Since I’ve gotten in here, he’s talked about the weather. The traffic. The tune-up his car is scheduled for later this week. And now he’s back to the weather. “Did you see, we’re getting a late cool front on Thursday, provided the sea doesn’t push it east…” And then he goes on to explain the history of Earth’s air currents.
Why is he telling me all this information? I don’t know if I’m so puzzled because I don’t understand basic things like small talk, or…if this is something else. It’s almost like he’snervous. At first I refuse to entertain the idea. He’sAdam Noemi. The talented, successful journalist who’s had a thousand adventures all over the world but came back to Cranberry to become a caretaker for William. Beloved by everyone who catches the barest glimpse of him. He would never, not in one million years, behave nervously aroundmebecause he doesn’t have a single reason to.
But what if he is?my mind hisses as he launches into describing what a sand storm is to me in exquisite detail.
Finally, he is in the middle of taking a breath when I ask the first thing that comes to mind, which of course is “Have you ever wondered if foxes have orgasms?”
I guess it’s lucky he inhaled, because he spends the next minute in the middle of choking. His face turns pink and I offer him my water bottle because I don’t know what else to do. He shakes his head and, after a moment, his breath returns, and then he…well, he laughs. He laughsreallyhard, and I can’t stop staring at him, becausewow. If I thought he looked lovely before…now he’s…I can’t even explain it. The way his eyes almost shut because they crinkle up so much. The dimples deep in his cheeks.
He’s as stunning as a shattered topaz daybreak over the salt-skinned sea.
“You’ve gotta stop doing that.” These are his first words after the laughter dies down.
I glance at him, nervous now. His laugh unnerved me in a way I’m not sure how to process. “Doing what?”
He glances at me, then back to the road. “Knocking the wind out of me.” He chuckles lightly. “That was the…fourth time. No. Fifth.”
I think back to all our interactions and I can only think of three times he could claim I’d knocked the wind out of him. One: when we first met and I was holding wild animals. Two: when I asked him to write a piece on my eight-year-long disappearance. Three: just now, apparently.
Before I can open my mouth to ask about the remaining two, Adam pulls into Gilded Cranberry Golf Club. As far as I know, it’s the only country club in town, and I’m certain I’d never bewelcome inside. “What the hell are we here for?” I can’t hide the dismay, and to be honest, even fear in my voice.
Adam turns and gives me a grin that I assume is intended to be reassuring but is anything but. “You want people to see us together.” He clears his throat. “As friends. This is the spot. Trust me.”
“But—” I look at the white, colonial-style buildings. They gleam like they don’t share this planet with dirt and dust and pollen, the ornate pillars sharp as bayonets. The only kind of landscaping as far as I can see is nonnative grass trimmed to 1.5 inches and two boxwood hedges flanking the entrance that I’m pretty sure are made of plastic. I know Amá Sonya has a membership here, but all that does is confirm that the Gilded Cranberry is exactly the kind of “spot” where I don’t belong. “That doesn’t look like a fun place.”
Adam gives me a smile. “Depends on your idea of fun, sure. But the food is surprisingly really, really good.” He parks the car and turns toward me. When he sees my face he says, “Are you okay?”
I shake my head, my eyes wide. I can’t speak, or else I’m pretty sure a panic attack is going to come out instead of words. Adam surveys me, then asks another question. “I know this is going to sound kind of weird, but…is it okay if I hold your hand?”
It definitely is a very weird thing to say, but the weirdness is distracting me from my panic in a good way. I lift my hand and wave it a little bit, in an effort to sayGo for itwithout speaking the words, because I’m still not sure if I can enunciate anything properly right now.
He reaches across the center console, and gently, the way someone might approach a bird with an injured wing, he slowlytakes my hand in his. He’s so warm. I’m shocked at how much it instantly grounds me. “Sky.” He says my name in an especially gravelly voice. “No one’s going to be mean to you. I’ll make sure of it. I promise.”
I have to look away from his face when I nod. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
I take a shaky breath. “If anyone can stop folks from being mean to me, it’s you.”
He smiles then, his eyes lighting up. “You really trust me?”
I furrow my brow. “What? No.”
At my response, Adam throws his head back and laughs. I take the opportunity to wriggle my hand from his, feeling a bit stupid that I miss touching his warm palm. “Do you always say what’s on your mind?” he asks.
I’ve always been a direct communicator, but sometimes I wonder if my time between the Land of the Dead and the Land of the Living during my supernatural sleep made me less inclined to dance around the meanings of what I want to say. Instead of explaining all this, I shrug. “What’s the alternative?”
“Touché.” We both look at the colonial monster-face building and he adds, “We can go somewhere else. Get some hot dogs by the beach where no one can see us. That would be just fine, I promise. We can do a big public outing another day.”
“No. Let’s get this over with.” I’m surprised at how sure I sound. “I really hate hot dogs, anyway.”
Gilded Cranberry Country Club has four enormous wooden doors up front, between the immaculate white columns that look pre-offended at the idea of moths, or beetles, or any other sort of bugs crawling upon them. “This looks like my grandmother’s house,” I say as we walk up.
“Yeah? Is she the president or something?”
“She thinks she is. That’s for sure.”
I don’t have a huge family in town. It’s me and my sisters, Nadia, and Amá Sonya. Even though I live with Nadia, I just…don’t see her much. She’s supposed to retire this year and for some reason that means she’s picking up more shifts than ever at the Cranberry Wood State Park Welcome Center, especially now that the center is open for longer hours while tourist season is underway. When she’s not at work, she’s at St. Theresa’s Catholic Church for Wanderers and Pilgrims.
