by Sarah Dessen
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I asked.
‘Nothing,’ she said quickly. Then, glancing at Leah, she added, ‘I mean, just how you came to town, and hooked up with Jake right away, and then were surprised when people, um, drew conclusions about you.’
‘And by people,’ Leah said, ‘she means us.’
‘Got that,’ I replied. ‘Thanks.’
‘Plus,’ Esther added, ‘there’s the way you’ve always kept to yourself.’
‘Except for tonight,’ Leah pointed out.
‘Except for tonight,’ Maggie agreed. ‘I mean, we just figured you thought you were better than us. But maybe you just didn’t know how to hang out.’
I wanted to believe it was the latter. But I knew in my heart of hearts, my truest place, that I had assumed my superiority. In Maggie’s case, with a single glance.
‘Like I said,’ Leah said, ‘only a girl who didn’t have any real girlfriends would actually begin to answer the question, “What kind of a name is that?”’
‘I thought she wanted to know!’ I said.
‘I doubt Belissa Norwood has much interest in learning about the life of a modern poet famous for his works on politics, nature, and unrequited love,’ Maggie said.
I turned, facing her. ‘You know about Auden?’
‘I wrote my senior thesis on the use of loss in his poems,’ she replied. ‘It’s what got me into Defriese. Hey, Leah, you have any Tic Tacs left?’
I just sat there, stunned into silence as Leah pulled out the pack, passing it to her. I’d had a lot of surprises that day: my mom showing up, almost getting my butt kicked, and learning about Eli’s past. But this was the thing that left me speechless. Maggie was going to Defriese. Just like me.
‘Shoot,’ Esther said, glancing at her watch. ‘It’s past midnight. I better get home. Who needs a ride?’
‘I guess I do,’ Leah said, standing up and wiping off her jeans with her hands, ‘considering I didn’t get to meet some hot guy to drive me home from that party.’
‘Sorry,’ I said.
‘Oh, she’ll survive,’ Esther said, sliding her arm around Leah’s shoulders as we started back down the pier. ‘Tomorrow night, we’ll go to Bentley’s for open mike, and maybe you can find yourself a nice, greasy artist type there.’
‘Maybe I will,’ Leah replied, ‘just to spite you.’
‘What about you, Auden?’ Maggie asked, falling into step beside me. ‘You want a ride back to Heidi’s?’
I looked down the pier to the boardwalk and the road beyond it, the streetlights breaking up the dark. ‘Nah,’ I said. ‘I think I’ll grab some more coffee before I head home.’
‘More coffee?’ Esther said, eyeing my cup. ‘Doesn’t that keep you up, though?’
I shook my head. ‘Nope. It doesn’t.’
At the end of the pier, we said our good-byes, and they headed back to the car. I could hear them still talking, their voices carried by the wind, as I turned and started in the other direction, back to the Gas/Gro, where I was the only customer as I filled up a fresh cup, adding milk, a stirrer, and, after a moment of consideration, a candy bar. The cashier, an older woman with blonde hair and a name tag that said WANDA, was working on a crossword. She put it down, then rang me up while stifling a yawn.
‘Late night,’ she said as I slid my money across to her.
‘Aren’t they all,’ I replied.
Out in the parking lot, the wind was warm and blowing hard, and for a moment I just closed my eyes and stood there, feeling it on my face. Earlier that night, I’d taken off to be alone, only to find – to my surprise – that company was just what I needed. Still, I knew it must have been hard for Maggie to come looking for me, not knowing how I’d react when I saw her. The easiest thing would have been to just leave me alone. But she didn’t go for the easiest thing.
I was a girl who liked a challenge, too. Or at least I liked to think of myself that way. So I went looking for Eli.
On the way to the boardwalk, I passed a cop, driving slowly, his radio crackling. Two girls, arm in arm, one stumbling, the other pulling her forward. The bars still had an hour or so left until closing, with people and music spilling out their open doors. Farther down into the business district, though, all the stores were dark. But in the bike shop, way in back, a light was on.
I raised my hand to knock, then dropped it, reconsidering. So I’d spent a night in the world of girls, big deal. Did it really mean anything had changed, especially me? As I stood there, debating this, I saw someone move across the lit, open back door of the shop: dark hair, blue shirt. Before I knew what I was doing, my hand was rapping the glass, hard.
