“Miles are miles,” Xavier says, throwing the ball to Ryan. “There are ways to stay in touch—if you want to.” Like an oh-so-casual afterthought, he adds, “What did you tell him?”
Ryan holds the ball at his chest, looking right at Xavier. “That what we had was good, but I can see now that it’s run its course.”
Their shared gaze holds, and I can guess what they’re both thinking: If they stay together, eventually they’ll have to deal with a lot of miles.
“Have you done the long-distance thing before, Xavier?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I don’t think I’d mind, so long as I cared about the guy enough. It’s all about putting effort into the intellectual stuff even when there’s not much physical payoff.”
“Physical payoff’s not all that’s important,” I say.
Ryan remembers the football he’s holding and lobs it to Mati. “True,” he says, watching as Mati makes a neat catch. “And I bet that when there is physical payoff, it’s better after the time apart.”
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder?” I say.
Ryan winks. “Pretty much.”
“I can get behind that,” Xavier says. He smiles at Ryan, and Ryan grins back.
Mati spins the football on his palm. He looks subdued. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder? This is a common expression?”
“Yeah,” Ryan says. “It means—”
“I understand its meaning. I’m just…”
Reconciling it with what he’s feeling. Trying to decide how it applies to him and me and the teetering tower of fondness and admiration and lust (maybe that’s just me?) we’ve been constructing over the last few weeks.
I get it—I’m trying to do the same.
After we climb the stairs, Xavier heads back to the MLI for an afternoon class, and Mati walks almost all the way home with Ryan and me. He stops a few cottages down from Iris’s, an attempt to avoid another run-in with my mom, I think. He scratches Bambi behind her ears and says, “Xavier is great, Ryan. I had a good time.”
I had a good time, too. But then, why do I feel so down? Why does my head feel like a wrecking ball balanced precariously on my neck? Why do my limbs drag as if they’re made of concrete?
“I think we’ll start imposing ourselves on all your beach walks,” Ryan says.
I glare.
He laughs and musses my hair. “Gear down, Elise. I’m kidding with y’all.”
Mati’s watching me, rapt, like he’s trying to discern the meaning of gear down while at the same time figure out why I’d care whether Ryan and Xavier start tagging along on our walks.
Because I want us to be alone, I think, clinging to his gaze.
He smiles, looks at the sidewalk, then bashfully back at me.
My heart … It sings.
Ryan thumps his shoulder. “We can hang out sometime, if you want. I know Elise is prettier than me, but if she’s ever busy and you’re bored and want to get out…”
“Okay,” Mati says. “Thanks.”
Ryan passes over his phone and Mati inputs his number and, my, what a trio we make. It’s been so long since I’ve had real friends, I almost didn’t register that that’s what these boys have become. Standing beneath the shade of the Cypresses, breathing ocean air, laughing with the two of them, I feel warm and lucky and full of joy.
But in the next moment, my happiness blows away, letting reality spread like a chill through the chambers of my heart. In a few weeks, Mati and Ryan will leave, just like my dad left for New York, and my brother left for Afghanistan, and Audrey and Janie left for Cypress Beach.
In a few weeks, I’ll be alone again.
elise
The next morning, I return from the beach to a cottage that smells of strong coffee. I check the pot in the kitchen—fresh, still hot. Nick’s malformed mug is sitting out, a spoonful of sugar waiting in its bottom.
Mom must not be hating me today. Of course, I haven’t said anything about Mati since our argument on the sidewalk. As far as she knows, I’ve listened to her oh-so-sage advice and ended my friendship with him.
I can’t fathom a world in which such a thing would actually happen.
I fill my mug with coffee and head to the library, Bambi trailing behind me. Mom’s working, her fingers flying over her keyboard, tap-tap-tapping out a novel that I’m sure will send many a middle-aged woman into fits of pleasure. The small TV in the corner is on, tuned to Fox News, set to mute. I fall into my regular chair, Bambi takes to her bed, and Mom saves her file.
She spins around to face me. “How’s the coffee?”
“Good, thanks. How’s the work?”
“Rough.” She glances over her shoulder at the calendar that’s tacked to the wall to the left of her desk. Her deadline looms three weeks from now, the day after Ryan and Mati leave Cypress Beach. “I think I’ll make it, though.”
“You will,” I say, modeling supportive behavior, hoping she absorbs it.
She picks up the newspaper on her desk. “I read a frightening article this morning.”
“About what?”
“Muslims. The threat they present.”
I roll my eyes but resist the urge to pop out of my chair and walk out of the room. “God, Mom. We’re doing this again?”
“I think you should read the article.”
“Why? Mati’s not a threat. Anyone who knows him understands as much.” I think of the day he poured sand into my hands and explained about the Afghans, the Muslims, who live kindly, humbly. I recall the tiny pinch of sand that represented those who do not. “Muslims aren’t a threat, either,” I continue, “and it’s dangerous to generalize.” I point at Bambi, curled up on her bed, paws twitching as she dreams. “It’s like saying dogs are a killer species just because they all have sharp teeth.”
Mom’s gaze is level, unaffected. “They’re planning to target military families. Dependents of soldiers, active-duty and killed-in-action.”
This … gives me pause.
Dependents.
Audrey and Janie.
I set my coffee mug on the table, my pulse ratcheting in a way that makes my grip untrustworthy. “Really?”
She waves the newspaper. “It’s all here. There’ve been anonymous letters sent to different media outlets around the country.”
I make no move to take the paper she’s still holding out. I’m curious—I can’t deny that I am—but I won’t give her the satisfaction. “You can’t actually think Mati is involved in making violent threats. I have never in my life met a more peaceful person.”
“What about his family? Their arrival in America, the timing of it all. You have to admit—it’s very coincidental.”
“His father is sick!”
“You don’t know for sure.”
Yes, I do. I met the man, saw his sallow skin, heard his ramshackle cough, smelled illness coursing through his blood. More than that, I sensed his tranquility, and was on the receiving end of his warmth. Rasoul is not an Islamic extremist.
“Elise, I know you prefer to think the best of people, and that’s one of your finest qualities. But I think, in this case, your friendship with this boy is more than you’re capable of managing. You don’t have the perspective to see past twinkling eyes, a chiseled jaw, and a charming smile.”
“Thanks, Mom. I’m happy to know you think I’m a moron who’s ready and willing to tangle with a terrorist just because he’s good-looking.”
She stands, crosses the room, and lays the newspaper on my lap. “He’s here for, what? A few more weeks? Is he so important that you’re willing to create a divide within our family? Haven’t we been through enough?”
“Mati has nothing to do with what we’ve been through. In fact, he’s making it easier for me to cope. Did that ever occur to you? Audrey has Janie, and you have your work. What do I have? The camera my dead brother gave me and a graveyard of a photography portfolio.”
With that, I spring from my chair and storm out of the library.
I leave my cooling coffee on the table, but I take the newspaper.