chapter 7
Tis Always Morning Somewhere in the World
“Don’t you dare make me pump you for details, Camille Hart.”
Laughing, I put Audrey on speakerphone so I could rummage through my closet for something to wear. Over the past few days, she’d left massive numbers of frantic phone messages, checking up on me as promised. I finally called her back, and now she was doing what she did best, talking my ear off.
“It’s about time he kissed you,” she said. “I was beginning to wonder if the guy was a monk or something. Come on, how was it? What did he say? What did he do? Give me something.”
My bruises had faded at last. I pulled my spaghetti-strapped burgundy red dress that came to my knees off the hanger, pleased I could wear it again. I wedged my feet into some black heels and held the dress up in the mirror, making sure they complemented the dress. “I can’t really explain it.... It was like ...”
“Amazing? Earth shattering? Intoxicating?”
“All of the above, but ... more like an out-of-body experience. If that’s what one feels like, anyway. More than the average rush you get when you have your first kiss with someone you’re attracted to, ya know?”
“No, but continue.”
The dress went onto the bed and I swept my hair into a messy up-do, sticking bobby pins randomly as I spoke. “Sobering. Sort of metaphysical. It was so different. And my feelings for him are different. How was it kissing Gabe?”
“Well ... nothing to that extent, I guess. But powerful. I’ve never felt about anyone else the way I do about him.”
“That’s what I mean about Gavin. Incomparable. And he has this strange pull on me, like I naturally gravitate toward him.” I shoved the last bobby pin into the pile of hair and started slipping into the dress. “So the minute he kissed me, I just felt completely centered.”
“Give me a visual,” she said.
I dropped the hanger onto the bed and followed it. “I need to go finish getting ready, we’re going out to some kind of dinner theatre.”
“Oh, fine,” she whined. “Call me later tonight. Full report, I mean it!”
I pushed myself up off the bed, headed to the vanity to do my makeup. “I’ll try, but don’t wait up. I might be tired and crash the minute I walk in the door. Gavin’s always insisting I need to get more sleep.”
“Before midnight isn’t that late for you.”
“What makes you think I’ll be home before midnight?”
“Because. Gavin and Gabe never keep us out past midnight.”
I blinked, hesitating with my lipstick in hand “Huh. Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“Whatever. Just call me when you can, then. Everything else is okay though, right? No word from the monster?”
I sighed loudly, picked up my mascara. “Yes, I am fine. I swear. Nothing from him at all, he’s history. Promise.”
“Okay, good. Now go have a blast with that gorgeous, brooding musician of yours.”
I picked up the phone again, grinned as I turned off the speaker. “I’m hanging up now.”
I was saved from rudeness by a beeping on the line. “Okay, someone else is calling. See ya.”
Audrey clicked off and I hit the button to switch to the other call. The voice that oozed through the speaker made the mascara brush drop from my hand and skitter across the table.
“You know, the spells don’t work. In case you were wondering.”
How could he possibly know about the spells? Terrified, my eyes darted around, fell on my bedroom window. I swallowed. “Spells? What are you talking about--?”
“Shut up and listen. You really think I don’t know what you’ve been up to?” He sighed, impatient. “Do yourself a favor, Camille. Save those minimum wage paychecks for that college degree you’ll never earn, instead of blowing them on useless Hoodoo.”
“Have you been following me?” I choked out.
“You know, your new friends might be interested to know about your new hobby. Especially that idiot who can’t seem to keep his hands off you.”
“You were at the restaurant the other night, weren’t you?”
“I’m everywhere, Camille. Haven’t you figured that out by now?”
“If you ever come near me again, I swear to God--”
“You’re really in no position to be making threats, sweetheart. Next time you decide to try and put a spell on someone, make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into, understand?”
“Stay the hell away from me.” That’s all I could manage before I hung up. The dial tone pierced my ears, and I was never so glad for its loud and shrill sound.
The doorbell rang. Shaking, I took a last glance in the mirror, and by the time I opened the front door, thought I’d managed to compose myself. There stood Gavin, a lush bouquet of dark red roses in his hand.
“Wow, thank you, they’re gorgeous.” I fumbled my words, distracted by the black Armani suit he wore and the heart-stopping smile that complemented it. “And look, they match,” I held the roses to my dress, trying my best to look interested.
“Ah, touché,” he replied, wrapping his arm around my waist and kissing me, leaving me alive yet excruciatingly weak. “Camille ... you’re shaking. What’s wrong?”