Eli looked up, his face wary. When he came closer and saw it was me, he didn’t really look relieved. Or surprised, actually. He unlocked the door, pushing it open. ‘Let me guess,’ he said. ‘You want to learn to ride a bike, and it can’t wait until morning.’
‘No,’ I said. He dropped his hand from the door, and just stood there, looking at me. I realized he was waiting for me to explain myself. ‘I was in the neighborhood, saw the light.’ I held up my coffee, as if this proved something. ‘Long night, and all that.’
He studied my face for a moment. ‘Right,’ he said finally. ‘Well, come on in.’
I stepped through the door, and he shut it, locking it behind me. I followed him through the dark shop to the back, which was some kind of repair area. There were parts of bikes up on stands, wheels leaning against workbenches, a pile of gears on a table, tools everywhere. In one corner, where a bike was partially assembled, a handwritten sign said ADAM’S WORKSPACE – TOUCH AND DIE! with a skull and crossbones underneath it.
‘Have a seat,’ Eli said, waving a hand at a stool right beside this.
‘Seems dangerous.’
He glanced at the sign, then rolled his eyes. ‘It’s not.’
I sat down, my cup in hand, as he slid behind a nearby cluttered desk, which was piled with papers, various bike parts, and, not surprisingly, a collection of empty soda bottles and various convenience-store items. ‘So,’ he said, picking up an envelope and glancing at it, ‘you say you’re not here for a bike.’
‘No,’ I said.
‘Then what? You’re just out walking the boardwalk in the middle of the night?’
Eli doesn’t talk, Leah had said. To anyone. Ever. But he had to me, and maybe that did mean something, even if it wasn’t clear just what.
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I just… I thought you might want to talk, or something.’
Eli shut the drawer, slowly, and looked at me. The click noise it made seemed very loud. ‘Talk,’ he said, his voice flat.
‘Yeah.’ He was just sitting there, staring at me, expressionless, and I felt not unlike when my mom got me in her sights, a serious squirm coming on. ‘You’re up, I’m up. I just figured…’
‘Oh, I get it,’ he said, nodding. ‘Right. You know now.’
‘Know…’ I said.
He shook his head. ‘I should have known when I saw you at the door. Not to mention at that party. Maggie isn’t exactly known for holding back information.’
I just sat there, not sure what to do. I said, ‘Look, I’m sorry. I just thought…’
‘I know what you thought.’ He picked up a stack of papers, rifling through it. ‘And I appreciate you wanting to help me, or whatever. But I don’t need it. Okay?’
I nodded numbly. Suddenly the room seemed too bright, illuminating every single one of my failings. I slid off the stool. ‘I should go,’ I said. ‘It’s late.’
Eli looked over at me. I remembered how that first night, I’d thought of him as haunted, before I even knew this was true. He said, ‘Do you want to know why I talk to you?’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I do.’
‘Because,’ he said, ‘from that first day on the boardwalk, you were different. You never tiptoed around me, or acted all weird and sorry for me, or gave me that look.’
‘What look?’
/>
‘That one,’ he said, pointing at my face. I felt myself blush. ‘You were just… normal. Until tonight.’
Until tonight, I thought, hearing Maggie and Esther saying these same words, only an hour earlier. Eli was still rummaging around in the drawer, his head ducked, and I thought of him that day on the pier with Thisbe, how easily he’d reached down to pick her up. There are a lot of ways to comfort someone. The elevator was only one of the unexpected ones.
‘You know,’ I said, leaning against the doorjamb, ‘I’m actually really relieved to hear you say that. Because I don’t want to feel sorry for you.’
‘You don’t,’ he said, not looking up.
‘Nope. The truth is, I’m actually kind of angry with you.’
‘Angry?’ I nodded. He lifted his head: now, I had his attention. ‘And why is that?’
‘Because you almost got my ass kicked tonight.’
‘I did?’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Like you didn’t know that was your girlfriend I was talking about,’ I told him. ‘Not to mention looking at while I was talking about.’
‘Hold on,’ he said. ‘She’s –’
‘You just let me stand there and shoot off my mouth,’ I continued, ignoring this, ‘and then, when she came after me…’
‘She came after you?’
‘She poked me in the chest and called me a skank,’ I said. He raised his eyebrows. ‘And meanwhile, you’re off eating cupcakes somewhere.’
