Tell her you're coming, he'd deadpanned.
For Hugo, honesty is paramount. Maybe it's all the sword fighting, all that upright posture and civility. Or maybe it's the fact his family is almost as influential as Daisy's and Duke's. Hugo has never been the poor kid in the ramshackle house with the catatonic mother. He's never been forced to make hard choices, the kind that hurt others at the expense of keeping yourself and your parent alive.
I pause on Olive Avenue, the main street running through the town. Shops line either side, two traffic lights placed equal distances on the long street. My gaze pulls to the far end, the second shop in on the left. The scene of the car accident. Fifteen years have passed, and still I hear the crunch of metal, the protesting screech of tires, glass breaking. Daisy's scream weaving through it all, and then, even worse, her silence.
I know I'm supposed to be kind to my younger self, but really, what the fuck was I thinking taking my mom's car when I was thirteen?
I take off at a faster pace, running hard all the way down the street, forcing myself to cross and run on the sidewalk I drove over as a kid.
Exhausted, I stop, hands on my knees as I gulp large lungfuls of air. I've been sprinting without meaning to. Slim Jim stares up at me, barely winded and waiting for whatever I say to do next. He's practically a machine, unlike me. Frail and fallible, even when I wish I weren't.
Though Slim Jim would go and go and never let on he has needs, I look around for water. A few stores down, an old man holds tight to a broom, sweeping the sidewalk with slow, fluid strokes.
Slim Jim and I head his direction. "Excuse me, sir?" I say as we approach. He pauses, bringing himself as upright as his slightly stooped posture allows.
Recognition fires through me. My mind had been so preoccupied while running that I hadn't realized where I was.Sweet Nothings. A bakery operated by Sal and Adela Kingman, a couple who, on more than one occasion, set aside day-old donuts and other sweets and charged me a single dollar for it all.
Did Sal and Adela know how their kindness affected me? How they were sometimes the reason I ate that day?
"What can I do for you, young man?" Sal's gnarled voice spans the two squares of sidewalk separating us.
Unsure of Sal's response to dogs, especially ones who look like Slim Jim, I choose to keep the polite distance. Assuming he's hard of hearing, I raise my voice and ask, "Are you open? I was hoping to buy a bottle of water for my dog."
Sal frowns. "I'm right here, boy. You don't need to yell."
I tuck back my laugh, in case he decides to take offense to that, too. "Yes, sir."
He waves a hand. "Give me a second." He turns, his well-worn jeans pulled up an inch too high, hugging his waist at an unnatural point. Behind Sal's fluffy white head of hair, nearly a half block away, a figure appears around the corner.
Long blonde hair swings back and forth with the cadence of her jog. Her arms pump, the motion fluid, as beautiful as any piece of music nearing its crescendo. It's not the brick red leggings and black sports bra, though I'm not complaining about the outfit wrapped like a second-skin on her body. It's just...her. She has never stopped being the most beautiful sight I've ever had the privilege of placing my eyes upon.
The moment Daisy clocks me is obvious. She falters, but only slightly. Her eyes narrow, a determined set to her perfectly arched eyebrows, and she closes the space between us.
Why did God make her this beautiful? Was it not enough that she is funny and playful and kind and all-around the best person I’ve ever met?
My heart lurches just looking at her, as if it’s reaching for her. Wanting her.
Daisy stops on the sidewalk a few feet away, gaze switching from me to Slim Jim. Wariness peeks from her eyes, but I can see she's trying to hide it. Or ignore it.
For some reason, that makes me furious. Who turned her into this pod person? Empty, devoid of her fire?
Duke. This is his fault. If he didn't do it, he's still responsible because he's letting it exist. He's not encouraging her authenticity. That fucker.
"Hello," Daisy chirps, far too chipper for both the time of day and the way we left things yesterday. As much as I want to keep her at arm's length, I'm not interested in watching the hurt and confusion take over those pretty brown eyes every time my response is gruff.
"Good morning," I answer, making my voice friendly. Maybe too friendly, given the way Daisy's eyes have narrowed suspiciously.
"I didn't realize you have a bodyguard," Daisy says, nodding down at Slim Jim.
Slim Jim looks every bit the bodyguard with the way he's seated in front of my legs, expression serious.
"He's actually a goofball, but he hides it." With two fingers I scratch under his chin. There is no motion to show he enjoys it, only the maintaining of intense eye contact. "Right now he's coming off as a bit of a standoffish asshole."
"You, or the dog?" Daisy's eyes fly open, her hand covering her mouth with a dullthwap.
"There it is," I say, at the same time she says, "I'm sorry."
"For what?" I ask, at the same time she asks, "There's what?"
