Eleanor & Park

His dad stood on the front steps with his arms folded. Of course he had to watch. Like he was umpiring a goddamn taekwando bout.

Park closed his eyes. Eleanor was still there.

Eleanor.

He started the engine and shifted smoothly into reverse, rolled out of the driveway, shifted into first, then pulled forward without a sputter.

Because he knew how to drive a stick. Jesus.

CHAPTER 52 Park

‘Okay?’

She nodded and climbed in.

‘Stay down,’ he said.

The first couple hours were a blur.

Park wasn’t used to driving the truck, and it died a few times at red lights. Then he got on the Interstate heading west instead of east, and it took twenty minutes to turn around again.

Eleanor didn’t say anything. Just stared ahead and held onto her seat belt with both hands. He put his hand on her leg, and it was like she didn’t notice it was there.

They got off the Interstate again somewhere in Iowa to get gas and a map. Park went in. He bought Eleanor a Coke and a sandwich, and when he got back to the truck she was slumped against the passenger door, asleep.

Good, he tried to tell himself. She’s exhausted.

He climbed up behind the wheel and took a few rough breaths, then he slammed the sandwich onto the dash. How could she be asleep?

If everything went right tonight, Park would be driving home tomorrow morning by himself.

He’d probably be allowed to drive now whenever he wanted, but there was nowhere he wanted to go without Eleanor.

How could she sleep through their last hours together?

How could she sleep sitting up like that …

Her hair was down and wild, wine-red even in this light, and her mouth was slightly open.

Strawberry girl. He tried again to remember what he’d thought the first time he saw her. He tried to remember how this happened – how she went from someone he’d never met to the only one who mattered.

And he wondered … What would happen if he didn’t take her to her uncle’s house? What would happen if he kept driving?

Why couldn’t this have waited?

If Eleanor’s life had caved in next year, or the year after, she could have run to him. Not from, not away.

Jesus. Why couldn’t she just wake up?

Park stayed awake for another hour or so, fueled by Coke and hurt feelings. Then the wreck of the night caught up with him. There wasn’t a rest stop around, so he pulled off on a county road, onto the gravel that passed as a shoulder.

He unbuckled his seat belt, unbuckled Eleanor’s, then pulled her into him, laying his head on hers. She still smelled like last night. Like sweat and sweetness and the Impala. He cried into her hair until he fell asleep. Eleanor

She woke up in Park’s arms. It caught her by surprise.

She would’ve thought it was a dream, but her dreams were always terrifying. (With Nazis and babies crying and teeth rotting out of her mouth.) Eleanor had never dreamed anything as nice as this, as nice as Park, sleepy-soft and warm …

Warm through. Someday, she thought, somebody’s going to wake up to this every morning.

Park’s face, asleep, was a brand new kind of beautiful. Sunshine-trapped-in-amber skin. Full, flat mouth. Strong, arched cheekbones. (Eleanor didn’t even have cheekbones.) He caught her by surprise, and before she could help herself, her heart was breaking for him. Like it didn’t have anything better to break over …

Maybe it didn’t.

The sun was just below the horizon, and the inside of the truck was bluey pink. Eleanor kissed Park’s new face – just under his eye, not quite on his nose. He stirred, and she felt every part of him shift against her. She ran the end of her nose along his brow and kissed his lashes.

His eyelids fluttered. (Only eyelids do that.

And butterflies.) And his arms came to life around her. ‘Eleanor …’ he sighed.

She held his beautiful face and kissed him like it was the end of the world. Park

She wouldn’t be on the bus with him.

She wouldn’t roll her eyes at him in English.

She wouldn’t pick a fight with him just because she was bored.

She wouldn’t cry in his bedroom about the things he couldn’t fix for her.

The whole sky was the color of her skin. Eleanor

There’s only one of him, she thought, and he’s right here.

He knows I’ll like a song before I’ve heard it.

He laughs before I even get to the punchline.

There’s a place on his chest, just below his throat, that makes me want to let him open doors for me.

There’s only one of him. Park

His parents never talked about how they met, but when Park was younger, he used to try to imagine it.

He loved how much they loved each other. It was the thing he thought about when he woke up scared in the middle of the night. Not that they loved him – they were his parents, they had to love him. That they loved each other. They didn’t have to do that.

None of his friend’s parents were still together, and in every case that seemed like the number one thing that had gone wrong with his friends’

lives.

But Park’s parents loved each other. They kissed each other on the mouth, no matter who was watching.

What are the chances you’d ever meet someone like that? he wondered. Someone you could love forever, someone who would forever love you back? And what did you do when that person was born half a world away?

The math seemed impossible. How did his parents get so lucky?

They couldn’t have felt lucky at the time. His dad’s brother had just died in Vietnam; that’s why they sent his dad to Korea. And when his parents got married, his mom had to leave everything and everyone she loved behind.

Park wondered if his dad saw his mom in the street or from the road or working in a restaurant.

He wondered how they both knew …

This kiss had to last Park forever.

It had to get him home.

He needed to remember it when he woke up scared in the middle of the night. Eleanor

The first time he’d held her hand, it felt so good that it crowded out all the bad things. It felt better than anything had ever hurt. Park

Eleanor’s hair caught fire at dawn. Her eyes were dark and shining, and his arms were sure of her.

The first time he’d touched her hand, he’d known. Eleanor

There’s no shame with Park. Nothing is dirty.

Because Park is the sun, and that’s best way she could think to explain it. Park

‘Eleanor, no, we have to stop.’

‘No …’

‘We can’t do this …’

‘No. Don’t stop, Park.’

‘I don’t even know how to … I don’t have anything.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘But I don’t want you to get …’

‘I don’t care.’

‘ I care. Eleanor …’

‘It’s our last chance.’

‘No. No, I can’t … I, no, I need to believe that it isn’t our last chance … Eleanor? Can you hear me? I need you to believe it, too.’

CHAPTER 53 Park

Eleanor got out of the truck, and Park wandered into the cornfield to pee. (Which was embarrassing, but less embarrassing than pissing his pants.) When he came back, she was sitting on the hood of the truck. She looked beautiful, fierce, leaning forward like a figurehead.

He climbed up and sat next to her.

‘Hey,’ he said.

‘Hey.’

He pushed his shoulder up against hers and nearly wept with relief when she laid her head against him. Weeping again today seemed wholly inevitable.

‘Do you really believe that?’ she asked.

‘What?’

‘That … we’ll have other chances? That we have any chance at all?’

‘Yes.’

‘No matter what happens,’ she said force-fully, ‘I’m not coming home.’

‘I know.’

She was quiet.

‘No matter what happens,’ Park said, ‘I love you.’

She put her arms around his waist, and he hugged her shoulders.

‘I just can’t believe that life would give us to each other,’ he said, ‘and then take it back.’