by Amy McNamara
“Mornin’ Sunshine,” he says to me without looking up. Like this is our routine. Like he is supposed to be at my table, reading the paper, drinking my coffee.
He looks like he’s just come from yoga or the gym. Healthy glow. For some reason this puts me in a foul mood. I’ve avoided him since Swap Night. Barely said two words. My dad seems happy to have him here, but today, this morning, I hate him. Just like that. He’s not Mary. He’s in my house, stealing my silence. Probably loves getting up early.
I resist reaching up to my hair and do a fast mental inventory instead. Flannel pajama pants. Check. Sweatshirt. Check. Not my usual T-shirt and underwear, thank God. I walk over to the coffee. Casual. Will not give him the satisfaction of thinking he’s a surprise. Or interesting. The house is annoyingly bright, like it’s on his side.
“Why are you here?” Manners. My mother would be so proud.
“Heat’s out in the studio.” Lays his cat green eyes on me with what I’m sure is a smirk, like he’s caught me somehow. Every time I’ve passed him since the night he got here, he’s turned them on me, questioning, as if he thinks after a few get-to-know-ya questions we might be friends.
“So where’s my dad?” I ask. He’s got to be around.
“He told me to hang in here till he got back.”
“Back . . . ?” I ask, in my best annoyed tone. My head’s a hammer from the sleeping pill.
“He had to run to town to get someone to help him whack the heating system or something.”
This does not explain why he’s sitting at my table. I stare at him.
He looks up, reads my face, and shrugs, waving his hand vaguely toward the door.
“He took my car. The truck wouldn’t start.” Goes back to looking at the paper.
The truck. Damn. I smack my hand across my forehead. This one’s my fault. I saw the cab light on when I set out to run yesterday. Meant to turn it off when I got back. My lethargy equals one dead battery and breakfast with Nick. Perfect.
“News from the greater world?” he asks, sliding some sections in my direction. Like I’m going to sit there, next to him, with him, and read the morning paper.
“Where’d you get the Times?” I turn away, grab a mealy-looking peach from the fruit bowl, and pour a cup of coffee. It’s a sad breakfast without Mary around.
“It’s delivered? It was on the step by the door,” he says, like it’s obvious, and I’m some kind of bumpkin. It is. I am.
I’m losing my edge. If I don’t get back to the city soon I’m going to turn into one of those rural people who don’t say much.
I take my coffee and peach and head back to my room.
“Don’t let me chase you off.”
He rattles the back of the chair next to him at the table. Like a challenge. Big grin.
Now if I leave the room, he wins. Worse, I’ve played. I stop and take a bite of the mealy peach. Stare at him a minute. Witheringly. He doesn’t flinch. Meets my gaze.
I shrug. “You’re not,” I say, and walk out.
Already a crap day. Nick, the minute I open my eyes. I’ll have to say something to my dad about it. He can’t just stick him here with me like this. I abandon the withered peach on the shelf, next to my coffee, and pull on yesterday’s running clothes. They’re a little ripe. Too bad for Nick when I pass him on the way out. I used to be on top of things like that. The simple science of clean clothes and smelling like a girl. Definitely need to get it together again in the laundry department.
I cue up my hard-ass-run playlist and lace my shoes. The woods await. I’ll blow it all off. The jerk at my table, the bad night’s sleep, an overbright day. I can make this feeling change. Will it to. Pound it out of myself on the trails.
“Hey,” he calls, taking in my running outfit as I breeze past him. “Mind if I join you? It doesn’t look like your dad’s coming back soon. I’ve got nothing better to do. I’d love a winter run.”
“I—” I stop to stare at him. Is he serious? Nothing better to do? I’m speechless.
“My shoes are in the studio,” he says. “Let me grab them and my jacket, and I’m good to go.”
Good to go. He would be. Like he’s a sales rep from The Land of Good to Go. I let out an exasperated sigh.
