She looked up, startled, as if she’d forgotten a world existed outside of this kitchen. "Oh. Of course. I stayed too long."
She stood up, leaving the tea untouched.
She paused by the door, turning back to look at me. For a split second, panic flared in my chest. What if she could see it written on my face? The doubt and all the questions I couldn't ask.
But she just reached out and pulled me into a hug.
She smelled like Ryan’s detergent. Her bones felt sharp through the sweatshirt.
"He would want us to take care of each other," she whispered into my hair.
I hugged her back, my body stiff, my eyes open and staring at the wall. "I know."
She pulled away, patted my cheek with a cold hand, and walked down the path to her sedan.
She was just backing out of the driveway when a black truck pulled in, the grill aggressive and large next to her small car. She hit the brakes and the truck stopped.
Ben.
They sat there for a second, idling. Then Ruth gave a small wave and maneuvered around him.
I grabbed my coat and bag, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I walked out before Ben could come to the door.
He was standing by the truck bed. He had cleaned up. He was wearing a dark button-down shirt tucked into clean jeans, and a jacket that looked new, or at least rarely worn. He was freshly shaved, his jawline sharp, his hair damp and combed back. He smelled like soap and mint instead of sawdust.
He looked like he was going to a deposition, like he was trying to be worthy of the disaster we were driving into.
"Was that his mom?" he asked, watching Ruth’s taillights disappear down the street.
"Yeah."
"Is she..." He trailed off, looking at me carefully. "Does she know?"
"No," I said, climbing into the passenger seat. "She thinks we were perfect."
Ben winced. A genuine, painful flinch, like I’d pinched him.
Still, he didn't say anything, just walked around to the driver's side and got in. He looked at me, his hand hovering over the gear shift. "You ready?"
"No," I said.
"Me neither."
He put the truck in gear. We pulled out of the driveway, turning west.
Toward the reservoir.
Toward Route 9.
Chapter 13
Ben
She didn't say a word for the first ten miles.
The cab of the truck was warm, the heat blasting from the vents, but the air between us felt thin and cold. I kept glancing over at her, expecting her to break. To cry, or scream, or tell me to turn around.
She did none of those things.
