I put my hand on his forearm. “No, thanks. I’ll look for a book, too.”
Wells twisted his mouth. “Oh. Right. I set my audio-Cliff to thirty-eight-point-five minutes,” he said. “Exactly half of the full flight time. It’sThe Outermost Houseby Henry Beston. I’ll go snag us seats in the lounge.”
Caleb and I were left on our own and my insides relaxed, the wheeze-out of an accordion. I wanted so badly to explain myself, but there was nothing I could say that would change my reality. I imagined reaching out, touching his arm or his hand. My fingers twitched.
We both hefted a breath. We both smiled.
“What’s an audio-Cliff?” Caleb asked, steering us into a Hudson News. “And that Beston title—isn’t that the plotless book about living on the Cape? Written, like, a century ago?”
I sighed. “It’s an app that delivers the CliffsNotes of a book.With quotes and analyses and stuff. You set how long you want to spend on it, and it basically feeds you the info you need to sound like you’ve read it. It ranks the pertinent stuff to give you first, then whittles down from there. Wells likes it because the trade is surface-level info about more things.”
Caleb poked a hanging neck pillow. “A CliffsNotes of a CliffsNotes,” he said. “The amount of effort it takes to get to that level is almost admirable.”
I twirled my carry-on. In college, I’d studied one of many Pablo Neruda sonnets that had boundless translations, depending on both who was translating it and what language it was in. I’d recounted the project for Wells early in our relationship, detailing how fascinating it was for people to unearth various meanings, like Neruda’s original words were made of clay instead of concrete. “Sounds like way too much work to read one poem,” he’d said then, an early pang of disappointment.
“Uh-huh,” I said. We lingered in front of a display of overpriced and underperforming tech gadgets. “Excited to go home?” I ventured.
Caleb’s laugh was wry. “Sure,” he said, leaning back ever so slightly.
“You’re lying.” I halted my suitcase spinning.
“Fair enough.” He flipped through the off-brand chargers. “History will reveal the truth to a person, huh?”
“It will,” I answered, my throat dry. “History is very useful that way.”
“Tell me, professor, how else is it useful?”
“When one person learns another’s traits over an extended period of time, she may learn he has the tendency to pitch his body weight away when he’s not telling the truth.” I crossed my arms. “This is an observation made from when you said the period blood on my white jeans at our middle school dance was ‘not that obvious.’ Historically speaking. Of course.”
“Okay. One point, Adler. I’m dreading seeing my mother.”His face pinked up. “Speaking of history. Do you know one of the runways here is a backup space shuttle landing spot?”
I tilted my head. “Nope.”
“Another trade secret: there’s a hidden softball field here. Only employees know where it is.”
“I appreciate the distraction,” I said, following him to the cashier.
He plucked a red-rimmed tin of Altoids from the stand and ran his card through the machine. “I’m full of useless information.”
“Wait. You don’t have to buy those.”
“Olivia,” he said. “I don’t have access to an airport lounge, but I can offer you these mints.”
“Okay. Thanks.” When our fingertips connected, I waited for the zing. But when it came, it just felt sad. Futile.
He scuffed his foot on the floor. “I’m glad I DM’d you,” he said finally.
“Me, too.”
“Life is—” He bit his lip. “Well. I guess I’ll just say it’s more comfortable with you back in it.” He lifted his gaze back to me. “I hope you’ll stay in it, even with things picking back up for you and...” He made a gesture in the direction of the airport lounges. “Your history.”
“It’s Soulmail,” I said dully.
“Oh.” He kept his face still. “Well, then.”
“But they don’t mean... everything,” I said, struggling to find the words. “Like Natalie and her mom being destined, or whatever. It doesn’t make you and me less important.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” He squinted, the fringe of his lashes brushing together over the flush of his scruffy cheeks. “I thought you weren’t looking at yours? Actually, no. I’m not going to pry into this at an airport convenience store.”
