While You're Away (20 page)

“What did he say?” she asked. She had to; all she could eavesdrop on was my side of the conversation.

Flatly, I repeated what little I’d heard. The benefit of the doubt. Things would be back to normal. He wanted to warn me about the pictures. With each non-explanation, Grace murmured her commiseration. Trailing her fingers along the frame of my door, she waited until I finished talking.

“You know what?” she said. “Somebody incredibly wise once told me, ‘You’ll get through this. Something better is waiting for you.’ I didn’t believe it at the time. But I do now. I really do, and I believe it for you, too.”

I stilled. Maybe she was right. Maybe something better
was
waiting.
Someone.
I thanked her and waited for her to leave. And then I carefully typed out a few words and sent them into the ether.
Can I come over?

Then I counted, one-Mississippi, two-Mississippi, and on three, I got my reply.

Absolutely
, Dave replied.
I’m always here for you.

A
t night, Dave kept the garage door half-open.

It let in slants from streetlights and the glow of moonlight. The concrete floor flickered when cars drove by. A couple of lamps on the workbench illuminated a small circle, and the rest of the studio space faded into dark. It was quiet—peaceful. I was glad that my spot on the couch fit as perfectly as ever.

“I was surprised you texted,” Dave said, offering me a cup of coffee before sitting down. Pulling his right ankle up onto his left knee, he spread out in his corner of the couch. Arm trailing the back of it, his fingers plucked at the old plaid upholstery. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you did.”

Curling around the heat of my mug, I nodded. “I appreciate it. I know things have been rough for you lately.”

“Actually.” Dave’s brows lifted thoughtfully. “I’ve been all right. Better than I have been in a long time.”

With a sip from my cup, I peered at him. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“I’ve had some time to sort myself out. Clearing out the studio, breaking out of old habits . . . it’s been good.”

“You look good,” I told him.

It wasn’t a lie. No matter how many times I noticed his new clothes, the way he stood now, the way he walked into a room with the calm assurance that he commanded it—it all still surprised me. All this time, this next, best version of himself had been waiting to appear. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was my fault it had taken him so long to get here.

Thoughtful, Dave said, “You look tired.”

Closing my eyes, I nodded. Weeks of staggered schedules had caught up with me. My face showed all those nights that I’d gone to bed after two just to get back up at six. It seemed reasonable. My last year in high school was mostly a formality. It was imperative that Will do well his first year of college. So I was the one who bent, and bent, and now I was in Dave’s garage, slightly broken.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Did I?

Shifting, Dave slid closer to me. Leaning over his knees, he let his hands dangle between them. The faint light flashed off his thumb ring. The silver was duller now than it had been freshman year but richer. Even now, he idly spun it, like it was a totem. I don’t know why it mesmerized me all of a sudden. It just caught my eye and I couldn’t look away.

Or maybe I was watching his hands. They were so talented on a guitar. Deft and careful with his restoration work. Animated when he talked. Rough and callused from hard work and hard play, they were strangely beautiful. The ring set them off.

With a smile in his voice, Dave teased, “Sarah, didn’t you pay attention in physics? Time and space are the same dimension. You’re only as far away from something as you want to be.”

Raising my head, I looked at him. Really looked at him. There had been a time once, when I’d been afraid to let him touch me. He’d wanted to be so much closer, but I hadn’t been ready. I couldn’t imagine where those feelings could lead.

Now I could. Without guitars between us, or even a hint of melody, he was so present. So electric and alive. That was the one thing that had been missing all that time. It was so unfair that it took this—breaking up, moving on—for me to feel it.

I could admit, maybe some of it was that moment at the Eden. When he came out of nowhere, hands hot, eyes burning. It wasn’t that I wanted him to act like a Neanderthal. But I’d always felt like Dave could take me or leave me.

It was so different now—now that I realized he
could
hold back, but it was driving him a little crazy to do it. And now that I knew what it would be like. I wondered, would his weight feel different on me? What would the roughness of his fingertips feel like, circling the curve of my breasts?

My thoughts twisted, making my breath hitch. When I looked over, I couldn’t help but stare at his mouth. Full and teasing—I knew what it felt like when he kissed me. What if he went down on me? Would he try to catch my gaze when he did?

Dave shifted. His hand on my shoulder was theoretically friendly. In practice, it was more. In spite of his warmth, his ring was cold. He traced it in subtle strokes, just along my collar. Still pretending that touch was nothing more than friend to friend, partner to partner, Dave asked, “You all right?”

