I don’t answer for a long time, trying to decide how much to tell her. I half expect her to say that it’s not a big deal, that she understands if I don’t want to talk about it. It’s what she would do during the day—make it perfectly clear that she doesn’t expect anything, that we don’t owe each other any deep secrets. But she’s different at night, I realize. More open. More vulnerable. Not so rigid in her insistence that this not turn personal.
“She’s a year younger than me,” I finally say. “When my mom died…it was harder on her, I think. She was only eight.”
“You were only ten,” Ellie points out. I frown. I hadn’t really thought of it like that, how close in age I really was to Phoebe. It had always seemed like she needed so much more help than I did.
“We dealt with it differently. I was so worried about my dad and about her. That kept my mind off myself, you know? But for Phoebe it was different. And…she never really got over it.”
“Does anyone really get over something like that?”
Her words hit me right in the gut. Had I ever gotten over my mom? Had I ever given myself a chance? Or had I just buried it under a mountain of worry and anxiousness for the rest of my family?
“My dad got remarried just a few years later,” I say. “Martha was my mom’s best friend, actually. Which probably sounds really weird, but she was around all the time, helping us out. I wasn’t really surprised when they got together—I thought it would be good for him, good for Phoebe, too.” I didn’t elaborate, didn’t tell her how relieved I was to know that my dad wouldn’t be so lonely, that he wouldn’t be so sad all the time. Maybe then he would stop crying at night when he thought we were asleep.
“But Phoebe…she took it hard. She thought he was trying to replace Mom, I think. And she just…she just went off the rails. All through high school she was a mess. She was drunk all the time, skipping school, running away.” I closed my eyes, images of her empty room flashing through my head. Images of her calling me, crying, from somewhere in the city, begging me to come and get her. When she was sixteen I had to take her to a local clinic—she had refused to tell me why, but afterwards she had cried and cried for days, refusing to come out of her room.
“Fred,” Ellie says, her fingers rubbing my arm more firmly now. “You’re so tense—your whole body is coiled up. Relax.”
I consciously try to do as she asks, willing my muscles to relax.
“It was hard,” I say, my voice soft. “Watching her like that.”
“How is she now?”
I shrug, an unexpected rush of anger shooting through me. “Pretty much the same. She lives downtown with some friends. We don’t see her much. I’m pretty sure she’s into some heavy drugs, but…she doesn’t call me for help anymore.”
Ellie shifts so she’s practically laying on my chest, wrapping her arms more tightly around my shoulders. Her hair brushes my face and I take in a deep breath, immediately calmed by the smell of it.
“I was relieved when you were here when I woke up,” I tell her. “I usually have such a hard time relaxing after one of those dreams.”
I think that this hint that I rely on her to calm me down might freak her out, but she only squeezes me tighter. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She says it like it’s nothing, like it’s a throwaway line she didn’t even have to think about, but her words slam into me like a freight train and it’s all I can do not to gasp. Instead I hold her even tighter, letting the words sink into me. They seem to jostle some of the weight that I usually carry in my chest and I feel lighter, somehow.
“I’m glad,” I whisper, and she leans up to kiss me.
“So,” she says, grinning at me in the darkness as she pulls back. “Since you’re stuck with me, what should we do next weekend? I don’t have to work Saturday.”
I grimace. “I have a meeting with my advisor on Saturday, so I was planning to stick around campus.”
“Why don’t I come with you?”
“Yeah? You want to come down to Ann Arbor?”
“Why not?”
“That would be fun. I could show you around town, find the good places to eat.”
“You know I like to eat.”
“Now that I think about it, Michigan is in town on Saturday.”
“What does that mean?”
“The football team. They’re playing at home. I bet I could get us tickets.”
She scrunches up her nose. “Football? Not really my scene.”
“We could tailgate,” I say. “Drink beer, eat hotdogs. It’s pretty fun.”
“And we could leave if I got really bored?”
I laugh. “Leaving when you get bored is generally the rule no matter where we go, isn’t it?”
She grins. “Glad you caught onto that.”
“So…Ann Arbor this weekend?”
She graces me with one more smile before moving in for a kiss. “What the hell.”
Chapter Sixteen
Ellie
I drive over to Ann Arbor on my own Saturday morning. Fred usually comes home on Friday after class but with his early meeting Saturday there’s not much point in him making the drive only to go back first thing. He gave me detailed directions to his apartment and I find it easily, even though I’ve only been down to the college town a few times for concerts. I know a lot of people who like to hang out there, hit up the bars and parties, but most of my close friends seem to share the same opinion—Ann Arbor is a yuppie town for yuppie spoiled college kids and is thus best to be avoided in most cases. I tell Fred as much when he calls me to check on my progress.
“Such a snob,” he sighs.
“I am not a snob!” I feel a little offended, to be honest. I had never considered myself or any of my friends snobby—that distinction went to Preston and most of the guys Fred and Jet used to hang out with.
“You are. You’re judging Ann Arbor just because you don’t know much about it. That’s kind of the definition of snobbery.”
“And you’re going to show me how wrong I am, huh?”
