Then Glen and my mother say they’re going to turn in. They’re on farming hours and bedtime is by nine. And so they say goodnight to me, goodnight to ourguestand go upstairs. And then it’s just Paul and me. Alone.
He sits on the fold-out bed and removes his suit jacket. I don’t want to notice too much that he looks nice all dressed up like a square. The part of me that’s grateful and even relieved is still buried under a mound stubbornness, so I can’t hear its muffled cries when I turn to Paul and say, “In the morning, you need to leave.”
He opens his mouth, closes it.
I relent a little. “It was nice of you and all. But...”
He begins removing his tie.
“You really shouldn’t have come here.”
He stops untying and sets his jaw. “I wanted to see you.”
I don’t know what to say.
He looks up at me, big green eyes behind those glasses, and I hate that I’m treating him this way. I hate that I do these things. I want to get on my knees in front of him and wrap him up in my arms, because he’s here. Because as much as I don’t want to admit it, I need him. I needed him before, and I need him now.
“If you want me to go, I’ll go,” he says evenly. “But I had to see you.” He pauses. “I wanted you to know that…that I care.”
He deserves much more than I give him, which is nothing. I leave the sitting room and go upstairs to the bathroom. I keep telling myself I have every right in the world to be angry. After all,he’sthe one that missed me.He’sthe one that worried about me.
Andhe’sthe one that searched for me.
And then he was the only one that found me.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Paul
HE ISN’T HAPPYto see me.
I don’t know why I expected any different. Even while I was on the bus. Even while I told Aunt Amy I needed to borrow her suitcase again, and she got her hopes up, thinking I was going to visit Pops, but I said no. No. A friend.
Apal.
And she said that was nice and didn’t ask anything else. But I told her my friend’s father had passed away, and she insisted on making a dish. She said it was the polite thing to do. I can’t just show up empty-handed. And so I showed up with my hands full, my mind full, my heart full. And still…
I think I saw the glimmer of something in those blue eyes when their gaze fell on me. Just that bit for me to hang onto while I slide down the cliff. He’s quiet on the cot beside me and eventually he sleeps, but I don’t. Somewhere there’s a grandfather clock ticking, and I try to imagine him here as a child. It doesn’t fit him. I see he gets his eyes from his mother and his brother has his smile. I see this is where he grew up and spent his most formative years. And I’ve intruded upon it.
I must end up dozing a bit because hours later I startle when I hear someone on the stairs. I squeeze my eyes shut and pretend to be sleeping while the smell of coffee comes from the kitchen. Asher gets up. There are low voices talking and then a screen door closes.
This would be the time to go. I could get up, get dressed, and sneak out before anyone knew. It’s what he wants. And maybe this was enough. Just for him to see I’d search for him if he ever went away.
Then I feel a distinctly feminine presence bedside me and a hand on my arm.
“Would you like some breakfast?”
I pretend to wake. “Hmm?”
“Are you hungry?” His mother’s kindness is warming, like a ray of sunshine. “We’ve got plenty of food.”
I get up and she takes me upstairs where I can get washed up. I’m eating potato pancakes and eggs when Asher and his brother come through the door, both of them sweating and smelling of hay and early morning dew. He doesn’t say anything to me or his mother as he pours himself some more coffee.
His mother must be wondering about me, and about why Asher isn’t so happy to see me. Why we’re notfriendly.She’s a polite lady, though. She wouldn’t ask him or me if she were really curious. But it’s her idea for Asher to take me outside and show me around. She brings it up as he and his brother sit down to breakfast. If Asher’s annoyed by it, he doesn’t show it. Doesn’t reveal a hint of anything as he finishes up and then gestures for me to follow him out.
The day is already hot and there are morning glories blooming on a trellis by the back door. I squint in the early morning sunshine as he walks ahead of me, a white T-shirt plastered to the sweat on his back. I follow along for a time, while he shows me nothing, just keeps walking.
When we’re far enough away from the house, I say, perhaps foolishly, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