“Fine,” I say, as cold as I can. What else can I say? No, Meredith would tell me. You could say no. But he’s working with my dad. So I can’t. Or don’t. What an ass, I think. A mantra. He’s an ass. He’s an ass. Gives me strength. Mary would probably grin at me and tell me to turn it into an opportunity. A challenge for a better workout. An ugly little smile crosses my mouth, does not make me feel better. I’ll lose him on the trails. Run along the water’s edge, make it as hard as I can.
He sprints to the studio and comes back seconds later, sneakers on and an annoying bounce in his stride.
“You lead,” he says, with a flourishing bow, flirty.
He’s an ass. He’s an ass. He’s an ass.
We set out.
“So—” he starts. We’re on the highway shoulder. “Have you figured out what there is to do up here in the off hours? Secret Cinema died, I guess. Sounds like Mary was the force behind that one.”
Yeah. Mary the force. Poor Mary. I can’t stop thinking about her spending her fellowship watching over me, probably wishing my dad would actually mentor her like he was supposed to. I don’t answer. Let him run on the outside edge. Maybe a passing car or truck will pick him off.
He tries again, “Your dad thinks you might end up in art school? In the spring? Or next fall?”
God, my dad’s talking to him about me? I shoot him another annoyed look. He’s not winded in the least. That long-legged stride. Kicking his ass won’t be easy, even with a home-turf advantage.
“I don’t really like to talk when I run.”
He shuts up and we fall into a decent pace. I cross to the trails after we get a bit farther south, where the coast opens up. We climb high into the wooded hills, picking our way up a path that comes out over everything. I can see Cal’s house. Ours. The littler ones on the far side of town. Near the top, we run along a gravel road locals use. A few cars pass us.
I’m warmed up. Take him down closer to the water. A rocky trail along the coast. He keeps close behind me. It’s icy, but I run a slower, flat-footed kind of stomp over the rocks to keep from slipping. It looks stupid, but I’ve perfected it, and I never fall. I don’t look at him, won’t give him the satisfaction, but I wonder if he’s too vain to run like a duck. Maybe he’ll fall into the surf. Icarus and his wax wings. I amuse myself imagining it. Then I curse him for still managing to fill my mind, even if we’re not talking.
I really just wanted to get out here and get a grip. Alone.
Finally he slows his pace, drops behind a bit, so I can’t feel his breath down my back anymore. Then, like a movie in my mind, a terrible scene unfurls, one where I stop, let him catch me, breathe hard against my neck, let him pull me down for a mad second, our legs twisting hot together, still vibrating from the run.
Only he’s not the one making it up. It’s me. I veer sharply left, drop down a hatefully angled rock, scrape my leg through my tights.
“Christ—” he calls out, following me, half laughing. Then a bit of a scramble when, I assume, he loses his footing.
I don’t look back. That’s what he gets for running with me.
“Hey, Wells, you’re bleeding,” he says.
“Shut up.”
But I glance down near my ankle, and he’s right. A bright, guilty trail.
I turn and go up the steepest incline I can find, back into the woods. My thighs burn. I don’t care. I blaze a new trail through deep, hard snow. My feet punch loud holes through the untouched crust. Icy bits fill my shoes. I should’ve made him lead. He’s probably running in my footsteps.
“You’re hard core,” he calls out finally, or taunts. Probably both. Does he think I’m doing this to flirt with him? He sounds a little closer to me.
“Head back if yo
u want,” I say.
Please. Turn back and leave me the hell alone. Get out of my head. I just want time. To run. Empty out.
He has no clue. Laughs.
“I’m good,” he says. “Having a ball. Dish it out. I’ll take whatever you’re giving.”
I’m not losing him, I’m encouraging him. I come to a dead stop. I can’t run with this guy, the relentless cheer he clearly thinks is his charm.
“Whoa—”
He almost crashes into my back. Hand on my shoulder a second. Warm.
I whirl around.
“I’m sorry,” I say. My voice comes out low, mean, “Did I give you some signal? Some sign that I wanted you with me today? Because I’m not sure how you got that idea.”
My thighs feel like noodles. I’m shaking, from adrenaline, from trying to lose him, from using all my energy to tear around these hills like a madwoman instead of just being straight with him.