I pulled away from him, tried steadying my nerves. I couldn’t let Andrew ruin this for me! “Oh? Just cold, I guess. Let me just ... put these in a vase. Then we can go.”
He reluctantly loosened his grip around my waist to follow me to the kitchen. I reached for a vase from a cabinet next to the refrigerator. Trying not to be obvious, I peered out the kitchen window and scanned the yard. He wasn’t out there, but I realized if I didn’t tell Gavin about Andrew soon, Andrew would beat me to it. “So, where exactly are we going, by the way?” I said, grateful that my voice didn’t sound as shaky as before.
“Hhmmm, thought I told you.” He leaned against the counter with his arms crossed. “Do you have any idea how ravishing you look this evening, by the way?”
I saw his adoring gaze, and it broke my heart to think about ruining it. Later. I’d have to tell him, but it would be later.
I began unwrapping the bouquet on the counter, letting each bloom roll out of the tissue paper. Then I retrieved a knife from the drawer. “You only told me how to dress, and where we might be going. You never told me any specifics.”
“Well, I am taking you to dinner and a theatre. But not quite a dinner theatre.” He unfolded his arms, moving to lean on the stove.
“Really? Okay, where is the dinner, and where is the theatre?”
“Can’t you let me surprise you, love?”
“I guess,” I said, looking at him over my shoulder as I forcefully cut the end of each stem. I felt like I could put my fist through the window. I had to see Vivienne, had to find out why the spells didn’t work. But she and Audrey were right. The police were the only option at this point. Why didn’t I just go to them in the first place? “I can’t help it,” I said. “I’m used to having things planned. I like to know where I’m going and -- Ouch!”
I jerked my hand and looked down at my throbbing index finger, now sliced open. “Ugh, that’s what I get for not paying attention.” I moved toward the kitchen sink. “Gav, can you hand me the dish towel?”
He didn’t answer. I stopped and turned around. He was gone.
“Gav? Where’d you go?”
Still no answer. I began to move toward the doorway to look for him in the living room. My throbbing finger stopped me. I went to the sink and ran it under cool water, flinching at the sharp sting. I reached for the faucet to turn the water off when a cool hand grazed my back. I jumped, still shaken.
There he stood, a washcloth and first aid kit tucked under his arm. “Sorry I ducked out on you. As soon as I saw, I ran to the bathroom to grab the first aid stuff.” He opened the kit as he spoke, pulled out an alcohol swab and some antibacterial ointment.
“Oh. Well, that was ... quick,” I replied, perplexed. “How did you know the first aid kit was in the bathroom?”
He shrugged as he tore open the alcohol wipe. “Lucky guess. How deep is it?”
I looked. “Not very. It doesn’t need stitches.” I glanced at him, noticing he hadn’t looked at the cut yet. That he was actually avoiding it with his eyes. I looked back, saw it had started to bleed again. “Huh. You love all of those old horror films. I never thought the sight of blood would bother you.”
He grinned, tightened his grip on my palm and began to clean it. I winced. “That’s different,” he finally said. “The movies, I mean. Those leave so much to the imagination, you don’t really see very much. Besides,” he continued, reaching for the ointment, “seeing blood on TV is much easier than seeing it firsthand. In person, I can smell it. That makes a difference, believe me.”
I watched him prepare to place a bandage on my now sticky, mangled finger. “Yeah, that’s true,” I said. “I hate the smell of blood too. It’s disgusting. At least this is a small cut, though. Not too bad.”
“Thankfully,” he replied, smoothing the bandage around my finger. “I really wasn’t planning on squeezing in a trip to the emergency room tonight.” Smiling, he kissed my forehead. “You sure you’re all right? You seem really tense. You need to talk?” He eyed the knife.
“Actually, there is something ... but--” The phone rang. I tossed the knife into the sink and rushed to my purse on the kitchen table. “But let’s talk about it later, okay?”
“Okay,” he said, and watched me rummage through my bag to find my keys. “Just one more thing and we can go.” He nodded to the counter where I’d left the roses and quickly tucked them into the vase, then filled it with water. As he did, he said, “Glad it’s me and not you doing this. If you fell in and drowned, I’m not sure I could revive you from that.” Laughing, he tossed the bloody washcloth next to the sink.
“Be nice. I can take care of myself.”
“You don’t have to tell me that,” he said while we headed for the front door, his hand leading me, my heart racing.
