Since that behavior would not be appropriate because it was not the paleolithic era, instead of going prehistoric on her, he suppressed his inner-caveman and asked if she’d driven herself. She shook her head, explaining that Zion had picked her up. Her words came out blurred at the edges, like she was fighting through fog. He offered her a ride home, and she accepted but then—as if coming to her senses—insisted they leave separately, staggering their exit times. Poppy didn’t want to draw attention and didn’t want their departures noted, catalogued, and used as fuel for the Hope Falls gossip train.
He agreed to her terms. After lingering for a moment inside the tent, he said goodbye to his sister, slipped out through the side yard, and waited for her in his SUV, engine idling. The world outside was pitch black, the air sharp with the promise of overnight frost. After what felt like an eternity but, in reality, was thirteen minutes, she finally appeared, tote bag slung over her shoulder and hair pulled up on top of her head in a bun. Just seeing her face caused his entire body to relax.
She climbed in, fussed with the seatbelt, then settled into the passenger seat and stared out the window. AJ watched her profile, the slope of her nose, and the delicate tremor of her jaw. He wanted to say something, for the first time it was him who was tempted to break their ritual of no speaking on drives home,but the quiet felt sacred. So he left the radio on at a calming level, an oldies station playing Motown and melancholy Fleetwood Mac, and allowed the silence to fill the space between them.
Hope Falls was built for short distances and long conversations. That night, neither of those facts worked in his favor. He turned into their neighborhood barely eight minutes later, wishing he could circle the block a dozen times to draw out their time together and stretch it thin like taffy.
As soon as he pulled into the driveway, he noticed she’d fallen asleep. He tried to be as quiet as possible, but as soon as he shut off the ignition, she jerked with a start, rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands. For a second, AJ considered offering to carry her inside like a knight in black slacks, but he knew she would decline his offer. He got out, rounded to her side, and opened the door. She blinked at him, confused, then smiled, a real, unfabricated smile that caused his heart to do a backflip.
When she stepped down, he lifted her tote bag from the floorboard. It weighed about forty pounds, the contents shifted with the scrape and tumble of textbooks and a glass water bottle.
“You carrying rocks in here?” he joked.
Her only response was a weak laugh and tiny shake of the head, but even that appeared to take effort she didn’t have to waste.
He escorted her up the short walk to the ADU, the air so still and cold that their every footfall crackled against the stone path. When they reached her door, he hesitated, not knowing exactly what to say or do. He wanted to say something meaningful, something that would connect the dots from the dance floor to this frozen moment on her porch. Instead, he fell back on the only thing he could think of.
“Do you have plans tomorrow?” he asked.
“Just studying, and I might get my keys.”
He nodded. A flash of him seated beside her on the couch reading while she typed away on her laptop. Then, clear as day, he saw them driving downtown to the real estate office to pick up her keys and go to her new house. He saw them touring the space discussing her plans for renovations.
“I’ll be right next door if you want company.”
She took in a breath. “Thanks.”
He noted her complexion was pale as she reached for the bag from him.
“I can take it in for you,” he offered.
“I’m fine, I’ve got it.” Her tone was defensive.
Reluctantly, he handed her the tote.
“Goodnight,” she stated.
Despite not picking up on social clues, it was clear from the tone in the two-syllable word that she was ending the interaction and wanted him to leave.
“Goodnight.” He turned, wondering what he’d done, what he kept doing, to make her so hot and cold with him. One minute he thought she liked him, the next she was distant.
He got only a few steps down the gravel path before he heard it, a hollow, shattering thud, the kind that comes when something dense and weighted hits the ground all at once. Then, the softer scatter of contents spilling across the walkway. He whipped around and saw the tote and its contents were laid open on the ground, books fanning outward in a lazy spiral. And Poppy was lying beside it, collapsed on the porch, arms splayed out like a marionette with cut strings. Unconscious.
22
“Poppy! Poppy, can you hear me?!”
A voice, shrill and underwater, ricocheted through her skull. Poppy couldn’t understand where it was coming from or where she was. The world condensed into a pinpoint of a searing white circle, then spread out in blurred rings. A heaviness pressed down on her, and her chest fluttered with panic as a voice repeated her name. Each new shout clattered into the last, like an echo chamber lined with breakable glass.
She tried to say something, but her lips were stuck together, her tongue was too big to fit in her mouth. The name, her name,Poppy,was a thread she could follow, but nothing about the circumstances made sense.
Had she fallen asleep?
Was she meant to be somewhere?
A dim, mortifying certainty dawned, she was late.
She’d missed something important. A wedding. She was supposed to be at a wedding, that’s why she was getting yelled at.