“I want to be alone,” I say, blinking right into his surprised face. No time for manners now. I can’t stop myself. “I wanted to be alone. This morning. I wanted to wake up in my house and not find you there, or here, following me, talking at me the whole way. If I led you on somehow, gave you a different impression, I’m sorry. If you’re looking to win some kind of extra favor with my dad, you’re looking in the wrong place.” Curse my wavering voice. At least I didn’t scream, let out the shriek boiling up inside me.
If I weren’t so mad, I’d laugh at how shocked he looks. And sincere. His eyes are freakishly green against his blond hair, against the bright sky. He must have been smiling before he heard what I had to say and now it’s stuck there, that stupid grin, like a piece of food in his teeth. It’s embarrassing. For me. Him. I want to punch it off his face. Mr. Easygoing. I hope his art sucks. Screw him and his happy life.
I turn away from him and run. I’m pretty sure he won’t follow.
where
did all
the
air
go?
IT GOES FROM BAD TO WORSE.
When I get back to the house, a message from Cal. Cryptic. He wants me to come over as soon as I’m free. I really, really want to take a nap, but I take a fast shower instead and hop in the Jeep. Hope he’s okay.
He’s waiting in the garage. Leaning against the silver car. Looks very satisfied with himself, face broken into the kind of grin usually reserved for victory.
“It’s a great day . . .” he says, when I pull in and get out.
Jingles his keys in his hand. No crutches. He looks terrific.
“You look happy,” I say, smiling.
He walks over to me, curls and uncurls his fingers, then catches my hand, lacing our fingers together. Pulls me close.
I laugh, back up, take him in. He looks so good. Flutter heart.
“Woke up feeling great. Better than I’ve felt all year.”
He leans down and kisses me, long and slow. Lures my heart from its dark cupboard.
“Almost no numbness,” he whispers happily into my neck, like it’s bad luck to say it out loud. “My balance is good and I want to get the hell out of this house. Will you come with me? Go somewhere? Do something? Just drive? Let me take you out where I can see the sun on your beautiful face.”
I nod. I’ll go wherever he wants. I’m a little light-headed. Take a deep breath.
He jingles his keys again. Looks so happy.
“If it weren’t freezing, I’d take you down by the water with a blanket and tear your clothes off.”
I’m trying, I really am. It should make me feel great, what he’s saying, but it doesn’t. I’m flat inside. Can’t shake it. I try to look happy, but I’m a terrible actor. His brow furrows.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, deflating a little.
“Nothing.” I shake my head. Force a smile. “So you’re driving . . .” I try to joke, “Are you sure you don’t want to take the Jeep for old-time’s sake? Look for bikes on the road?”
It’s a lame and even kind of terrible thing to say. He looks at me, puzzled, then shrugs it off. Takes me by the hand to my side of the car and opens the door for me.
I sink back into the comfortable seat and whisper a new mantra until he gets in. It will be a good day. I will it to be a good day. My mood will lift. I want to believe it, despite all experience to the contrary. I check my phone for the time. The afternoon’s half over, anyway. I can get it together a few hours for Cal.
We back away from the house. He drives like someone who’s really happy behind the wheel. Steers us expertly backward down the snowy drive. I can’t keep my eyes off him. That’s a bonus. His hands are light on the wheel, like he’s in an ad for a perfect life in a perfect world. It makes me shiver. Been there before. Didn’t quite work out. But this is different. I’m good at lying to myself.
He points to the stereo. “Pick something,” he says. “Something you want to hear loud.”
We go fast. Out of the woods and onto the highway. The music drums through my body. I recline my seat a little and close my eyes while sunlight flashes across my face like a strobe through the trees. Try not to think about being in a car. With Cal. With anyone.
“Is this okay?” he asks, his hand on my leg, slowing the car a little. “Am I freaking you out? Driving too fast?”
“No,” I lie. “I’m fine. It’s fine.”
“Are you sure? You’re all right with just driving around awhile, being in the car together?”
I nod again. He needs to drive. I remember that feeling, flying out to Meredith’s beach house, free of the city.
