tell her I already knew that, but part of me doesn’t want to burst her bubble.
“Iva?”
“Yeah?” I say.
“Have you told him?”
“What?”
“Have you told Berlin, yet?”
I breathe out a sigh she probably doesn’t hear.
“No,” I say.
“He’s in love with you.”
I don’t think I hear her right.
“What?”
“Berlin. Is. In. Love. With. You.” This time, she pauses after every word, as if that will help me understand.
Her eyes are closed. I’m half-wondering if she’s dreaming.
“Isaac told me,” she says. “He said Berlin is in love with a girl he used to know from the town he used to live in. And he said that town is Sweet Home.” She breaks and yawns. “And that girl is you.”
I shake my head in disbelief, as my heart crashes against my chest. I want to tell her it doesn’t really matter, based on the conversation we had tonight, but I can tell she has already drifted off to sleep.
I carefully turn, and as I leave the room, I switch off the light.
When I get back to the guest bedroom, I notice I have a text message.
It’s from Berlin.
Instantly, I feel a wave of excitement rush through me, but then just as quickly, that wave turns to dread. And I find my finger anxiously hovering over the phone.
I take a deep breath and then click on the message: I’m still here tomorrow. You wanna hang out?
I’m a little taken aback. I thought he just said he didn’t want to hang out ... or ... Or maybe he thinks he still has to finish the conversation. Or maybe this is his way of saying he still wants to be friends.
Either way, I’m relieved. I thought once he figured out that seven years was too long a time to make up that I would lose him for good. I can barely get my fingers to type fast enough.
Natalie goes to work at noon.
I send it and stare at the phone.
A moment later, it lights up.
I’ll be there at noon, the message reads.
I smile and then set the phone down. But I can’t stop thinking about what Natalie said. Had he really held on that long? And had it really taken him just a couple days to change his mind?
I feel tears welling up in my eyes. I don’t want our story to be over. But I know it almost is. And I know it has to be. But at least we have just a little more time.
Chapter Fourteen
He’s Wrong
Fifteen Years Old
Iva
“What’s your favorite color?”
I look up into that hole in the roof above us, and I think about his question. Nights like this—summer nights in this tree house with Berlin Elliot—are my favorite.
“Rain,” I finally say.
He looks at me and smiles.
“Rain isn’t a color.”
“Sure it is.”
“Well, then what is the color of rain?”
I turn my face toward his. “Rain, silly.”
He narrows his eyes at me in a playful kind of way.
“That’s why I like it,” I say. “Can you think of anything that’s the same color?”
“Hmm,” he hums. He interlocks his fingers in mine and looks up toward the sky. “Water.”
“I knew you were going to say that.”
He shrugs.
“Water is water,” I say. “But rain ... Rain is everything that it can take with it—like the muddy silt from the river and the green maple leaves from that puddle in my backyard. Everything it can take, it takes a piece of. So, it’s not just one color. It’s the color of everything water once touched. And nothin’s like it.”
“But you’re wrong.”
I turn my face toward him and catch the way he’s looking at me. That look—it’s the moment he first said his name; it’s the night I saw him through his window for the first time; it’s the way he looked at my drawings; it’s our first kiss; it’s that moment he said I love you, without even saying a word.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Your eyes are the color of rain,” he says.
He looks into my eyes, as if he’s trying to look past them.
“They’re the color of everything they’ve ever touched—rain,” he says.
His words make me smile. I swear I don’t know how I got so lucky the day this boy showed up across the street. I squeeze his hand tighter and lay my head on his chest.
Moments pass, and we just lie there, in the warm breeze, listening to the leaves in the trees rustle all around us, until I kick my feet up against the wood railing.
“I have a taste for something,” I say.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, like ... Maybe chocolate milk.”
“Chocolate milk?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, what about that mason jar of orange juice you’ve been sippin’ on?”
I shrug and set my sights on the jar sitting in the corner. “I’ve been drinking that all day.”
“Okay, well, let’s go see if we have some,” he says, starting to get up.
I follow him down the ladder nailed into the tree, and then we make our way to his kitchen.
His parents are out at a restaurant in the next town over, and Elin is out with her boyfriend. My parents are at my grandma’s across town. So, it’s just me and Berlin tonight. Of course, my parents think I’m at home studying for my driver’s permit. But they already taught me everything there is to know about driving before I turned twelve, so really, it’s their fault I got so bored I came over here.
Berlin goes to the fridge, while I take a seat on one of the barstools.
“Why does it always smell like toast in here?”
Berlin glances up at the toaster and then lifts his shoulders. “I don’t know. We like toast.”
I give him a crooked but satisfied smile, and he pulls open the refrigerator door.
“Nope,” he says. I hear him slide some things over on a shelf. “No chocolate milk.”
I push my lips into a pout and feel my body slump.
“You got any at your house?”
“No,” I say, “I don’t think so. I drank it all.”
“Well, let’s go to the store and get some then.”
I look at him as if he’s crazy.
“You want to walk to the store? It’s like ten miles.”
“It’s not ten miles. It’s more like five. But we don’t have to walk.”
“What do you mean?”
“We can take my dad’s bike.”
I just stare at him from under my eyelashes. “Your daddy said you can’t drive it in town. You don’t have a license.”
“Oh, it’s late. No one will notice. We’ll just go real quick and come right back.”