* * *
“I warned you it was too big for me,” he said while he parked the car next to the house. Quite an understatement, was all I could think. Gavin’s driveway turned out to be a long dirt road that led us past enormous oak trees and rich tresses of Spanish moss that glistened in the sunset. I’d gasped when the elegant plantation home came into view. White with black shutters and gardens galore: stunning, as if I’d been time-warped into another era.
I sensed his eyes on me and turned my head to see him watching me, expectant. “Too big?” I said. “It’s massive! What do you do with all the space?”
“Come on, I want to show you.” He slid out of the car and held open my door, and led me up the polished porch stairs to the front door. An antique plaque hung next to the door, the words “The Duval Home” edged in age-darkened silver.
“I thought your last name was Devereaux,” I said.
“It is. Duval was my mother’s maiden name. My grandfather put that here, before he passed. To honor my mother.” He spoke of his mother with a reverent sadness. It made me ache for him.
We walked into the main hall near a wide staircase and rounded the corner to what seemed some type of living room with Victorian furniture and long taupe drapes, a grand piano stationed in the far corner. A dark green color covered the walls, and wood floors with deep brown hues stretched across the room, making the light that poured in through the windows deftly dramatic.
“This is the only room I use besides the kitchen and my bathroom,” he said. “I’ve left the other rooms alone since I moved in. All that stuff is mine.” He pointed to the dozens of movies and piles of records lined up on the various bookshelves, along with a stereo and laptop that sat on a Queen Anne-style desk set against one wall.
“This must be so awesome, to live in a place like this,” I said. “It has so much wisdom. It’s beautiful. So you sleep in here, too?”
“Yup. I have everything I need right here. I rarely venture upstairs.” He walked back toward the doorway, gesturing for me to follow. “Today’s an exception, though.”
We entered a bedroom whose drapes had been pulled, allowing no light to filter through. The entire room looked still inhabited, covers pulled back on the bed, jewelry astray on the vanity table, awaiting its next wearing. I could even smell the scent of a perfume, something sweet, floral. But the room itself smelled a little musty, as if it had tightly sealed in the scent for some time and was now finally able to breathe again. The rest of the room was perfectly maintained: no dust in sight, the dresser and bedside tables spotless.
“My mother’s room,” he said, leading me to the dresser. “She stayed with my grandfather for a while after my father died. This was hers, and I’d like to give it to you.” He pulled open a modest wood jewelry box and retrieved a necklace. Holding it out to me, I could see the exquisite silver-toned vintage necklace held a crescent moon-shaped locket.
“I am in love with you, Camille,” he declared. I took a step back.
“My father gave this to my mother years ago, and I can tell you that he loved her as much as I love you. My parents had a love that I could only hope for. And then I found you, and I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life. Please wear it?” He tried to restrain his boyish eagerness as he spoke, although his eyes sorely betrayed him.
I realized I had forgotten to breathe. This time there was no dysfunction with my lungs, but instead, I’d voluntarily held my breath. I was nervous, but oddly, not surprised; I knew it would come to this, knew we were meant to be together as though it was a physiological need. Only a few short weeks ago Gavin felt familiar, but still new. Tonight, I was sure I’d known him for years. As I stared into his sincere eyes, I saw the assurance of his love for me, and a straightforward understanding free of useless, idle talk, and above all else, complication. Something finally genuine. Exactly what I had been waiting for.
Now, here stood the beautiful light in my dark world, verbalizing for the first time something we both already knew. Waiting. Hoping that I would return his feelings.
I finally breathed, giving him a smile to show him my acceptance. “Of course I’ll wear it. I love you, too.”
“I know it seems so soon.”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re what I want.” I stepped toward him and turned around, lifted the hair from the back of my neck so he could put the necklace on me. He didn’t move. I turned my head to the side to peer at him. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re so sure of me,” he said. “I don’t know how I possibly deserve you.”
“Will you put the necklace on, already?”
He stared at me for another second, then slid it around my neck, closing the clasp. I turned around to look up at him, adjusted the locket around my neck. “I want to be with you,” I said. “That’s all that matters. I don’t care how long it has or hasn’t been. I know all I need to know about you.”
His face began to tense up, and I could tell he was searching for his thoughts’ words.
“I’m yours,” I said. “And I’m not afraid of this.” I searched for his eyes again. “Period.”
“I don’t even know what to say to that.”