I wasn’t. I was lonely and confused, and it felt so good to be touched again. Sensation drifted down my throat, swirling lazily and weighting my breath. My body reacted now, entirely on its own. Without thought, it
wanted
; it recognized a signal and it longed to send one back. It anticipated the coolness of that ring on the small of my back. On my hip, pressing in. . . .

Thoughts scrambled, I tried to think of something to say. All I managed was a shake of my head.

Slipping his hand beneath my hair, Dave trailed his ringed thumb across the back of my neck. The metal had warmed. It felt almost liquid; almost like a kiss. The fine hairs there stood up; my skin tightened wantonly. Now it was Dave’s touch that was cool. Down the curve of my shoulder, back up again. When silver touched the pulse point in my throat, I found my voice.

“What are you doing?”

Dave’s fingers twined in my hair, tugging lazily, then slipping free. Each touch came with plausible deniability. Maybe it was innocent. Maybe he was just comforting his friend. It could have been true, until he leaned closer. “Whatever you want.”

Plaintive, I looked to him. “I don’t know what I want.”

I couldn’t help but think that Dave would have never taken one compromising picture of himself, let alone a whole album of them. He would never flaunt his infidelity by posting it where everyone could see it. Yes, Dave could flirt all night and all day, but he always came home with
me
.

Almost casually, Dave said, “Maybe we could figure it out.”

Suddenly, words flew from my lips. It wasn’t planned; I think it was a reflex. Maybe to ask for permission, or find an escape, I wasn’t sure. All I know is that I needed an answer. I needed to hear something solid, that couldn’t be stroked away with the cool kiss of silver. “Why did you always hold back with me before?”

His hand stilled. It weighted the back of my neck; warmed it. But now everything that moved was in his eyes. “We had something together on stage. I felt it; I know you did, too. And with the guitars and the lights, I could just let go and feel it. That’s what kept me going. You weren’t ready, but as long as we had that—”

Stunned, I studied his face. “Are you serious?”

“I’ve never kissed anyone but you, Sarah. I never wanted to.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Maybe we talk too much. Maybe we always did.”

Dave’s voice dropped, and he dropped his pretense. Catching my chin between his thumb and forefinger, he leaned in and turned my face toward him at the same time. The heat thickened around us. Stormy gaze flickering, Dave seemed to take me in. He didn’t stop at my lips; his gaze trailed over my body like a caress.

My breath shortened; his raced to match. I knew he could see the rise of my nipples through my thin shirt. I wondered if he could feel the heat the gathered between my thighs. If he could smell me.

Slowly tensing, Dave lingered there as his breath grew ragged. My lonely body yearned to leap up to meet him. I had places that needed to be kissed. Curves that needed strong hands to shape them.

The moment was full of possibility. It bristled with it, bright and sharp. Trailing his thumb against my chin, Dave strayed dangerously close to my mouth. If I moved, just a little, I’d find Dave’s lips on mine. I’d find out what all that music passion felt like when he translated it to flesh.

My breath caught.

Dave turned, not toward my lips, but toward my ear. He murmured hoarsely, “I’m not going to give you another chance to get away.”

Headlights streaked beneath the garage door, a brief, blinding flash. It stopped the spiral in my head, before I did something I regretted. Before I hurt Dave again, because he deserved so much better than that. As mixed-up and confused as I was, I really didn’t want to lead Dave on. He was a good guy—maybe the best guy.

No. Not again. I’d learned my lesson the hard way: cheating solved nothing. I pressed a rough, chaste kiss against his cheek.

And then I fled.

~

I woke up to a voicemail from Will. There wasn’t much to it, just a hello, and a quick sorry about dropping the call. No apology for the pictures; no explanation for his behavior. I deleted it and didn’t bother to call back. It wasn’t noon yet, he wouldn’t have answered anyway.

More confused than ever, I staggered into school late. Late enough to find out that Jane, in all her benevolent wisdom, had decided to get my mind off things by signing us up for the President’s Fitness Challenge.

Nothing said
I’m sorry your life is falling apart—let’s avoid it
like putting on a gym uniform three years after taking your last required gym credit.

“I know it’s sort of second grade,” Jane panted as we jogged in slow motion around the stadium’s track. “But they let us off early if we do this shiznit, and I wanna go to the movies.”