“Of course,” he says easily. “Proving you wrong is one of my very favorite past-times.”
I shake my head, but I can’t erase the little thrill of happiness I always feel when Fred teases me like that.
“Oh, there’s my exit.” I turn on my blinker, checking over my shoulder.
“You should get off the phone then,” he says. “So you can follow directions without getting lost.”
“You could just verbally give me the directions,” I suggest.
“It’s not safe to talk on the phone while driving, you know.”
“You’re the one that called me!”
He’s laughing on the other end of the phone and I realize he’s partaking in his second favorite activity—giving me a hard time.
“I’ll see you in a few minutes,” I tell him, hanging up and tossing the phone aside.
Fred’s directions take me easily to his house while avoiding the heavy traffic of the downtown area. He had warned me that there would be a lot of people flooding the city for the game later, laughing when I pointed out that it wasn’t scheduled for hours.
“It’s an all day thing. They take it pretty seriously around here, Ells.”
Fred’s apartment is located in the upper floor of a rambling old Victorian house. As I park in the small graveled lot behind the building, I see him watching me from one of the second floor windows. He waves before disappearing behind the curtain.
By the time I pull my bag from the back seat of the car he’s already down on the porch. “Hey hottie,” he calls, and I flip him off, the sound of his laughter drifting across the lot. “Hurry up, I’m cold.”
“You could come get my bag,” I point out, throwing it over my shoulder as I trudge over to the porch.
“No way,” he says, his hands in his pocket. “You get totally scary when I try to do nice things for you. I’ve learned my lesson.” But he pulls me into a kiss when I reach the door, grabbing my bag
despite his teasing. “You made good time.”
“Traffic was light.”
“Or you drove like a crazy person—as usual.”
“Are you going to take me upstairs or what?” I push on his chest a little and he gives me an exaggerated, long-suffering frown.
“See? Totally scary.”
He turns and leads me up the staircase to another door, which is currently being propped open by a boot. He kicks the boot aside, holding the door for me. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
I can’t help the smile that turns up my mouth as soon as I step foot inside. It’s exactly the way I would have pictured Fred’s place. I imagine a lot of guys to live like slobs in college, but not Fred. Everything in this room is incredibly neat, very organized. It’s not sterile or cold—there are posters on the walls and the shelves are full of books, DVDs, and CDs. There’s even a potted plant on the windowsill. But there’s also a clear place for everything. I know that when I peek into the kitchen and the bathroom it will be the same way and, sure enough, there’s not a single dish in the sink or speck of mold or mildew in the shower.
“Okay, you’re stressing me out,” he finally says, after I poke my head into the bedroom—bed neatly made, desk full of books but no messy papers or empty soda cans, floor free of dirty clothes. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s very you,” I tell him, dropping my bag on the bed.
“What does that mean?”
“That you’re a neat freak.” I put my arms around his neck. “Just like you are at home.”
His arms immediately find their way around my waist. “Does that surprise you?”
“Not in the slightest.”
He kisses me before resting his forehead against mine. “I like you here.”
I close my eyes, not wanting to admit how much I like it, too. He would only get that sappy look in his eyes and make more out of it than it needed to be.
“So.” I look toward the bed before waggling my eyebrows a little. “What did you have in mind for today?”
“Oh no,” he says quickly, releasing me. “You are not seducing me into spending the entire day in bed, you evil temptress.”
I put a hand to my hip. “You say that like it would be a bad thing.”
“I’m sure it would be a totally hot and amazing thing,” he says, laughing. “Which is completely my point. You have challenged me into changing your mind about Ann Arbor and if we stay here all day I won’t be able to do that.”
I roll my eyes. “You take my challenges too seriously.”
He snorts. “Oh, yeah, sure. And if I didn’t, do you actually expect me to believe you’d ever let me live it down?”
I flip my hair over my shoulder. “Whatever. Just remember when I’m tired later that you had the chance to have sex with me and you cruelly turned me down.”
He shakes his head. “A decision I am likely to regret, but a decision that must be made regardless.”
I flop onto the bed, defeated. “So, what did you have in mind?”
“First, we eat.”
“Oh good. I’m starving.”
He winks at me. “I figured you would be.”
I bounce off the bed, grabbing my purse from the spot where I dumped it on his dresser. “You know me so well.”
***
“Okay,” I want you to prepare yourself.” Fred stands on the sidewalk around the corner from the deli, looking at me seriously. “This is going to be the best sandwich you have ever eaten. That’s not something to take lightly so I want you to ready yourself.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, whatever you say.”
He shakes his head sadly. “You shouldn’t be so flip in the face of such greatness, Ellie.”
“Are we gonna eat or are we just going to talk about it all day?”
He finally turns the corner, waving me ahead. “Holy crap,” I mutter, taking in the line in front of me. “Are you kidding me?”
“It’s worth waiting for,” he assures me. “I promise.”
“Couldn’t we just go somewhere else?” I rub my stomach. “I’m hungry, Fred.”
“You’re like a child. Here, let’s play a game.”
“Why?”
“So that I can distract you and you’ll stop bitching.”
