Cara holds the water out to me and I thank her and take it.
“My dad used to sing that Talking Heads song about the house and the beautiful wife,” she says, shaking her head. “He was such a terrible singer.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh up water.
A few minutes before sunset, Andrew returns and leads us to an abandoned Holiday Inn Express’s lobby to stay the night.
The second night we’re in the middle of nowhere, so we get off the highway at a small town and camp out in an empty farm stand parking lot.
We light a fire to boil water from a nearby stream with kindling from dry wood pallets we find behind the peeling farm stand. Andrew finishes telling us about the movie10 Things I Hate About You—“I don’t remember the whole poem, but number one is that she doesn’t hate him, not even close, not even a little bit, not at all”—and Cara—sitting farther back from the fire—wipes a tear from her eye as Andrew stands up.
“Be-are-be, I have to piddle. Figure out which movie we’re watching when I get back.”
I smile as he wanders across the gravel lot to the woods. It’s windy tonight and the trees sway in the gusts. The only thing louder is the cicadas.
“I like how he tells movies,” Cara says.
“Me too.”
“I’ve seen10 Things I Hate About Youand he got all the plot points right.”
I smile again and nod. “He’s gotten a lot better. You should hear how he tellsMiss Congeniality.”
“Oh, I’d love that, yes.”
“Then that’s the one he shall tell.” I nod as I poke the fire.
“You love him.”
I stop, looking up at her. She has her eyes narrowed at me. I don’t say anything.
“I can tell,” she continues. “My sister used to flirt shamelessly with our lawn guy. And then she married him.”
“I don’t flirt shamelessly.”
“No. But when he tells movies, you watch him, and if he stands up and gets too close to the fire, you watch his feet and move your arms toward him. And she used to do something similar that you do. When Andrew’s telling a story about you both, you tense up a bit because you don’t know if it’s going to be embarrassing or sweet. But either way you have the same smile on your face at the end of it.”
I don’t know how she knows I love him whenIdon’t know it. I know I watch his feet because I don’t want him to get too close if he’s going to do some physical joke. I certainly don’t know what my face looks like when he talks about our journey down here together, but yes, sometimes I am worried he’ll tell an embarrassing story. And even when he does, I do still like the way he tells it.
“And he loves you,” she says. “But you don’t say it to each other when you go to bed.”
“Wha... I... No. We don’t.”
“Why?”
I kinda want to know where the fuck this all came from.
“Because I... I don’t know. It’s just not something you say to everyone.”
“No. Did you get in a fight?”
“Cara... No, I... It’s more complicated than that.” I spin, looking toward the woods, trying to make sure Andrew isn’t coming.
“Why?”
“Because it is. I can’t explain months and months of complications to you in the time it takes Andrew to pee.”
“But you don’t need to explain to him.”
