The movie theatre parking lot is dark, so I grip my keys tighter and watch Janie drive off. I can still feel the awkward hug we had before she got in her car. I slip into my car, lock the doors, and check my phone for messages. I have no idea why. The only people who contact me these days are Jackson and my mom, and, in the past couple days, Colter. But he’s the last person I want to talk to right now.
I look down at my phone’s display. Of course, there’s three missed calls from him. I’d finally broke down and programmed his name. Better to know who it is when I ignore his calls. He’s called me every day since Janie’s party—so determined, like he’s trying to save his own life instead of mine. Even with all that, I’m unexpectedly drawn to him. I’ve tried to lock the doors around my guilt and pain, but pieces of me keep falling and he’s the only one who can catch them. I know nothing I’m feeling is real—it can’t be. It wouldn’t matter anyway. He’s only trying to save me.
I sigh and call him back to make sure it wasn’t anything important—knowing it’s not, but I also know he’ll keep calling me if I ignore him for too long.
The patron saint of lost causes. Damn, the boy has issues.
“Ellery?” He sounds groggy like I woke him up.
“Yep. You raaang,” I say, with an accent like an old butler.
“What’s up?” he says through a yawn that sounds kind of adorable.
I need to hang up.
“You called me first. Also, I’d like to introduce you to this thing called texting—it’s quite state of the art.”
He lets out a breezy laugh, like he has no worries in the world but to be amused by others. “I like hearing people’s voices. Call me old-fashioned.”
“Well, that’s not the first thing I would think to call you.” I grin, but I know he can’t see it. Maybe he can hear it. “I’m alive. You can call off the search party.”
“I knew where you were.”
“How?” I say realizing once I’ve said the words I know exactly how. “Fucking Jackson,” I grumble under my breath.
“He’s a pretty cool guy.”
“Yeah, he’s a damn angel.”
“Are you okay?”
“You mean, have I blown my brains out?” He stays silent like I’ve offended him somehow. I suppose it was kind of offensive. Dr. Lamboni would call that a defense mechanism. “Okay, that was a little harsh.” Why does silence turn me into a truth-telling moron?
“I know what you’re doing.”
“Oh yeah, what?”
“You’re trying to make me uncomfortable.”
“Trying?”
“Succeeding.”
“Good,” I say.
“I’m just trying to help,” he snaps.
“I don’t need help, Tom Sawyer.”
“Fine.” His tone has gotten continually impatient and growly.
I groan. “What do you want from me?”
“Nothing. Just . . . .” I hear him sigh. “Can you just humor me for a second.”
“Just a second?” He pauses again. Then I start to feel bad. I adjust my phone so I can hear him more clearly. He’s not Jackson, so I know he’s not going to ask what I’m wearing. He’s trying to be serious, which I hate. “Okay. You have my undivided attention.”
“My brother, he . . . .” He pauses again. I wait for him to finish. “You’re going to do it again, aren’t you? That’s why you got those tattoos.”
I thought he’d understood that at the time and that’s why he’d been calling me. But I haven’t told him my plan. I haven’t told anyone the date or what I’m doing—and I’m not going to. “It’s complicated.”
“It really isn’t,” he snaps.
I climb up out of the rabbit hole. He didn’t believe my lies, it’s obvious. “What did you think I was doing? You knew or you wouldn’t have given me a hard time.”
“I can’t have this conversation over the phone. Shit. This is . . . .” He sounds like Jackson, the way he won’t finish a thought. I must do that to the people around me. “Can you meet me?”
“It’s late.” I glance at my phone’s display. 10:43 P.M.
“Please.”
“Fine. Meet me at The Beanery.”
“Done.”
? ? ?
A few minutes later I’m sipping coffee across from Colter, and if I thought the hug with Janie was awkward, it has nothing on this moment. He steeples his fingers and I let out a nervous laugh at the sight. He notices and quickly moves his hands to the table, tapping his fingers instead. We stare at each other, not saying anything as the folk music plays softly in the background and the smell of chocolate circulates in the warm air. I glance up at the menu over the counter before surveying the room. A guy in his twenties is sipping his coffee while typing with his free hand, his eyes wide, mouthing the words on his screen between sips. A girl is plunking on her computer keys like she’s writing the next breakout novel. A couple in the corner are in a heated discussion about this year’s election.
I turn back to Colter. He’s looking down at the table, turning his mug. “Okay, this is ridiculous. Did you just meet me here to watch me drink coffee?”
“Yes, is that okay?” He grins.