I could not stop smiling.
Finally, I slipped on the dress, struggling to pull up the zipper tab myself. The dress was black and slinky without being witchy or slutty. The skirt fell to my ankles in lacy waves and the bodice had black lace embellishment at the neckline. It didn’t look too much like a prom dress, but it looked right for me. I studied myself in the mirror when I had everything put together, and I liked what I saw.
Gerry was still gone. I had no one to take pictures, no parents waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. Then I remembered they would take pictures at the school, probably with us in front of some sort of cheesy, palm tree backdrop. But at least we’d have souvenirs. Souvenirs were also cheesy and yet, I loved it. I couldn’t wait for Evan to drive up. We had dinner reservations at a restaurant in Halston. Then the dance. And then back here…
I turned my attention to my bedroom, my stomach fluttering at what was going to transpire here tonight. I’d dug up as many candles as I could find around the house and purchased one of the scented kind during my shopping spree. I arranged them around the bed and on the bedside table. I’d gotten some guy to buy me a bottle of wine outside a liquor store, but Gerry had luckily left a few beers in the fridge. I’d give them to Evan in case he didn’t want to drink wine. He was a guy after all.
Everything was set. I knew in the deepest part of me that it was going to be everything I’d ever hoped. We’d come back here tonight. The zipper on the back of my dress, which had been such a struggle to pull up—in Evan’s fingers it would glide down in one smooth motion. We’d make the night perfect for our first time. He was a virgin, but so was I. I decided I was. Nothing came before tonight. No one mattered before Evan.
Taking a deep breath, I smoothed my dress and went downstairs. I left my defensive bullshit behind. I couldn’t wait to see him and I let myself be giddy about it. I let myself be happy.
Evan was going to pick me up at six. I glanced at the clock. Quarter till. I sat in the living room to wait, flicking on the TV. The news said a storm was set to hit tonight. A big one. As the clock rolled over to 6:00, I rolled my lip, tasting the gloss.
I waited.
At 6:10, I thought about texting Evan, then changed my mind. Ten minutes wasn’t a big deal.
At 6:20, we were in danger of losing the reservation Evan made for us in Halston. I sent him a text and tried to infuse each keystroke with as much casualness as I possibly could.
On your way?
No answer.
At 6:30, I texted him again.
Are you okay? Where are you?
No answer.
I called him and it went straight to voicemail.
At 6:45, the fear he really wasn’t coming took root and refused to let go.
I should’ve known, I told myself, feeling it all unravel around me. I shouldn’t have let him in. I should’ve been more careful. I’m such a fucking idiot.
But another more insidious truth wound its way between my paranoia and defensiveness. It seeped into the cracks of my walls and broke them apart. Evan wasn’t standing me up. He wouldn’t do that. He would never do that. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
I called him again. Getting no answer, I threw my phone into a little clutch purse and headed out. I hiked up my dress around my knees so I could mount my bicycle and tore off down the street. A fierce wind ripped at my elegant braid and made my eyes water. The sky was yellow and gray, with fat rain clouds rolling in. My heart was thundering in my chest, the fear fueling my furious pedaling, racing ahead of the storm.
A block from the Salinger’s house, I saw the red-and-blue lights of the police car and the brighter blood-red lights of the ambulance. I coasted up to the front of the house just as the first light raindrops began to fall.
Chaos.
Or maybe just my panicked vision watching my night with Evan fall apart around me. They were putting a little boy onto a stretcher and his face was covered with blood. A heavyset lady—Mrs. Salinger—was holding the boy’s hand and crying inconsolably. Merle and Shane Salinger were standing off to the side, both wide-eyed, their faces filled with panic. I got the impression from them immediately: two people who had started a small campfire and then watched helplessly as it roared into a giant inferno.
Evan was nowhere to be seen.
But I knew where he was. I wheeled my bike around hoping no one had seen me. Faintly over my shoulder, I heard the word “Funtown” and Norma Salinger’s hard-edged voice saying Evan swam at night.
Now it was a matter of time. I had to get to Evan first. Race the storm, get to him first. That’s all that mattered.
An Hour Earlier