“Don’t think so much.” I moved my mouth to his and grazed his cheek with my bandaged hand. I felt him flinch as he kissed me, his neck stiffening with the movement. Suddenly clutching my wounded hand away from his cheek with immense force, he flung an arm around my waist and hurled me backward, pinning me up against the wall. I immediately felt Andrew’s violent hands on me, and I fought to push them away. The heat from my cut pulsated, prompting me to cry out in pain, “Gavin, that hurts. Stop!”
He jerked his eyes away from my face and stumbled backward, releasing me from his iron grip. I remained against the wall, my hands turned upward in a defensive position.
“I’m so sorry. Are you all right?” He hung his head, avoiding my eyes.
I stood still, staring at him. “I ... I guess I am. What’s wrong? Why did you--?”
“I got carried away. I’m so sorry I hurt you, are you sure you’re all right?” He pivoted his body sideways as he spoke, keeping his head low and his eyes still far from mine.I could see the anguish that seized his face. I was beyond confused. And alarmed.
“I’m fine now,” I said. “But why won’t you look at me?”
He didn’t answer.
“Gavin? What’s wrong with you?” I moved away from the wall to approach him, pulling his face to mine, still baffled.
“Don’t, Camille.” He pulled away from me.
“Look at me,” I pleaded. “Why are you so upset? I said I’m fine.” I stepped next to him to search his face, placing myself directly in front of him so he couldn’t turn farther away from me. I reached for him again, but stopped, my eyes glued on his. His normally soft chocolate eyes were now deepest black, those vibrant, soul-baring windows suddenly ghostly, glassy. I snapped my hand back from his face and rocked back on my heels, terrified.
He turned his head away to glare down at the floor for a second before he turned back to look at me.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just upset. I didn’t mean to be so forceful with you when I know you’ve been ...”
As he spoke, his eyes resumed their rich brown hue, and I blinked, stunned at the change.
“Never mind,” he mumbled, “let me look at your hand.” He placed one cautious foot forward, as though careful not to frighten me.
“Your eyes. They were ...” I fixated on his face while he touched my hand, checking the bandage. “Your eyes. They looked black a second ago. They changed color.”
“What?” He chuckled, an unfamiliar and erratic sound.
“Your eyes. They changed color right in front of me ... just now. And you wouldn’t look at me.”
His eyes narrowed, assessing my face in suspicion. “It must be the light in here. It’s so dark.” He sprang away from me toward a floor lamp placed in a far corner of the room. He flicked it on, then jetted across the room to return to my side.
The room lit with a soft orange glow, and I could see his eyes clearly again. They were their usual dark brown color, no trace of the onyx shade I’d seen mere seconds ago. He’d returned to checking my hand, and I sputtered, “It’s fine, don’t worry. But I could’ve sworn ... never mind.” He was probably right. I decided to stick to the theory that every now and then, I went temporarily insane. An unsettling theory, but a believable one. One I could live with.
“I really am sorry, love.” He smiled glumly. “See what happens when you surprise me like that?”
I smiled back, breathed. “I’ll try to give you more of a warning next time. So, aren’t you supposed to take me out to dinner soon?” Why not? I was borderline starving, and this was the perfect opportunity to shake my hallucination and Andrew from my thoughts.
“Oh, of course,” he said, laughing in visible relief. “Come with me, I have dinner all ready.” He grabbed my good hand and led me out of the room, leaving the light on when he shut the door behind us.
* * *
“I told you we were going out to dinner,” he insisted. Unbeknownst to me, we were all dressed up to have dinner on the banks of the Bayou Teche. Under the moonlight, in the grass, around hundreds of swarming mosquitoes. The setting was so romantic, I couldn’t complain about the bugs, just wobbled in my heels through the grass toward the water while he held my arm to steady me. This was why I hated heels. Because of times exactly like this. I pretended not to notice his smirk as he helped me settle onto the blanket he’d placed on the ground for us.
“I’m glad you’re hungry,” he said, opening the small cooler he’d carried with us. He pulled out two containers of food and some drinks, handing me one item at a time.
“Definitely hungry,” I said. “What are we having? Smells delicious.”
“Chicken parmesan, the way my dad used to make it. Out of this world, I promise.”
I opened my container of food, moved my fork through the red sea of noodles. “It looks great. And this is a great idea for dinner, by the way. It’s beautiful out here at night.” I gazed up at the moon, then at its warm, mystical glow across the bayou’s murky water.
“I’m glad you like it.” He grinned, then took a healthy bite of his chicken.
