I shake away the memories and follow the girls inside, trailing behind them and wishing more with every step that I had stayed home. When we step through the tall doors along the side of the silos, the music hits my ears and drowns out most of my thoughts. My hand runs along the old barn wood out of fondness, and when I look forward, I see that Maddy’s is, too.
We find a high-top near the patio, half inside and half out, and Holly and I take the seats while Maddy leads Amber through the growing crowd toward the bar for what I sense will be the first of many shots. When she promised to bring me a water, I felt Holly’s eyes dart to me; she hasn’t let up her scrutiny yet.
“Is that like a training thing? No drinking on the job, or whatever?” she asks.
I step from the stool enough to reach into my pocket, pulling out my wallet to fold it open. I slide it toward her, the photo that reminds me of everything that’s at stake covering up the rest of the article about how lucky I was to walk away alive.
“I drove my car into a tree, so no…not really a training thing. More of a…lucky-to-be-living thing,” I say, sliding my wallet back to my lap, folding it and putting the memory away. I mouth the word “twice” to myself, but Holly catches me. She doesn’t ask, which means she knows the story. I smile with tight lips and breathe in through my nose, folding my arms on the table.
“You ever been here before?” I ask, wondering if Maddy’s been back since Evan’s been gone.
Holly glances around, pulling her purse strap from her shoulder and setting her bag in the center of the table.
“Nah, but I always wanted to check this place out. I grew up in Gallworth, so the drive was always too far. I wanted to drag Maddy here, but we were too busy with class and the hospital, and she had swimming,” she says, shrugging. “Not sure I could get her to come here, anyhow.”
We stare at each other for a few seconds, and I can tell by her quiet expression that she knows all of Maddy’s story. If only she knew the parts only I know—the secrets that almost touch her, but so far haven’t penetrated.
“Probably not,” I finally say, standing from my seat to pull Maddy’s out when I see her and Amber walking up with small glasses and a bottle of water.
She sets the shots in the center of the table and then hands me my bottle. I twist the cap and hold it out in front of her before tipping the water back to guzzle half of it down.
“Ah,” I say, running my sleeve over my mouth, “hits the spot.”
She breathes out a laugh, but pulls her lips in tight before mouthing “sorry” and gesturing toward the table full of drinks.
“I’m good,” I lie.
I’ll never be good. But I’m strong. And feeling numb isn’t as important as being present—not anymore, at least.
I step away from the table while the girls do shots, and I eventually find my way to the line of orange trees near the dance floor outside. I step between two of them and walk along the irrigation trough until I get to the sidewalk. They’ve added lights and a few benches near the walkways, which is probably a good idea. I smirk at a couple in the distance making out on a bench. The deterrent of a spotlight can only do so much.
I walk around for a few minutes, noticing everything that’s the same, and all of the things that are different. When the memories start to hit me too hard, I cut back to the tables near the outdoor bar. A band has started playing, and the dance floor is filling up with girls in denim skirts, boots, and tank tops that are too tight and hang too low. I smile thinking about how that used to mean heaven to me.
“Still a boob man, I see,” Maddy says behind me.
I chuckle and lean my head to the side, turning enough to face her. She has a beer in her hand, which probably means she’s going to vomit later. I tap it and raise one brow, and she shrugs before taking a drink.
“I told you I was getting drunk,” she says, turning back to face the dance floor. I watch her tilt the bottle back again, swallowing. Her eyes are smoky, and some of her hair has started to fall away from the twist, grazing the back of her neck.
“To be honest with you, I’ve never really been much of a boob man,” I say, my eyes still mesmerized by her perfect profile. She laughs, and I love the way it makes her move.
“Bullshit,” she says.
I don’t answer, and eventually she turns to look at me, squinting.
I cross my heart, and she purses her lips, leaning her head in doubt.
“Swear to god,” I say. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I like them,” I say through a guilty smile, chuckling. She nods like she’s caught me in a lie, then glances back out on the dance floor. I watch her for a few more quiet seconds, and then I do something completely stupid.