Inevitably, one of those eventual sightings of Jude would be him in a parked car, lip-locked to some other girl. That was going to sting.
I didn’t want to live like this—full of confusion and guilt all the time, and heartbroken in a hundred ways at once. I didn’t mean to hold a torch for someone who had broken my family, gone to jail and then refused all my letters.
But even a glimpse of him had given me palpitations. As if my subconscious had recognized a piece of my soul before my brain got a chance to speak up.
Last night I’d lain awake just knowing that he was less than a mile away. He was probably in his old bed, where we used to steal away to make love. My freshman year of college, he’d drive to Burlington every Friday to fetch me for the weekend. We’d spend Saturday in his bed, exhausting ourselves. I ached remembering those times. The way he’d smile at me, hovering over me in bed. We were so hot and heavy he could just cast a gaze in my direction and I’d feel desire.
Those were the good times. If I wanted to stay sane, I’d have to remember the bad times, too. The times when he showed up late. Or when he’d take me to a party and disappear, only to reappear with jumpy eyes.
The night he didn’t show up at all.
I’d let him get away with that behavior because I hadn’t wanted to acknowledge that side of Jude. And I’d been so thrilled that someone as exciting as him could love me that I looked the other way. I hadn’t wanted my father to be right, either. My father hated my boyfriend because my father was good at hating.
My convictions had been firm and unwavering.
Then, one clear night in May, Jude offered my brother a ride somewhere. The newspaper reporter was unable to discover where. Apparently Jude was so high that night he couldn’t remember the crash. A tox screen found enough opiates in his bloodstream to stop an ox.
Jude’s car hit a tree on the side of the two-lane road where they traveled. My brother flew from the car and snapped his neck. He wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, but we’re not supposed to dwell on that. Instead, my parents focused only on the fact that Jude had a drug problem. Everyone wanted to know how I could have been so stupid as to date a man who’d drive while intoxicated.
Three years later and I was still trying to figure that out.
“You look like you could use a burger and a beer,” Denny said. He’d pulled into a spot in the town lot, and now was watching me from the driver’s seat.
“I really could. This has been a hell of a week.”
His face got soft. “I’m sorry. Maybe this was a bad idea.”
“No,” I said a little too forcefully. “You are a force of good in the world, Den. Seriously.”
I’d never seen Denny’s face light up quite so brightly as it did then. He hopped out of the car and ran around to my side, and I let him open the door for me. “Hey, Denny?” I asked, climbing out.
“Yeah?”
He was standing right in front of me, which made it easier to say what I needed to say. “I want to thank you for herding me in the right direction yesterday.” When I said this, his face took on a strange, intense expression. (Later I would kick myself for misinterpreting this.) “When I needed your help yesterday, you—”
My apology was cut off by an unexpected kiss. Unexpected and very wet. Wet the way a car wash is wet.
Holy…!
My instinct to flee kicked in just a wee bit too hard. Instead of gently pushing Denny back, I jerked away from him, slipping between his body and the side of the car. Only when I’d put some distance between us did my manners reemerge. “Sorry,” I gasped. “I…”
“Jesus Christ,” he said, putting his head in his hands. “I’m sorry. I thought you were saying…” He took a deep breath. “I’m such an idiot.”
What had he thought I meant?
“You were thanking me for herding you to the meeting,” he said, his voice strained. “Not herding you to go out with me.”
“Yes of course…” And wasn’t this embarrassing?
“Wow,” he said, staring at his shoes. “I’ve screwed up dates before. But it usually takes me a couple of hours.”
I was too embarrassed for him to agree. I’d been worried that I’d have to give him the brush-off after tonight, but I thought it would wait at least until the weekend. Now a long silence hung between us. I had no idea what to do.
“I’ll take you home,” he said, pulling his keys out of his pocket. He still hadn’t looked at me again.
As much as I wished I could zap myself home to my bedroom with a book and a cup of tea, it would only make tomorrow more awkward. I saw Denny every day at work. I even saw him on Wednesday nights at church. “Bowling,” I said.
“You don’t have to do that,” he said. “Really. I get it. I’m sorry.”
“Come on,” I said, ducking around him and heading down the sidewalk. “We’re going to skip the tavern, but that means we can have some of those greasy wings at the bowling alley.”
“You like greasy wings?” he asked, with something like relief in his voice.