“Got it.” He swallowed. “Even so, I know it’s awful of me to turn it down. But, I can’t do it.”
“Did you tell your brothers you’re out of the deal?”
“Not formally.” He knew exactly how that sounded to her.
“Or not at all?” She arched an eyebrow over the top of her sunglasses.
“I have to find the right time.”
“It looks like you don’t have much of that.”
“I thought I was buying myself all the time in the world. I miscalculated,” he said.
“Well, maybe on this trip the right time will find you.”
“You might be right,” he said, swallowing before he screamed out the words stuck in his throat about apologies and forgiveness. “Hey, I wanted to say thank you for not saying too much to Greta. I’m not trying to hide anything, but I think I want to get a handle on this before—”
“You don’t have to thank me,” she interrupted. “I wouldn’t do that. It wouldn’t be right.”
“Well, thank you anyway,” he said, turning back to his plate. He pushed the onions off a slice ofbresaolaand debated eating it anyway. It probably reeked. He leaned in to check. She was still watching him; he was sure of it. He sniffed the slice.
“Bad?” Ellie asked.
“Awful,” he said, making a face. Ellie shook her head and shifted in the lounge chair, her back arched a bit from the awkward angle of the recline. Cris needed something to focus on other than the glowingskin of her midsection. A subject change would be great right about now. “Did you see the signs for the concert?”
“What concert?”
“I guess there’s a band playing this Friday. Kind of made me remember the last time we went to one of those.”
“I don’t remember.” Ellie pulled the straw hat out of her bag and plopped it on her head.
“Come on, the Billow concert?”
Ellie sighed and readjusted her arms behind her head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“It was a long time ago, I know, but don’t you remember? Billow was huge that summer—there was the hit song from the Sprite commercial and they did a concert right here. We had to be fourteen at least.”
“I kind of remember the band from the Sprite commercial.”
“You have to remember the drummer. I’m pretty sure you almost brawled with three other girls trying to catch his drumsticks.” What was he saying? If he wanted to avoid annoying her, this was probably not the way to do it.
“Now that’s just fabrication. I would have never done that.” A muscle twitched in her cheek, but she didn’t open her eyes.
Maybe she was going to insist she didn’t remember, but Cris did. He was so short back then that he had been able to slip through the crowd and score them a spot right in front of the stage. They’d rocked out to the song that was all over the radio that summer, raising their hands up and singing along.
But then the lead singer introduced a new ballad and everything changed. The crowd got quiet listening to the sad, romantic words and, instead of jumping all over, people were swaying. Cris looked upat Ellie, trying to get her attention and say something snarky about how silly the song was, but even she was mesmerized. He remembered her mouth, softly open, and her eyes shining. He couldn’t stop looking at her, but then he followed her gaze to the drummer up on a platform behind the band. He was biting his lower lip in concentration, his blond faux-hawk bopping to the beat. Why did she have to look atthatguy inthatway? He wasn’t so cool, was he? The drummer raised his right hand to twirl his stick before banging the toms in a big crescendo moment of the song, and Cris watched Ellie’s mouth drop full open. He’d never seen her make that face before but now wondered how to get her to make it when she saw him. A hot, prickling sensation grew up his neck and around his ears. He couldn’t wait for the song to be over.
“You did. I watched you. At the end of the set, the whole band came to the front of the stage. The guitar player threw a pick and the drummer threw his sticks and you lost your mind,” he said, omitting the mention of his own first experience with rabid jealousy. He tried a chuckle. She wasn’t laughing.
“It’s very interesting that you remember this moment and I do not. What do you think that tells you, Cris?” Ellie asked, adjusting her sunglasses.
“That you have a terrible memory.”
“And yet, I don’t. I remember things very well. From our past.” She sunk a bit lower in the chair. The sun was in her face now. She squinted into it and reached in her bag, pulling out a tube of sunblock. She squeezed out a lentil-sized drop, rubbed it over her nose, and sat back in the chair. She leaned forward again, pulled a water bottle out of her bag, took a sip, and sat back again.
“Are you nervous?” he asked. She’d changed a lot, but not somuch that she’d stopped getting that vein in her temple when she was frustrated.
“No. Should I be?”