‘Excuse me,’ he said, pushing the drawer shut, ‘but you were the one who told me to eat the cupcakes.’
‘When I didn’t know my life was in danger!’ I sighed. ‘All I’m saying is that you kind of left me out there to fend for myself. Which was not very cool.’
‘Look,’ he said, ‘Belissa is not my girlfriend.’
‘You might want to tell her that,’ I replied. ‘If you can, you know, make time during all that cupcake eating.’
Eli was just looking at me, his expression hard to read, and again I felt like squirming. But not for the same reasons. At all.
‘What are you really doing out so late?’ he asked.
‘I don’t sleep at night.’
‘Why not?’
‘It used to be because my parents were up fighting,’ I said. ‘But now… I don’t know.’
This answer was like a reflex, coming without thinking. Eli nodded, then said, ‘So what do you do to pass the time? Other than not riding bikes.’
I shrugged. ‘Read. Drive. At home, I have a twenty-four-hour diner I really like, but here there’s only the Wheelhouse, which is less than ideal.’
‘You’ve been going to the Wheelhouse?’ He shook his head. ‘The coffee there is terrible.’
‘I know. Plus the waitresses are mean.’
‘And it’s not like you’re taking up a table someone else wants.’ He sighed. ‘You should be going where I go. Open twenty-four/seven, great coffee, and pie.’
‘Really,’ I said. ‘That’s the trifecta.’
‘I know.’
‘Wait, though,’ I said. ‘I have Googled every single restaurant for fifty miles, and nothing came up but the Wheelhouse.’
‘That,’ he said, ‘is because my place is a local secret.’
‘Oh, right.’ I leaned back against the doorjamb. ‘Of course. The local thing again.’
‘Yep,’ he said, reaching down to grab a canvas bag from beside the desk, and hoisting it over his shoulder. ‘But don’t worry. I think I can get you in.’
‘This,’ I said, ‘is not a restaurant.’
That much was obvious by the row of coin-operated washing machines on one side of the room, the dryers on the other. Not to mention the tables lined up for folding in between, a few plastic chairs, and a machine dispensing small boxes of detergent and fabric softener with an OUT OF ORDER sign taped over it.
‘I didn’t say it was a restaurant,’ Eli said as he walked over to a machine, plopping his canvas bag down on top of it.
‘You didn’t say it was a Laundromat,’ I pointed out.
‘True.’ He pulled a bottle of Tide out of the bag, then dumped the bag’s contents inside. After he fed in some quarters, and water began to slosh across the glass front, sudsing immediately, he said, ‘Follow me.’
I did, albeit hesitantly, down the row of washers and dryers to a narrow hallway, which ended with a plain, white door. He knocked twice, then pulled it open, gesturing for me to go through first. Initially, I hesitated. But then, sure enough, I smelled coffee. And that was enough to push me over the threshold.
Which, honestly, was like stepping into a different world. Gone was the linoleum and shiny appliances. This place was dim, the walls painted a deep purple. There was one window, a string of multicolored lights tacked up over it, and a few small tables. Right by the back door, which was open, a warm breeze blowing through, was a small counter. An older guy with black hair streaked with white was sitting behind it, reading a magazine. When he looked up and saw Eli, he smiled.
‘Yo,’ he called out. ‘I thought you might turn up tonight.’
‘I was running out of shirts,’ Eli replied.
‘Well, then.’ The guy put his magazine aside, then stood up, rubbing his hands together. ‘What can I get for you?’
‘That depends,’ Eli said, walking over to the counter and pulling out a stool. I was about to do the same when he gestured at it, and I realized it was for me. ‘What’s on the menu?’
‘Well,’ the guy said, stepping back from the counter and looking beneath it, ‘let’s see… there’s some rhubarb. Apple. And some razzleberry.’
‘Razzleberry?’
The guy nodded. ‘Raspberry and blueberry. Sort of tart, sort of mellow. It’s a little intense. But worth trying.’
‘Sounds good.’ Eli glanced at me. ‘What do you want?’
‘Coffee?’ I said.
‘Just coffee?’ the guy asked.
‘She’s not from here,’ Eli explained. To me he said, ‘Trust me. You want pie.’
‘Oh.’ They were both looking at me. I said, ‘Um, apple, then.’
