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“Did you talk to him tonight?” she said.
“Yes.”
“Did you tell him it’s over?”
I didn’t answer and she put a hand on my breast, pinched the hard nipple through my shirt. I let her. I took her finger deeper. I wanted this so much, so much.
“Answer me.”
“No. I didn’t.” My head rocked against the wall. The only thing that was over was this. “I asked him to meet me in real life, Ellis.”
No surprise in her face. She closed her eyes, leaned into the crook of my shoulder. Water steamed on our hot skin.
“Baby,” I said softly, touching the back of her head.
Her hands fell away. She was shaking. Crying.
I turned off the water.
A swift chill swept over us. I gathered her into my arms, this limp, lost little bird. We stood there, dripping wet and unmoving. Something hot spooled down my face. I hugged Ellis tighter, though she didn’t respond.
I was a fool to fear this. To hold out for something less frightening, less risky, because all that meant was something less real. This person in my arms was one hundred percent real, breathing and shivering and crying, alive.
But I was still afraid. Still holding out for another prince, not the one in my arms.
Silence on the way home. The ocean was on my side of the car. Ellis stared into the pines.
When I stopped for gas before Portland, she got out and sat on the curb, watching traffic streak past. I filled up the tank and went to sit beside her.
Neither of us said anything for a while. I took a long exposure photo, taillights threading through the dark forest, glowing red veins unfurling into the twilight.
Ellis turned to me. Her mouth was grim, eyes shadowed.
“I’m going with you to meet him,” she said. “And I’ll drive.”
The island postal carrier knew me by sight. She shook her head when I came jogging down to the mailbox.
Dammit. Still no autopsy report on Ryan.
You could tell a lot from the bruise patterns left by a person’s hands. Whether they belonged to someone male or female. To the father, or the mysterious girl who’d touched that gun.
I needed to know how Ryan had been beaten. If it had been one person or multiple. What size hands.
Ellis barely spoke to me that week. At best I got sulky, monosyllabic retorts. Aside from confirming place and time, Blue was scarce, too. Dane was excited to see me, but Dane got excited about pro wrestling and NASCAR.
I took the week off camming. Sat up late, alone, turning the tiny wooden animals in my hands. Obviously I was the cat, la gata, and Ellis was el pajarito, the little bird. So Blue saw himself as the snake.
La serpiente.
It made me shiver.
I walked to the tree house through drifts of citrus-colored leaves, lime and lemon and orange, crinkling like wrapping paper. The air had a dry bite, a hint of ash and bone dust. Ellis was coming down the steps as I went up.
“Where you headed?”
She stuffed her hands into her mackinaw. “To check on Brandt.”
“I’m coming with. I’m going stir-crazy here.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“What?” I said. “You’re coming to Boston but I can’t see my old house?”
“Fine.”
We walked in silence to the ferry landing. Halfway across the bay, she finally spoke.
“Brandt is self-conscious about his appearance.”
“I won’t say anything.”
“He’s noticeably disfigured, Vada.”
I glanced at her. “What happened?”
“It made the news in Chicago, actually. He went to our college. Some kids from Kenosha jumped him, beat him up. You know how intense their football rivalry is. He was the star recruit. Now he can’t get through a day without popping pills constantly.”
“Holy shit.”
“He doesn’t like talking about it.”
“Point taken.”
On the mainland all the paint had drained out of the world and soaked into the trees. Leaves rained from the sky, persimmon red, marmalade orange, dancing around our feet and swirling in midair and splattering across the streets in wild, fiery brushstrokes. My fingers froze. I took Ellis’s hand as we disembarked, and she didn’t let go. The heat between our palms pulsed like a heart. When someone jostled us on the ramp she gripped tighter, and I went warm all over.
At Commercial Street she turned for the East End. I pulled toward the Old Port.
“My cousin’s waiting.”
“He’ll survive for an hour. Trust me.” I tugged. “Let’s do an experiment.”
“What experiment?”
“If I tell you, it’ll corrupt the results, Professor.”
We wandered through the Old Port, past plate-glass windows full of local arts and crafts, lighthouses and lobsters stamped on fucking everything. A candy shop sold Maine blueberries that burst in your mouth like sun squeezed from an azure summer sky. I refused to give Ellis any till she let me feed her by hand. At first she balked, glaring, but after a while she gave in, and when her teeth touched my fingertips I held them there a moment too long. Juice splashed when she bit, tinting her lip purple. I pointed to the spot and watched her try to lick it off, laughing, then finally pushed her against a shop window and said, “I’ll get it,” and kissed her.
People passed us on the street. The cool fall breeze scattered my hair across my face. All I felt was warmth. Pure warmth.
When I pulled away, Ellis looked stu
I played it off, acting goofy, trying on ridiculous hats, posing with statues. I pecked a ceramic mermaid, smirking. We passed a narrow cobblestone alley and Ellis dragged me into it. I started to ask if she’d seen something neat but she pressed me against a brick wall, lifted my face, and kissed me. Not a second’s hesitation. I grabbed the lapels of her coat for leverage. Inside I was nothing but water and sand, my bones made of soft coral. All the submerged things.
We stopped, breathing into each other’s mouths.
“Remember?” I said, my hand sliding into her coat, against her ribs. “Do you remember the first time?”
Another rainy April afternoon in Chicago, water pouring over the city like melted pewter and nickel, gray and cold. I got off the L and shambled toward the exit. Two-mile walk home in this. Story of my goddamn life.
As I clicked through the turnstile, I saw her. Ellis, peering at the crowd as it streamed past, an umbrella tucked in the crook of her elbow.
“You’re here,” I said, flinging my arms around her. “I could kiss you. Actually, I will. Brace yourself.” I planted one on her cheek, then started laughing.
“What?”
“Your face is experiencing chromatic inflammation.”
She got mad when I pointed out her blushes, so of course I did it even more.
“I’m begi
“Hey, who else kisses you just for being you?”
I pulled her out into the rain, and she opened the umbrella just in time. People flowed around us. Elle turned toward the bus but I drew her on, down Division.
“Let’s walk home.” I slid an arm around her waist and heat flared up my veins. “It’s not so bad now.”
Her ribs pressed against mine. I felt the breath she took. “Okay.”
On that day we’d known each other a year and a half and were card-carrying BFFs. Over hundreds of train rides and drawings and late nights, she’d opened up to me. Steadied me. Grounded me. She was there when my own family wasn’t, and vice versa.
I could not imagine my life without this person.
The streets shone, coated with a mirror glaze of rain. Traffic lights leaked across the blacktop like spilled neon paint. We walked down Division, our steps slow, her arm circling me, and I thanked God I’d forgotten my keys and panic-texted her because this—this was worth it.
We passed a strip mall and I stopped. She followed my gaze.