*
It was a grease fire, I learned later, small and fast and stinking. Nobody was hurt, but the damage in the kitchen was enough to close us down for the rest of the weekend. Dark, damp-looking stains crept up the walls like crooked fingers: the whole dining room reeked of oil and smoke.
My father put a hand on my shoulder as I sat alone in a booth a couple of hours later. He’d already sent Shelby and the rest of the waitstaff home. “I have a couple of things to finish up here,” he said. He looked exhausted; earlier I’d seen him munching Tums and I let myself worry, for one quick minute, about the stress on his heart. The idea that we could have lost the restaurant made me feel panicky and protective of the place and my father both. I thought of leaving for college in a few months and felt a pang of missing him, even though he was right in front of me. “Can you make it a little longer?”
“I can take her, Leo.” That was Sawyer, materializing out of nowhere like a ghost—I’d been half convinced he’d left, no good-bye or explanation, like that night in the hospital all over again. “I can drive Reena home.”
My father looked at Sawyer for a long minute, then back at me. Finally he sighed. “Straight home,” he said, and I knew he must feel even worse than he looked. “I mean it.”
“Straight home,” Sawyer promised. “Absolutely.”
I nodded, stood up, waved good-bye to my father. Sawyer pushed open the front door of the restaurant with one broad shoulder and swore softly as a blast of wind sliced inside. “Freezing,” he said—although it definitely wasn’t cold for any place besides Florida—and he took my hand so casually that I wondered if he even knew he’d done it. I swallowed and tried to ignore the petty contact, the shock waves it sent through my bones.
“Don’t you have a jacket?” he asked. He wrinkled his pretty nose as we hurried around the side of the restaurant to the parking lot.
“It was in the kitchen.” The sky looked heavy, full of thick, purple clouds.
“Fat lot of good it’s going to do you in there,” he said, opening the passenger door. “There’s a sweatshirt in the backseat.”
Kid had manners, at least, I thought. Lydia had made sure of that. “I’m okay,” I lied.
He slid behind the wheel, groped around in the backseat, and produced a gray hoodie. He looked annoyed. “Reena, can you forget your principles or whatever for one second and just take it? It’ll be a few minutes before the car warms up.”
He looked awfully good in the dark, and I found myself nodding. “Okay.”
“Good.” Sawyer stepped on the gas. “That wasn’t so hard, right?”
I didn’t answer. “It’s going to cost them a lot of money,” I said instead.
“That’s what insurance is for.”
“I guess.” I pushed a CD into the stereo. John Coltrane: A Love Supreme. I leaned my head against the window as the music started up.
“So,” he said. “About before.”
I exhaled. “Sawyer, can we please, please, please just forget about before? I was a bitch for no reason. Sometimes I just act that way.” That was a lie. I’d had a reason—in fact, I’d had two—but I’d rather have Sawyer think I had a random mean streak than that I’d been jealous of the attention he’d been paying to other girls. Jealousy made you vulnerable. Meanness just made you an ice queen. “Let’s just not talk about it, okay? I’m sorry I was nasty to you.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’m not sorry.”
“Of course you’re not.”
“Why do you keep saying shit like that to me?”
“I don’t know. See? Bitch for no reason.” I closed my eyes and moved as close to the window as the seat belt would allow. I didn’t know what was wrong with me, exactly, but if I kept looking at him I was afraid I’d lose it completely, in front of this boy I had wanted and wanted and wanted for so long that wanting him was built into me, part of my chemical makeup, part of my bones, so that now, even when I had him, I couldn’t stop waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Okay.” He was quiet then, let the music play on and on until I had lost track of how long it had been. The engine growled, steady and loud.
“Oh, Christ!” he said next, half laughing but stepping hard on the brakes.
“What?” My eyes flew open as Sawyer’s Jeep skidded for half a second in the middle of the deserted road. “What’s wrong?”
He nodded at the windshield. “Look.”
I squinted. “Is that a … ?”
“I think it’s a peacock.”
It was. A full-grown peacock stood stock-still in the center of Campos Road, tail feathers spread. It was enormous. It blinked once. I peered at it through the glass as Sawyer pulled over. “Do we have peacocks here?”
“I don’t think so.” He unbuckled his seat belt.
“What are you doing?”
“I just want to see if it has tags or something.”
“Like if it’s someone’s pet? Sawyer, that thing probably has rabies.”
“Do birds get rabies?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re supposed to know smart-person stuff, Reena.” He grinned once. “Relax over there.” Sawyer got out of the Jeep. “Maybe it’s from the reserve or something.”
The bird allowed Sawyer to get within several feet, watching him with cautious eyes. Of course he would be a peacock whisperer on top of everything else. Sawyer crouched down. “Hey, buddy,” he said.
The peacock didn’t reply. They stood there staring each other down for what must have been a full minute, and eventually I couldn’t take it anymore. I opened the door.
The motion startled the bird and it let out a loud squawking noise before sweeping its plumes back, a swish like a paper fan snapping shut. It galloped away toward the opposite side of the road with a lot more speed than I would have expected. I blinked. “Did that seriously just happen?”
“You scared him away,” Sawyer said mildly, coming over to stand by the passenger side of the car.
“Well, I tend to have that effect on people.”
“Nah.” He reached down and picked up my hands, pulling me out of the Jeep and onto the grassy shoulder. I could feel the calluses on his palms. “Don’t go feeling sorry for yourself.”
“Oh, I don’t.”
“No?” His hands moved up my arms, so lightly, then back down until he was holding mine again. He pulled them up and locked them behind his neck.
“I don’t even like birds,” I said, and Sawyer laughed. I blushed a little, glanced down at the negative space between us. “I like you, though.”
“Well,” he said, and kissed me. “That’s good.”
I could still hear Coltrane. I couldn’t decide if I was hot or cold. Sawyer’s face against mine was soft, like an apology. He was standing closer now, impossibly close, and when I leaned back against the Jeep I could feel the metal through his sweatshirt. “You my girlfriend?” he muttered into my ear, so quiet. I laughed, loud and singing, to say yes.