‘Good choice,’ Eli said as the guy turned around, grabbing two mugs from a rack behind him and filling them from a nearby coffeepot. Then, as we watched, he pulled two plates out from under the counter, followed by two pies. He cut hefty slices of each, arranged them neatly with a fork beside, and them pushed them over to us.
I picked up my mug first, taking a tiny sip. Eli hadn’t been joking after all: the coffee was incredible. But not as good as the pie. Sweet Jesus.
‘I told you,’ Eli said. ‘Beats the Wheelhouse by a mile.’
‘The Wheelhouse? Who’s eating there?’ the guy said. Eli nodded at me. ‘Oh, man. I hate to hear that.’
‘Clyde,’ Eli said to me, ‘is a man who takes pie very seriously.’
‘Well,’ Clyde said, flattered, ‘I mean, I endeavor to. But I’m only a beginner at this whole baking thing. I got a late start.’
‘Clyde owns the bike shop,’ Eli told me. ‘And this Laundromat. And about four other businesses here in Colby. He’s a mogul.’
‘I prefer the term renaissance man,’ Clyde said as he picked up his magazine again, which, I saw now, was a copy of Gourmet. ‘And just because I’m good at business does not mean I can do a perfect piecrust. Or so I’m learning.’
I took another bite of the pie – which tasted pretty close to perfect to me, actually – and looked around the room again.
‘You have to admit,’ Eli said as Clyde flipped a page, studying a recipe for potatoes au gratin, ‘this is better than driving or reading.’
‘Much,’ I agreed.
‘She doesn’t sleep either,’ Eli told Clyde, who nodded. To me he said, ‘Clyde bought this place just so he’d have something to do at night.’
‘Yep,’ Clyde said. ‘The coffee shop part, though, that was Eli’s idea.’
‘Nah,’ Eli said, shaking his head.
‘It was.’ Clyde turned another pa
ge. ‘Used to be, we’d just hang out during the spin cycle, share a thermos and whatever pastry I was working on. Then he convinced me maybe we weren’t the only ones looking for a place to go other than a bar late at night.’
Eli poked his fork into his piecrust. ‘Spin cycle,’ he said. ‘That’s not a bad one, actually.’
‘Huh.’ Clyde considered this. ‘You’re right. Write it down.’
Eli pulled out his wallet, then took out a piece of yellow folded paper. From the looks of it, it was a list, and a long one. Clyde handed him a pen, and I watched as he added SPIN CYCLE to the bottom.
‘We need a new name for the bike shop,’ Clyde explained to me. ‘We’ve been trying to come up with one for ages.’
I had a flash of my first day in Colby, the conversation I’d heard among Jake, Wallace, and Adam as I passed them on the boardwalk. ‘What’s it called now?’
‘The Bike Shop,’ Eli said, his voice flat. I raised my eyebrows. ‘Nice, right?’
‘Actually, it’s called Clyde’s Rides,’ Clyde said, picking up my coffee mug to refill it. ‘But the sign got blown off during Hurricane Beatrice last year, and when I went to replace it, I thought maybe it was time to give it a new name…’
‘… which we’ve been trying to do ever since,’ Eli said. ‘Clyde can’t make up his mind.’
‘I’ll know it when I hear it,’ Clyde said, hardly bothered. ‘Until then, it’s fine if everyone calls it the Bike Shop. Because that’s what it is. Right?’
A phone rang behind him then, and he turned to grab it. As he stepped outside, the receiver pressed to his ear, Eli turned to look at me. ‘What did I tell you?’ he said. ‘Pretty good, huh?’
‘It is,’ I agreed. ‘And you’re right. I never would have found this place in a million years.’
‘Nope,’ he said.
We sat there for a minute, eating. On the other side of the wall, I could hear a load bumping through a drying cycle, thump thump thump. My watch said two fifteen. ‘So,’ I said. ‘What else you got?’
I’d thought I was pretty good at both staying up and staying productive. But Eli was the master.
After the Laundromat, we got back into his car – an old Toyota truck with a cab on it, the back of which was filled with bike parts that clanked and rattled with every turn – then headed fifteen miles west, to the twenty-four-hour Park Mart. There you could, at three A.M., not only buy groceries, linens, and small appliances, but also get your tires rotated, if you so desired. As we walked the aisles, a cart between us, we talked. Not about Abe. But about almost everything else.