Fucking ugly, and an even worse reminder of what I went through.
My pulse picks up, my mouth runs dry.
Daisy's wide eyes meet mine, her question floating right there on the surface.
An inexplicable anger slices through me. Daisy and I used to run around barefoot and see how long we could stand the heat of the pavement in the summer, daring the other to cave first. We ate ice cream cones as fast as possible, then moaned until the brain freeze wore off. Now I'm scarred in more ways than one, and Daisy's pretending like her feelings and preferences are something to suppress. How did we get from there to here?
Sal's gravelly voice continues on, repeating his comment about the cake Daisy chose, but it's background noise for me.
Retrieving my T-shirt from my pocket, I slip it over my head and thread my arms through. "Slim Jim and I are going to get going." I flip over the remaining water from the bowl into a nearby planter and hand it to the old man. "Thank you for the water, Sal."
I don't have a parting word for Daisy. I can't. I justcan't.
Slim Jim and I take off. I feel Sal and Daisy's eyes on my back, so I peel off the main street at the first chance I get, lengthening my route back to the house where I'm staying.
Not that it matters. Nothing matters.
Daisy is marrying Duke.
Daisy has seen my scars.
It's me, Penn.
Chapter 11
Daisy
My eyes lingeron the street for a moment after Peter disappears around the corner.
Those scars on his side, trailing off to his stomach, I've never seen scars like that before. And then the look in his eyes when he saw me see them, the way he shuttered. The guy is an emotional fortress, but he was standing here with us, early morning sun increasing its grasp on the street and stores, and for a brief moment he looked relaxed. Almostplayful, gently chiding me about my internal fire.
"I don't remember telling him my name."
Tearing my gaze away from the empty street, I turn my attention to Sal. "I must have said it when you were still inside the store." I can't remember if I did, or didn't. Everything from the last ten minutes feels fuzzy around the edges. Rarely do I interact with anybody but Sal or Adela on my morning runs, when I stop here and get something for my mother. Her appetite has been slowly dwindling, but if I bring her something from Sweet Nothings, she'll eat it. Or pick at it, at least.
Sal leans on his broom, staring into the now-empty trail blazed by Peter, eyes screwed up in curiosity.
Gently, I touch his shoulder. He is frail under my hand, his shoulder smaller than it appears in his shirt. "Are you ok?"
My question finally gets Sal's attention. "Does that boy look familiar to you?" he asks.
Peter's face flashes to the front of my mind. The straight nose, rugged jawline covered in a swath of stubble that wasn't there yesterday. The way he immediately struck me as familiar, like my heart knew him, but my brain did not.
"Maybe he has one of those faces, you know?"
Sal grumbles, dissatisfied with what I've said. "Nah." He starts sweeping, and I take it as my cue to go. "There's something about him. He's dead inside, but only mostly."
Has Sal been spending time with Crazy Cliff?
It must've been a joke that I missed, so I smile and ask, "Mostly dead?"
Sal does not pause his sweeping efforts when he responds with, "Better to be mostly dead than all dead."
"True," I agree slowly. Ok, yeah. Sal's been getting into the wacky tobacky with Cliff. Adela sometimes bakes it into treats for my mom.
Lifting the paper bag, I say, "Thanks again for the chocolate croissant."
"Adela threw one in for you, too."
