Page 9 of Freefall

Just like that, my shoulders slump. Talking to TJ was a welcome distraction, but that’s all it was—a distraction from the man who still plagues my mind.

“Mommy, mommy. I had art today instead of STEAM because Mr. Porter was out sick, and Mrs. Richter let us draw whatever we wanted. I drew a capybara, but I also drew a dog because I know that’s your favorite.” Daisy says this all in one breath as she plops down onto her booster seat and pulls the seatbelt over her chest.

Another welcome distraction.

“I won’t be able to show it to you yet because she’s going to display them all for back-to-school night, but you’ll be able to see when you come.” I wait for the click of the seatbelt locking into place.

“I can’t wait to see it,” I tell her, happy that she had a good day today. It’s been a little touch-and-go since we moved. She loved her old school back in Colorado, and I hated taking her out, but it was time to come back. Still, I made sure we moved at the end of the summer so she could start fresh at the beginning of the year.

“Thanks for remembering to take the top off this time,” she says as we pull out of the parking lot.

“You got it.”

She tells me about the rest of her day as we drive home, her hair whipping in the wind along with mine, and it isn’t until we pull into my parents’ driveway that she finally takes a breath.

“I’m so happy you had such a great day, honey.”

“Can I go up to tell Grandma about it?” she asks, moving toward the main house.

“Sure, but make sure you…” She’s already halfway up the walkway by the time I can get the rest of the words out. “Come home for dinner,” I whisper to myself.

I sigh, hiking her backpack over one shoulder and my camera bag over the other, before grabbing my water bottle from the cup holder.

When did you fill that up, Harper?

My stomach flips at the reminder of Nate’s stern voice. I roll my eyes as I dig the house key from my purse and unlock the front door. The guesthouse is small, but it has two bedrooms, so Daisy and I have our own space. We lived in a tiny one-bedroom in Denver right near the university I transferred to my sophomore year. It was also close to where my mother’s sister lives. Our apartment was safe and clean, fine when Daisy was a baby, but we were starting to outgrow it. My parents have been practically begging me to move back since I left, but I needed to make it work on my own. Or mostly on my own. Aunt Tessa babysat until Daisy was old enough for preschool.

Needless to say, a guesthouse in Baybridge is an upgrade. Setting my various bags on the coffee table, I head to my bedroom and kneel to pull the small cardboard box from under the bed. Popping off the cover, I flip through the black-and-white photos until I get to the one I’m searching for. I bring it up to my nose, inhaling the faint scent of developer that still clings to the matte paper, despite its age.

When I pull it away, I allow myself to take in the sharp edges and planes of his body. The cut of his jawline and the slight flush of his cheeks. But none of that compares to the curve of his lips, a smile so wide it reflects in his usually stormy blue eyes.

We weren’t just happy.

In that moment, in that tiny fragment of life where time stood still, Nate and I were everything.

4

NATE

The white lines of the empty parking spot start to blur together as I stare at them, twirling a cigarette between my fingers. I take a step forward, making sure not to step on them. You know that stupid children’s superstition, “Don’t step on a crack or you’ll break your mother’s back”? I take it literally. Well, not exactly literally, because my mother died before I had even heard the saying, but I take it to mean that if I step on a crack, or in this case, a painted line on the ground, that something bad will happen. It doesn’t make sense, but I guess that’s why I’m here, isn’t it?

I’ve never smoked a cigarette in my life. I’ve smoked weed a few times, even a cigar once at my father’s annual Christmas party, but never a cigarette. Bringing it up to my nose, I inhale the slightly minty scent. My best friend, Luke, smokes menthols. He meant well. He thought maybe it would help relax me, and since it was his idea that I come here in the first place, he felt partially responsible for the way I spiraled at the thought of even making this appointment.

Bringing the unlit cigarette to my mouth, I wrap my lips around it and pretend to take a puff. Maybe just going through the motions will calm me.

“Those things will kill you,” a soft voice says from behind me.

I turn around to see a girl standing there. She has wavy blonde hair that reaches her chest. It’s slightly damp, as if she recently showered, and she’s wearing denim shorts, a navy Blackwell College hoodie, and fingerless gloves. Her big hazel eyes search mine as she takes a step toward me.

“Of course you’d have to light it first,” she adds, reaching out and plucking the cigarette from my lips. To my complete shock, she puts it, still damp from my mouth, between her own lips. Making a “v” with her fingers, she removes the cigarette, pretending to exhale before handing it back to me. I wrap my fingers around it even though my jaw is still on the floor. I have the sudden urge to scold her for wearing shorts in late October. It’s not exactly freezing, but it’s definitely not shorts weather. I can already see the goosebumps breaking out along her thighs.

“You going in?” She nods at the building in front of us. It’s one of those offices that looks like a tiny house or cottage, and may have been one at one point.

“I haven’t decided yet,” I tell her. Normally, I wouldn’t be so forthcoming, but there’s something about this girl that makes me want to tell her the truth.

She nods. “Me neither.”

Unsure what to do next, I run a hand through my hair and slip the cigarette back in my pocket. When I look up again, I see her walking along the white line of the parking spot. She’s holding her arms out on either side as if she’s on a tightrope or a balance beam.