“This school’s old. It’s been here forever. That’s why it’s in such rough shape. Every farm kid in a forty-mile radius goes here.”
“Or did.”
“What do you mean?”
“We don’t know whether it’s still open, do we? Maybe this school is closed and hasn’t been torn down yet. You just said it’s in crap condition. I don’t know. It feels empty here. Void.”
“It might just be closed for the holidays. That could be. Have schools started up again?”
“I don’t know. I’m just saying it’s the feeling I get.”
“Why would they have road salt in the bin if the school wasn’t operational?”
This is true. I can’t explain it.
“It’s very humid in here,” Jake says. He’s using the bottom of his shirt to dry his face now, still holding his glasses in one hand. “There was a truck back there. So, sadly, your theory that the school is derelict and void of life is bunk.”
He’s the only guy I know who uses the word sadly in conversation like he just did. And bunk.
“Back where?”
“Back behind the school. Where I found the Dumpster. There’s a black truck.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, a rusty old black pickup.”
“Maybe it’s abandoned. If it’s a beater, behind an old shitty school way out in the middle of nowhere, this would be an ideal place to trash it. Maybe the best place.”
Jake looks at me. He’s thinking. I’ve seen this expression before. Seeing these mannerisms of his that I know, that I like, am attracted to, it’s endearing and comforting. It makes me glad he’s here. He puts his glasses back on.
“The exhaust was dripping.”
“So?”
“So, the truck has been driven. Condensation from the exhaust pipe means the engine was running recently. It hasn’t just been sitting there. I think there were tracks in the snow, too, maybe. But definitely exhaust drips.”
I’m not sure what to say. I’m losing interest. Fast. “What does that mean anyway, a truck?”
“Means someone’s in there,” he says. “Like a worker, maybe, I don’t know, something like that. Someone’s in the school, that’s all.”
I wait for a while before I speak. Jake’s tense, I can tell. I don’t know why.
“No, it could be anything. Could be—”
“No,” he snaps. “That’s what it is. Someone is in there. Someone who wouldn’t be here if he didn’t have to be. If he could be somewhere else, anywhere else, that’s where he’d be.”
“Okay, I’m just saying. I don’t know. Maybe there was a car pool and a vehicle was left behind. Or something.”
“He’s in there alone, working. A janitor. Cleaning up after all those kids. That’s what he does all night while everyone sleeps. Clogged toilets. Garbage bags. Wasted food. Teenage boys piss on a bathroom floor for fun. Think about it.”
I look away from Jake, out my window to the school. It must be hard to keep this big building clean. After all those students have spent a day in there, it would be in shambles. Especially the bathrooms and cafeteria. And then it’s up to one person to clean the whole thing? In just a few hours? “Anyway, who cares, let’s just go. We’re already late as is. You have to work tomorrow.”
And my head. It’s starting to throb again. For the first time since we’ve left Dairy Queen, Jake removes the key from the ignition and pockets it. I forgot we were still idling. Sometimes you don’t notice sound until it’s gone. “What’s the rush all of a sudden? It’s not even midnight.”
“What?”
“It’s not that late. And with the snow. We’re already out here. It’s kinda nice and private. Let’s just wait for a bit.”
I don’t want to get into an argument. Not now, not here. Not when I’ve made my decision about Jake, about us. I turn away again and look out my window. How did I end up in this situation? I laugh out loud.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing, it’s just . . .”
“Just what?”
“Really, it’s nothing. I was thinking about something funny that happened at work.”
He looks at me like he can’t believe I could tell such an obvious lie.
“What did you think of the farm? Of my parents?”
Now he asks me? After all this time? I hesitate. “It was fun to see where you grew up. I told you that.”
“Did you think it would be like that? Was it how you pictured it?”
“I don’t know what I thought. I haven’t spent much time in the country, or on a farm. I didn’t really have an idea of what it would be like. It was about what I thought, I guess, sure.”
“Did it surprise you?”
I shift in my seat, to the left, toward Jake. Strange questions. Out of character for Jake. Of course it was not really what I thought it would be like. “Why would you think it surprised me? Why?”
“I’m just curious what you thought. Did it seem like a nice place to grow up?”
“Your parents were sweet. It was kind of them to invite me. I liked your dad’s glasses string. He has an old-timey appeal to him. He invited us to stay over.”
“He did?”
“Yeah. He said he’d make coffee.”
“Did they seem happy to you?”
“Your folks?”
“Yeah, I’m curious. I’ve been wondering about them lately. How happy they are. They’ve been under stress. I worry about them.”
“They seemed fine. Your mom is having a tough time, but your dad is supportive.”
Were they happy? I’m not sure. His parents didn’t seem explicitly unhappy. There was that argument, the stuff I overheard. The vague bickering after dinner. It’s hard to say what happy is. Something did seem a little off. Maybe it had to do with Jake’s brother. I don’t know. As he said, they seemed to be under stress.
A hand touches my leg. “I’m glad you came.”
“Me, too,” I say.
“Really, it means a lot. I’ve been wanting you to see that place for a long time.”
He leans in and kisses my neck. I’m not expecting it. I feel my body tense and brace against the seat. He moves closer, pulling me in. His hand is up my shirt, over my bra, back down. It moves over my bare stomach, my side, my lower back.
His left hand strokes my face, my cheek. His hand is around to the back of my head, brushing hair behind my ear. My head falls against the headrest. He kisses my earlobe, behind my ear.
“Jake,” I say.
Jake pushes my coat aside and pulls my shirt up. We pause as the shirt blocks us. He rips it the rest of the way over my head and lets the shirt drop at my feet. He feels good. His hands. His face. I shouldn’t do this. Not when I’m thinking of ending things. But he feels good right now. He does.
He’s kissing near my bare shoulder, where my neck and shoulder meet.
Maybe it’s too soon to know. It doesn’t matter. God. I just want him to keep doing what he’s doing. I want to kiss him.
“Steph,” he whispers.