“It’s okay,” I say. “Really. Drive as long as you want.” Not too convincing, but it’s the best I’ve got from inside my dull fog.
He looks doubtful.
“Seriously.” I make my voice more sure. “I’m just tired. Do your thing.”
It comes out sounding a little sarcastic. I don’t mean it that way. Besides, if he kills us going one hundred miles an hour on a winding road, it’d solve a lot of problems. For both of us. I slip my cold hand under his. My head’s in a bad place.
“Something’s wrong,” he states, taking his eyes off the road to look at me for a second. “Did you run this morning?” Like he’s asking if I took my meds. I close my eyes. Did I run.
“Yeah.”
A little hammer of shame beats against me. Somehow it seems smart not to mention Nick.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Bad night’s sleep.” Another little shiver. “I’m glad we’re out. That you’re feeling better. Drive as fast as you want.”
He looks at me again, unconvinced.
“I know you,” he says. “Something happened.”
“It’s just a dumb mood,” I say, entwining my fingers with his. “I promise.”
We drive fast, slowing for sleepy villages, one-stoplight harbor towns full of people living their lives. What do they all do? Snowmobilers buzz by us, noisy on trails outside my window. Signs for blueberry barrens, ski hills, antique barns, and maple syrup dot the edges of the road. Below the sun, lazy and low, we swoop, dip, and curve our way south. Late-day light angles in on us. Cal flips down his visor. Puts on sunglasses. I didn’t bring mine. I close my eyes against the light. For just a second.
Cal kisses me awake. It’s dark. We’re parked outside the only Italian restaurant in town.
“I’m sorry!” I straighten up, my heart racing.
“What for?” He kisses me again. “I got to drive fast. You got to sleep. We’re both happy.”
I stretch my back and neck. Hope I didn’t sleep with my mouth open or bob my head up and down like some old guy on the subway. I reach up and feel my cheek. Dry. Good.
We’re in a parking lot. Out my window, a red-and-green Italian placard outside the place reads LunaRossa Trattoria and Wine Bar. The lot’s full. Everyone’s out to eat, apparently.
“Hungry?” he says, gesturing toward the place. “It’s campy but decent. Basic American Italian. Or we could go back to Stone’s Harbor?”
“Here’s good,” I say, trying to put some cheer in my voice. “Small-town ‘Eye-talian.’ Nothing better.”
Everything I say sounds bitchy. I push open my car door and the cold air hits me hard. I’m a terrible girlfriend. I have the slightly insane thought that I could jog around the little downtown for ten minutes or so, try to shake myself out of the heaviness I’ve been dragging all day.
“Wait.” He comes around to my side of the car. “Let me get your door for you. You know, because I can.”
He offers me his hand, and when I get out, he leans me back against the car, an arm on either side of me, and breathes a line of kisses along my collarbone. I shiver. I want to press into him and disappear. Stop having to be myself.
“I know something’s wrong,” he says in a quiet voice right near my ear. “And I’m getting to know you well enough to know you don’t want to talk about it. I’m fine with that.”
“I don’t even know why you like me,” I say, the words out before I can stop them. It’s the truth. I can’t see what I have to offer that he could possibly want or need.
He looks surprised and a little pained. Quiet a minute. Then, “You looked as miserable as I felt the day we met. You had this look on your face—and then you tried to be so fierce. I felt like I knew you already, knew what you were going through. Scared. Angry. Everything all at once. I’ve been there.”
He pulls my chin up so our eyes meet, kisses me.
“Stop looking so sorry. Everything’s good. I had a great time driving a beautiful girl all around this damned gorgeous coast, listening to loud music in my fine car, and feeling like a regular person. So stop it, okay? If you’re worrying about disappointing me or anything, don’t.”
I’m shivering. It’s freezing in the damp wind. He pulls up my hood and kisses me on the forehead. “It’s life. Our moods won’t always sync up.”
Won’t always sync up. Every time he does that, acts like we have a future together, like there’s an us, I feel a little quiver in my stomach. Bad and good. Usually good. Depending on how far out I can imagine my future.