When I said I’d dove to the side, I meant it. I’d actually dove. “Yeah, I’m good. Other than a little road burn and being reminded of my lack of grace, I’m just fine.”
Boone reached for me, and I took his hand and let him pull me up. He didn’t seem to blink as he watched Wren speed away, the blanket flapping in the wind, its corner caught inside the driver’s door.
“Are you okay?” I asked, dropping my hand on his arm gently.
My touch made him flinch, but his shoulders relaxed the moment after. “It’s been so long since I’ve been okay, I don’t think I remember how it feels.”
The cheek Wren had slapped was red and sparkling with specks of what I presumed was body glitter. I wiped his cheek lightly to dust off a few flecks of glitter. His skin was warm, more so where Wren had hit him. “Sorry, that was probably the dumbest question I could ask you after what just happened.”
“No,” he said, still watching her car. “If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t ask. It’s nice to know someone cares.”
Wren’s taillights disappeared from sight, far down the road.
“I care,” I said.
The night didn’t seem so quiet anymore. The crickets were chirping so loudly their calls seemed to vibrate in my ears. The frogs croaking and the waves lapping at the shoreline joined in the deafening symphony. From inside the cabin, I could make out the sounds of laughter. After a few moments, it went quiet again right before another round exploded into the night. I could only imagine the things they were saying, the image they were reliving, the pictures they were comparing.
If Boone noticed the rounds of laughter coming from the cabin, he didn’t show it.
“I’m sorry, Boone.” I angled myself in front of him, to try to get his attention.
“What are you sorry for?” he asked, blinking. “That my sister’s a stripper or that I had to be reminded just now that she was a stripper?”
“I’m sorry for what happened.”
I couldn’t tell if the reason he wouldn’t look at me was because he was afraid to look away from where Wren had disappeared or afraid to look at me. “And I’m sorry for a lot of things too, but a lot of good that does.” Turning to the side, he walked down the driveway.
“Boone, wait,” I called, realizing I was repeating the last thing he’d said to Wren.
“I need to be alone right now, Clara.” When he reached the end of the driveway, he turned left instead of following Wren’s car back to the highway. He was taking the long way around.
“I didn’t know they had that planned. I just found out.” I panted as I chased him. He was only walking, but I had to jog to catch up with him. His legs were twice my size and seemed to move ten times faster. “I tried calling to warn you. I tried getting here before—”
“It’s not your fault. Wren is who she is, and Ford is who he is. I should have seen it coming.”
Even at my present jog, it became clear there was no way I could keep up with him and keep up a conversation. “Will you please stop?” I was more hyperventilating than panting now. “Will you please just talk to me?”
His shoulders rose a few inches before falling. “There’s nothing to talk about. I’ll see you back at your parents’ later. I need to think.”
Walking away when things got sketchy—a favorite pastime of Boone’s. This time, I wouldn’t make it so easy for him to walk away. “If that’s the direction you’re planning on taking to get back to my parents’ place, I hope you’ve got a lot to think about. A whole week’s worth.”
Boone continued powering down the dirt road, getting so far out in front of me I was losing him to the dark. “I’ve always got that much to think about. Good night, Clara.” Picking up his pace, he disappeared in another few steps.
I came to a stop, stomped my foot against the road, and roared.
He wanted to be alone, he wanted to think . . . code words for him wanting to fester and brood.
Spinning around, I made use of whatever my legs had left to give me and jogged back to Ford’s cabin. Laughter was still ringing inside the cabin, and as much satisfaction as I would have derived from charging in there and stringing them all up to the rafters by their nut-sacks, I forced myself into the Chrysler and went after Boone. He might have said he didn’t need anyone, and he might have thought he meant it, but I knew better.
It seemed like the people who cried the least for help were the ones who generally needed it most. Boone hadn’t asked for help a single time in his life for all I knew.
I peeled out of the driveway, making sure to leave a few unsightly tread marks on the light concrete, before I made a left and barreled down the road after Boone. I’d gone close to a mile by the time the headlights cast their light on him.
He didn’t look back. He didn’t slow down. He just kept moving forward.
I rolled the Chrysler up beside him and cranked down the window. “Now try jetting away from me,” I said, revving the engine a few times.