We Were Promised Spotlights

by Lindsay Sproul

  “Of course I do,” she said.

  I put my hand flat on the small of her back, and pulled her toward me.

  “Come with me,” I whispered into her mouth.

  “Now?”

  I pulled out the chocolate box, quickly showing her the money.

  “Yes,” I said. “People do this, you know. People run away. People start over.”

  Stinky Lewis barked once and let out a long whine.

  “Before it gets light outside,” I said.

  She leaned into me, and for the first time since New Year’s Eve, she wrapped both arms around me.

  “I always forget how small you are,” she said.

  “So do I,” I said.

  I hoisted myself onto the counter and took her face in my hands. Somehow, though I’d never felt this way before, I knew how to kiss her. One hand on the back of her neck, one hand on her back. I thought I’d known with Susan, but this was different.

  She knew too. I felt her fingers in my hair, my crown dropping to the floor.

  I tasted her salty tears, and I understood that they were tears of relief, and also of fear. I shared those feelings.

  She pulled away just for a second and said, “I can’t promise that I won’t hurt you, but I can promise that I’ll try not to.”

  “So that’s a yes?”

  She fell into me, her weight against me, her face buried in my neck. “This is so crazy,” she whispered.

  I wrapped my legs around her waist and held her.

  “Let’s go be crazy,” I whispered.

  “Okay,” Heather said, untying her apron and tossing it aside. “Fuck it.”

  It felt a little bit like jumping off Fourth Cliff, only more. I took her hand again and led her outside with me, our hips bumping together. Heather laughed, tossing the keys aside without even locking up.

  As we climbed into the car—me in my prom crown and Heather in her Emmylou’s uniform—I realized that I had no idea where I’d be on my eighteenth birthday but that I wanted Heather with me.

  “I’ve always loved you,” she said from the passenger seat. This time, she looked straight at me.

  “Me too,” I said, touching her cheek. “Cliff jumpers for life.” Then I kissed her again before I turned the key in the ignition and sped onto the highway, away from the sand-covered roads.

  Soon, in Hopuonk, summer would be in full swing. After that, the fall would come, and the leaves would start turning. Then the leaf peepers would come down from Boston to see the foliage, with their collars popped and their belts tight. Once they were satisfied, they would turn and go right back to their fancy little brownstones in the city.

  Then the leaves would die and fall and snow would cover them up, just like they were never there at all.

  Acknowledgments

  Huge thanks to my editor, Arianne Lewin, and my agent, Nathaniel Jacks.

  Thank you, also, to Epoch Magazine at Cornell University for publishing the opening chapter as a short story.

  The MacDowell Colony and Virginia Center for the Creative Arts provided me with much-needed time and space to work on this book, as well as a community of artists who continue to inspire me. Special thanks to my residency bestie, Kamala Nair—I couldn’t have done this without your feedback and friendship.

  I’m eternally grateful to my students and colleagues at Loyola New Orleans and the faculty at Beloit College, Columbia University, and Florida State University. And to Dick Gardner from Marshfield High School—even though I only got a B- in AP English, you showed me that I wasn’t the moron I thought I was.

  To all of my friends, both inside and outside the writing community, especially those of you who looked at drafts of this book, I love you beyond earthly description. Special thanks to Lexy Olsen for a lifetime of stories and fake vampires.

  To my family, especially my cousins, Jebb and Jules, and my brilliant Mum who raised me by herself, you are wicked sad.

  And to Julie Buck, you are the most wonderful and supportive partner I could ever ask for. But scissoring still isn’t a thing.

  About the Author

  Lindsay Sproul, originally from Marshfield, Massachusetts, is currently a creative writing professor at Loyola University New Orleans. She holds an MFA from Columbia University and a PhD from Florida State University, and has received fellowships from Virginia Center for the Creative Arts and The MacDowell Colony. Her fiction has appeared in Glimmer Train, Epoch, Witness, The Massachusetts Review and other publications. She lives in New Orleans, Louisiana.

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