“So, you like to cook, and your dad used to,” I said. “What about your mom? Did she like to cook? I know you don’t like talking about her very much, but--”
“No. She wasn’t big on cooking, I mean. Dad was the cook in the family.” He set his dish down. Leaning over, he picked up the locket around my neck, popped the little crescent open to show the inside. I looked down to examine it, placing my food down next to me.
“I don’t blame you for wanting to know about my mom,” he said. “I’m sorry I haven’t told you much. It’s hard for me. I know you understand that.”
I nodded quietly, waited.
“The inscription’s in French,” he said, running his thumb over it. “It says ‘If my heart had wings, it would be with you always.’ Ironic that he gave this to her shortly before he died.”
“How did he--?”
“Someone broke into the house one night. Mom wasn’t home, and I was studying abroad. She blamed herself for a long time.” He dropped the necklace and sat back with his knees up, rested his arms on them. “Mom moved in with my grandfather, lived here for a few months, worked on the garden, helped him around the house. But she was never really herself again. I was out of the country again, and I didn’t know how bad things had gotten. I never got to say goodbye to her.”
He ran his fingers through his hair and glanced at my small black clutch next to me. “Would you mind sparing a cigarette?”
I froze, shocked at his request, but quickly obliged, taking one for myself.
“Apparently she just picked up and left one day,” he continued. “Never told my grandpa -- or anyone else. Left everything at the house, didn’t take a picture of me or my father. Nothing.” He exhaled a cloud of smoke, pushing it out of his lungs, and pointed to my necklace. “She left that on her pillow. Her way of letting us know why she left, I suppose. Before Grandpa passed, I moved in to help him out. When he told me he was giving me the house, he kept reassuring me she’d come back. Told me she must’ve needed to get away from the memories here. But, he also said I was the only piece of my father she had left, and she wouldn’t leave me like that.”
“He was in denial,” I said softly.
“Yes.”
“Did she ever--?”
“No. Five years now. He passed not long after I moved in, and he still hadn’t heard from her. We weren’t sure if she was still alive or if she ... took her own life.”
“Why do you think that?”
“I don’t anymore, though I did then. The only trace she left -- besides the necklace -- was an entry in her journal.” He looked out at the water, distress in his voice. I let my cigarette burn.
“In her last entry she only wrote one line. About my father. ‘The pain of my loss I can bear, but your lingering presence I cannot.’ Grandpa and I decided that meant she intended to kill herself. It wasn’t until a few years later that I realized she would never do that. It would have broken my dad’s heart. That’s why I’m sure she just ran away. She didn’t leave to die.”
He put out his cigarette, letting the last of the smoke free from his lungs. I said, “Gavin, I’m so sorry. For both you and your grandfather. I had no idea....”
“Thank you, love.” He gently took my hand, turning to look at me. “For listening.”
I took a last drag before putting mine out and shaking my head at him. “No. Thank you for telling me. I can’t imagine what it feels like for you. It’s unfathomable.” I felt a tear slide onto my cheek while I observed his face.
“Loss is familiar to you, too,” he said, cupping his hand underneath my chin as he wiped the tear away with his thumb. The gentle action made me cry harder. He pushed our now cold food away and scooted next to me, wrapped his arms around me, kissed my forehead and rested his head over mine. “Sssshhh. I love you. If you only knew how much....”
I stifled my sobs to look up at him, in awe of his compassion.
“Please tell me ... what you wanted to tell me earlier,” he whispered.
I shifted my body in his arms so I faced him. The last thing I wanted was to spoil the evening, and I definitely didn’t want him getting in the middle of this. Besides, I had to take care of it on my own. “Oh, about my mom,” I fibbed. “It would take an entire lifetime to even touch the surface.”
“Who’s the dramatic one now?”
“Oh, shut up.” I nudged him. “I can give you the condensed version, though. That is, if you’re sure you’re up for it after talking about....”
“I’m up for it.” He waited, rubbing my arm.
“Let’s see. My mom is an addict, my dad has his problems, too. Mom wasn’t around much while I was growing up because of her problems. Dad was in so much pain, he took off. She got worse ... a lot worse.” I looked up at him. “She tried to kill herself a few times when I was in high school. She always covered it up, so I wouldn’t be taken away from her. And I never told anyone. I’d lie for her, thought it would protect her. And me. So my relationship with her has been strained. Okay, well, more like severed.”
I was mumbling by then, but he heard me. “When’s the last time you spoke to her?”
“About three years. All I can say is that after years of her not being there when I needed her, it’s had ... irrevocable consequences.”
“Nothing is permanent unless you make it that way.”