I think about it for a second—exactly a second. I know it’s probably a bad idea, but I really do want that chocolate milk, and anyway, almost everybody is probably already asleep or holed up in their houses for the night anyway.
“Okay, but real quick,” I say.
“Iva, really, who are you talking to? Of course it’ll be quick.”
I roll my eyes and slide off the bar stool. “Don’t kill us.”
“Never, baby.”
We get to the garage, and we each grab a helmet. I always wear the green one. It’s really Elin’s, but she never uses it. I pull it over my head and watch Berlin straddle the bike. And after he starts it up, I hop on behind him.
We zoom over the gravel on his driveway and then onto the street, and eventually, onto the highway. It’s just like being on those dirt roads in the bottoms—really isn’t any different, except a little smoother ride, I guess.
We’re headed to the grocery store that’s in Holstein. Sweet Home doesn’t have a grocery store of its own. There’s a convenience store at the corner of our street and Market—near the railroad tracks—but it only sells alcohol, candy bars and Clearly Canadian. And anyway, it’s already closed by now.
It doesn’t take us long at all to get inside the city limits, and on the whole ride, we never once come across another car.
I notice the speed limit sign reads thirty, as we zip past it. But Berlin doesn’t know limits. Fast is his only speed. So, we keep going forty-five.
I love the way the air is warm even when it’s dark outside. That’s my favorite part about summer.
I breathe in deeply and wrap my arms tighter around Berlin’s waist. He’s wearing his leather jacket. He always wears it when he’s driving—even when it’s ninety degrees. And I’ve never said it to him, but I love him. I love him so much it hurts.
Then I hear it—the loud, harsh shrill of sirens. I hear them even before I see the red and blue lights bouncing off the pavement in front of us. Immediately, the blood runs cold in my veins. We’re dead.
Berlin looks back, noticing the officer’s car, and then before I can think anything else, we’re pulling into the gas station.
Berlin cuts off the engine and straddles the bike. He pulls off his helmet next, so I do, too. And then we just sit there, awaiting our fate, as my heart pounds in my chest.
It feels as if a thousand years go by before the officer even gets out of his car.
“What is he doing?” I whisper to Berlin.
He shrugs and shakes his head. I can tell he’s nervous. I’m nervous, too.
I hear the door close behind us. Then, I hear the officer’s footsteps getting closer to the bike. And all of a sudden, he’s standing right next to us.
He’s tall and big and intimidating. Then, I notice his face. It’s Officer Brad. He plays basketball at open gym with my daddy every Wednesday night. Inside, I secretly breathe a sigh of relief because I know now at least we have a better shot of getting out of this than I thought we had.
“Berlin Elliot.” Officer Brad’s deep, booming voice fills the space around us, sending chills down my spine.
Berlin nods, acknowledging him.
“Iva Scott,” Officer Brad says next, turning and casting his scolding eyes in my direction.
I push my lips to one side and force my eyes to Berlin’s leather jacket.
“I’m not even gonna ask you for your license, boy, because I know you ain’t got one.”
He stops there and just stares at Berlin. Berlin is brave, and he doesn’t cave. He just sits there and looks as if he’s preparing to face whatever’s coming next. I admire him for that. I know he’s scared;
he has no idea that my daddy plays basketball with him.
“Why don’t you two get in the car,” Officer Brad says. And with that, he walks away.
Berlin turns and looks at me.
“He’s friends with my daddy,” I quickly whisper to him.
“Iva, that doesn’t help,” he mumbles. “In fact, that might make this worse.”
I push out a defeated sigh. Then, I swing my leg over the bike, and Berlin does the same, and slowly, we walk to the squad car and slide onto the slick back seat.
I sit next to Berlin in the middle, holding his hand, while Officer Brad stands outside of the car, playing with his walkie-talkie.
“My dad is going to be so pissed,” Berlin says, letting his head fall against the back of the seat.
I look at him, trying not to smile. I know it’s not funny, but my heart is racing, and we’re in the back of a cop car, and it’s all because of chocolate milk.
“Oh, shit,” he says, regaining my attention, “your dad is gonna kill me.”
I try desperately to swallow down my smile.
“Iva,” he scolds, “this isn’t funny.”
“No,” I agree, shaking my head, “it’s really not.”
Berlin forces his head against the back of the seat again, closes his eyes and lets out a long sigh. Meanwhile, Officer Brad continues to hang out outside the car.
“This is not funny,” I say. “Now, how in the hell am I supposed to get my chocolate milk?”
I want to smile, as Berlin’s serious stare falls back on me, but I manage a pout instead.
Suddenly, Officer Brad is behind the wheel, and I hear Berlin clear his throat. Right away, my eyes get big. I know Berlin is about to say something, and by the look on his face, I know it’s probably not going to be the wisest thing he’s ever said.
“Officer.”
Oh, gosh. Here we go. If we weren’t already in trouble, we’re definitely about to be in trouble now.
“I know I shouldn’t have done what I did,” Berlin says, “but have you ever had a girl next to you that you just couldn’t say no to?”
Officer Brad peers up into his rearview mirror. His eyes are fierce, and he’s got this stone-cold look on his face. I quickly avert my attention from the mirror.
“Well, it’s just, sir,” Berlin goes on, “she wanted a chocolate milk, and I didn’t have any way of getting her one without the bike, so ...”