I stick out my tongue at him, but stop when I realize I’m kind of proving his point about the childish thing. “What kind of game?”
“We’ll play twenty questions.”
“Oh because that’s real grown up,” I scoff.
“You want to stand here quietly instead? For the next thirty minutes without complaining?”
I sigh. “Fine. Let’s play twenty questions.”
Fred smiled at me. “Thank you. I’ll go first.”
I watch his face, trying to suss out a clue to what he’s thinking. “Are you a person?”
“Yes.”
“Are you alive?”
“No.”
For the next ten minutes I ask increasingly detailed questions, trying to figure out what in the heck Fred is thinking. I determine that the person is a male, an inventor, a scientist, is not Henry Ford or Thomas Edison, is European, and died more than fifty years ago. Unfortunately, it takes me all of my twenty questions to get that far.
“Ooh, sorry,” Fred says, shaking his head. “You are out of questions and, therefore, the loser.”
“Who the hell is it then?”
“Nikola Tesla.”
I stare at him, completely bewildered.
“You know…Nikola Tesla.”
I shake my head. “I have never heard that name in my life.”
“Ellie! What have you been doing with your education? Nikola Tesla is my hero.”
“Your hero, huh? Did he invent cleaning supplies?”
Fred places a hand over his chest, closing his eyes as if mortally wounded. “He was an electrical engineer.”
“That’s supposed to mean something to me?
“He invented the alternating current, Ellie.”
“God, you’re a nerd.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Well, you still lost. So now it’s your turn.”
“Fine.” I look around the street for inspiration, spotting it printed on a t-shirt towards the front of the line. “Got it. Go.”
“Are you a person?”
“No.”
“Are you an animal?”
“No.”
“Are you an object?”
“No.”
Fred crosses his arms. “You have to be one of those things, Ellie.”
I shake my head at him, smiling sweetly. “No, I don’t.”
Fred taps his foot and I can practically see the cogs of his brain whirling around in his head. “Are you a fictional character?”
I smile. “Yes.”
I’m sure I’m going to beat him but to my dismay it only takes him twelve guesses to figure out that I’m Yoda. “You like Star Wars?” he asks, his eyes wide.
I make a scathing sound in the back of my throat. “Star Wars is only the greatest movie franchise known to man.”
He claps his hands together. “I had no idea I was sleeping with a fellow geek.”
“Hey.” I throw a quick look over my shoulder to make sure no one heard him. “I am not a geek. The awesomeness of Star Wars transcends social groups.”
He nods, his face serious. “Good point. We should totally have a Star Wars marathon soon.”
“Okay!” I can’t hide my excitement. Zoe and Hunter both refuse to watch the movies with me. Losers.
Our debate over ranking the original trilogy takes us through the rest of the wait. Fred is insistent that Return of the Jedi is the best of the three while I argue that Empire far exceeds the other films. “But it ends on such a downer,” he whines.
I shake my head. “A happy ending is not the metric of a good film.”
He makes an exasperated face. “This explains so much about you.”
Before he can explain, we’re finally at the cou
nter. I had agreed to let Fred order for me on the way over, if only to get him to shut up about how amazing the Rueben was. Though I argued that I didn’t much care for sauerkraut, he assured me that it wouldn’t matter when I tasted the sandwich as a whole. He orders us each a Rueben as well as some chips and sodas and we head outside to find a seat.
The patio is pretty full but we manage to find two seats at the end of a partially full picnic table. “You gotta share if you want to sit,” Fred tells me, plopping down next to a stranger. I take the spot opposite and hold out my hand for the wrapped sandwich.
“What are you reaching for?” he asks. “You can’t just jump into this, Ellie. You need to experience it.”
“Oh, dear God,” I mutter. “I’ve been experiencing it for the past thirty minutes. Now I’m hungry—let me eat.”
“Fine,” he says sadly, holding out my Rueben. “But please at least take your time so you can taste it. This isn’t one of your cheap hamburgers to just scarf down.”
“Fred.” He must hear the warning note in my voice because he finally releases the sandwich. I tear open the wrapper, trying to ignore the fact that he’s watching my every move. Rolling my eyes I bite into the sandwich.
Okay, so it’s pretty damn good. I do my best to keep my face neutral as I chew but I can tell from the glint in his eyes that Fred knows he’s won again.
“It’s tasty,” I tell him once I’ve swallowed the first bite.
“Ellie.” Now there’s a warning note in his voice. Apparently he will not tolerate lies about his precious sandwich.
“Fine, it’s really, really good. Totally worth the wait.”
“Right?” He sounds giddy, like a little kid, and I laugh.
“Just eat your sandwich, Fred.”
“Happily.”
I have to admit that it’s nice sitting there, even with the picnic table being so crowded. All the other tables are full as well, and there’s a nice buzz of people talking and enjoying themselves. The street itself is pretty and tree-lined, the orange and yellow leaves standing in sharp contrast to the cloudless blue sky.
“I love this weather,” Fred says, as if reading my mind.
“Hoodie weather,” I agree. “Not too hot and not too cold.”
Escape With You Page 14