I threw my head into my hands as I began to feel myself crawl out of my skin again. I started to shake my arms, fending off the gnawing feeling. “You don’t understand, Gavin. Both of my parents handled the end of their marriage in different ways. My dad disappeared and avoided it. Mom turned to more drugs. I wasn’t surprised with how Dad handled it, but ... he left me with her, and I had no one. I was forced to be thirty at thirteen. It isn’t a relationship that can just get better overnight.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“Okay. I’m sorry. You aren’t ready to talk to me about this. Let’s change the subject.”
I slipped out of his arms and stood, grabbed another cigarette from my clutch. I lit it and began pacing. “No. I am ready, I’m just not ... good at it. In case you haven’t noticed.”
“Just take your time.”
I dropped back down on the blanket. “I’m so angry with her. Yet I miss her so much. I moved here to get away from her, to start over, but -- the memories are even stronger now. I’m consumed with them.”
I tossed my cigarette down, smashing it. He reached over and pulled me on to his lap, placing me sideways so he could look at me.
“You’re consumed because you’re angry. Life is too short, too fragile to stay pissed off all the time. You have to forgive.” He ran his fingers through my hair, kissing me on the forehead again.
“I want to forgive her, Gav. I do. But I can’t. Not yet. I’ve been to so many shrinks. I’ve tried to avoid, confront, and compartmentalize the relationship. None of it works. I just can’t.”
“Camille,” he whispered. “How about forgiving yourself? Stop beating yourself up? It’s not your job to save her.” He pulled my face toward him. “Let it go so you can move on.”
My tears halted in their ducts, absorbing the unexpected intercession. He continued to hold me as I turned my head away from him to stare up at the full moon’s wisdom, watching it as it blinded me with its consummate beauty.
I tried, I really did, but the magic dissolved by the end of the evening, and Gavin sensed it too. As he drove me home, he said, "So, you didn't get to finish your dinner, and we missed the movie. I didn't do a very good job at showing you a good time tonight."
"Don't say that. It was very thoughtful of you to plan things out the way you did," I looked over at him from the passenger seat, flashed him a smile, then glanced down at the necklace, running my fingers over the locket in admiration, happy I didn’t let Andrew ruin my entire time with Gavin. "This is the best gift anyone has ever given me. I couldn't have asked for a better time."
"Whatever you say," he replied in disbelief. "Let's see. You sliced your finger open, you cried the whole night, you starved, and to top it off, you missed the new Depp flick I know you were dying to see. I think you could've had a better time." He stretched his arm across the console to rub my neck as we continued to make our way back to my place.
"Gavin, please.” I forced a laugh. “My finger is fine. Crying is nothing new for me. I can eat any time, and well ... you can make the movie up to me this weekend. We lost track of time, that's all."
“I am going to make this night up to you,” he said. “I promise. And next time, not one word about either of our families, I swear.” He chuckled, but it was cut off when he glanced at the dashboard clock. I could feel the car smoothly accelerate.
"What, you in a rush to get rid of me now?" I said.
“Hey now, that’s not fair. You know if I had it my way, I'd keep you with me twenty-four hours a day."
“Well then, keep me. Let's go see a midnight showing of the movie now instead."
“No can do, love. This is one of my rules. You're home by midnight. You need your sleep."
"What kind of rule is that, anyway? I am a grown adult you know, I believe I know how much sleep I do or don't need. Aren't you kind of calling the kettle black? You told me you stay up most of the night."
"I'm very aware you are capable of making your own decisions, thank you very much," he nudged his shoulder to mine jovially. "But I stay up all night because I don't have to work every morning. You do. I am not going to be the reason you’re out all night, exhausted at work in the morning." He turned the steering wheel as we pulled onto the road that led to my house.
"Fine, whatever," I sulked. "But I think you should know I have a rule too, then."
"Oh?"
"Friday and Saturday nights, I get to stay up as late as I want. It's my weekend. No work. So there will be no carting me home before midnight if I don't want to be carted home. Got it?"
"Aahhh, we'll work on that one. Can’t make any promises just yet," he said in a taunting tone.
I elbowed his ribcage, hoping to knock the stubbornness out of him. He just sat there and laughed, amused by my irritation, and I flopped back against the door.
As my pale yellow house came into view, my eyes focused past the white picket fence, fixing on a dark-colored vehicle parked at the front of the drive. When we edged closer, I could make out the vehicle’s dingy blue color. The Ford pickup sat there, parked as if I were its owner, with no one inside.