When it hits, my mind turns back on like it’s on a timer. Every moment feels rehearsed because as things between us progressed, I spent more and more energy trying to predict what he might do next. And now I know. I know that when he inches me toward the short Dumpster with the lid and holds his hand around my waist that he wants to lift me up. So I always reach back and hoist myself up, because the thought of him trying to lift me and failing makes me cringe every time. When his fingers trail down my chest and across my stomach, I suck in. Which is stupid because it never makes any difference in pictures and I doubt it does now.
It’s in those moments that I’m a shadow of the person I was. The woman Lucy had meant for me to be.
But when he says my name, it’s always a surprise. “Willowdean,” he says and each letter tickles all the way down to my toes.
Every night, when Ron sends us home, we walk to our cars, a few feet separating us. When we’ve slipped into the darkness outside the red glow of Harpy’s, Bo brushes his fingers against mine before walking around to his driver’s-side door. “Follow me.”
I don’t even bother nodding because I will and he knows it.
He starts his car and I start mine. This thing between us is a roller coaster. The brakes might be out and the tracks might be on fire, but I can’t make myself get off the ride.
THIRTEEN
I’ve learned so much about Bo. And yet he’s still a mystery. Like the thing with red suckers. He used to have anger issues as a kid, so his mom would give him a red sucker and say, If you’re still angry after you’ve licked this lollipop gone, you can scream and kick and shout all you want. But then there were things like his necklace, which he always tucked back into his undershirt every time it fell out. If I ever asked about it, he’d shrug it off and tell me it was some saint pendant from Holy Cross.
The old elementary school has become what I guess could be called “our spot.” I was such a wreck that first time we came here. But this old, half burned down elementary school has become our sanctuary.
I park beside him, pulling my keys from the ignition and opening my door all at once. He reaches over and pushes the door open for me.
I hop up into his truck.
He kisses my nose. Reaching beneath his seat, he pulls out a red gift bag creased with use and drops it onto the dashboard. “Happy birthday.”
My birthday was three days ago. I didn’t tell anyone at work. Not because I didn’t want people to know, but because telling people (mainly Bo) meant that there was pressure for them to do something for me. And that’s not how Bo and I have worked. There are no strings. No responsibilities. “How’d you find out?”
He shrugged. “Heard Ron tell you happy birthday.”
“Can I open it?”
“No,” he says. “That’s your gift. That bag is all you get.”
Rolling my eyes, I yank the bag from the dash. My stomach is in a hissy fit of nerves. The weight of the bag sinks into my lap. One small bag to fit an entire summer history.
He clears his throat. “I didn’t have any tissue paper.”
His stare heats my skin. I close my eyes and pull a random item from the bag.
“A Magic 8 Ball,” he says.
A smile spreads across my face. I feel silly. “Well, I’ll never feel the burden of decision again.”
“Keep going,” he says.
So I do. A metal Slinky, Silly Putty poppers, and a bag of saltwater taffy.
Bo blows bubbles into the Silly Putty and uses it to strip the ink from his owner’s manual while I weigh the Slinky, letting it slide back and forth in my hands, like Jake.
“Thank you,” I say. “You totally didn’t have to get me anything.”
He shrugs and scans the spread of items between us. “You forgot something.” He reaches for the bag. “Close your eyes.”
I do.
I feel his hands against my cheek as he slides a pair of glasses over my nose. My hair catches in a hinge, but he’s careful to be sure the glasses are tucked over my ears.
“Okay,” he says. “Open.”
He slaps the rearview mirror in my direction and I see a bright red pair of heart-shaped glasses. The lenses are dark and tinted and it takes a moment for my eyes to recognize myself. I pull my hair from where it’s caught.