Each step reverberated up my spine. Though cooler autumn weather had slipped in around us, I was soaked in sweat. It formed a humid V down the front and the back of my
Property of East River
T-shirt. My hair, inspired to new heights of frizz, bounced around my head. I felt like one of the cottony dandelions, right before somebody made a wish.

“What do you want to go see?” I asked. My throat burned from breathing too hard.

Waving a hand, Jane said, “You’ll love it. It’s a silent Romanian film about—”

“Are you kidding me?”

“You didn’t even let me finish!”

Rolling my head toward her, I didn’t really
need
to say it. The look did all the work for me.

“I hate you,” she muttered.

I tugged at the front of my shirt. Fanning it, I tried to get a breeze against my skin. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this grimy. Probably at summer camp—the last place I was desperate enough to shower in public.

“I’m not saying don’t go.” Cutting a look over at Jane, I sighed. “Go without me.”

With a regal gesture to indicate our slick, nasty bodies, she said, “I did this for us.”

Any other time, I would have just gone along. This time, though, I was running—literally—on two hours of sleep.

After I left Dave’s, I’d locked myself in my room with my computer. Going over old texts and old e-mails, reading old @ messages on Twitter. And then, looking at those pictures again. Those pictures. I finally took Benadryl at four o’clock and collapsed from exhaustion.

I shared none of this with Jane. Instead, I begged off for artistic reasons. “I have a couple songs for the movie that I really want to finish up for you. Will you be mad if I skip?”

“Yes,” she deadpanned. “I’ll hate you forever. You’ll be dead to me.”

Throwing my arms around her, I rocked her until we both lost our balance. “Thank you, I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she said, peeling out of my grip. A smile resurfaced when she shoved me. “Now get your stank off me.”

~

Later, and alone again, I dialed Will’s number once more. This time, when it went directly to voicemail, I left a message. Though I tried to sound okay, it was a struggle. I wanted to scream but recognized that screaming would solve nothing. So I measured my tone and weighed each word.

“Things have been rough the last couple days, and we really need to talk. But I just wanted to tell you that I do miss you. I do love you. I believe in us. Please call and tell me you believe in us, too. I just want to hear you say it again.”

I hoped I sounded just desperate enough for it to work.

It was well after three in the morning when I finally dozed off. I guess my body had decided there was no call to wait for. Unfortunately, my mind wasn’t so convinced. My dreams were strange and fitful.

In one, there was a party at a mansion on the hill, and I had to have a ribbon to get in. I knew Will was there, so I went looking for a ribbon. Everything I touched, though, turned to ash.

Tossing myself out of bed with the sunrise, I checked my e-mail. I had a note from Emmalee about the varsity banquet and a two-for-one coupon at the Daily Grind. Nothing from Will. I checked my phone. No texts. Or tweets.

And this time, no photos in his timeline or updates to the Tumblr. It was like Will had fallen off the face of the earth. I went so far as to pull up the college newspaper. If there had been an accident, if something terrible had happened on campus. . . .

A quick scan told me that nothing had been reported overnight. Interestingly enough, I did find a tiny little article about Omega Theta Pi’s rush season. Skimming the article, I discovered that they would be introducing their newest members that night during their annual BONEFEST party.

Recoiling from the screen, I shuddered.
Bonefest.
Seriously? The article came with a small black-and-white photo of the frat house. It was neoclassical, with white columns and a tall porch—and as ever, a few red party cups speckling the railings. A sheet hung from the upper balcony, hand-painted and sagging.

On it, big, bulgy femurs spelled out the Greek letters
ΩΘΠ
. Though the “bones” were white, they looked suspiciously like penises. It was so shockingly frat-cliché that my stomach tilted queasily. What exactly would be going on at Bonefest? Did Will think that was funny? Was I wrong about him? About everything?

I paced in front of my windows as I cleared the browser and texted Will again.
where r u? v worried. plz let me know ur all right.

Autumn had slipped into the neighborhood, seemingly overnight. Our maple trees had shifted toward golden leaves, waving restlessly against a pale blue sky. Touching the window, I noticed that the glass fogged around my fingers. When I pulled my hand away, a ghost of my touch remained in the haze.

~

Dumping my phone, I rushed through my shower. If he called, I didn’t want to miss it.

By the time I emerged, I was marginally cleaner, and Will still hadn’t called. Gathering up my plates from the night before, I tucked my phone in my pocket just within reach. Then I headed downstairs with my head still fighting over the possibilities.