“Well done,” he said as Jenni left to prepare our food. “So . . . you talk about me to your barista?” His cheeks were as pink as the sunset.
“Yes. And I call you Maximilian.”
We left Jenni’s loaded down with sugar and caffeine. I wagered we’d need both for Max’s first Salvage Yard experience. Lord, I hated to break his smile.
When we rolled into Metal Pete’s, Max had questions he didn’t ask. I watched the way his eyes narrowed and he surveyed the rows of cars. Headlight trotted out to greet me, and I introduced them.
There is something about dogs. They understand. Better than most humans. Headlight nuzzled Max with the best of her affection. Pre-love for the trip to the Yaris.
We walked to the office. Metal Pete wasn’t there, so I left a note on the door and explained to Max that this old yard was my sanctuary.
“You come here every day?” Max asked, sipping the coffee.
“Most of them.”
“What do you do?”
“Well, I talk to Metal Pete, look for cars, and . . . I sit by the Yaris.”
“Trent’s Yaris.” His voice rose in surprise.
“Yeah.”
“Jesus.”
“I know it’s weird.”
“It’s . . . unexpected,” he said carefully.
“I look for courage here.”
Max’s eyes roamed over the lot around us. He took in the decaying metal field and said, “And you find it?”
“I find something.”
I thought he was disgusted with the idea, but he took a doughnut from the bag, held it firmly between his teeth, and said, “Show me,” as he chomped down.
Headlight walked between us as we made our way to the row where the Yaris lived.
“This place is like a cemetery.”
“No. In a cemetery everything is final. This place is like a huge spare-parts store.” I pointed to a totaled Camaro. “See. Those side mirrors, the tires, the steering wheel, maybe the bucket seats, plus who-knows-what under the hood: all of it’s salvageable.”
“Is there stuff missing from the Yaris?” Max asked.
“You’ll see.”
When we got to Trent’s car, Max walked around it several times. I didn’t disturb him. He needed this moment the same as I’d needed mine. Headlight trailed behind him, always within petting distance. Max opened the door to what was once his seat. It creaked angrily, but he and Headlight crawled inside and sat on the floor, since the backseat was gone. It must have been ninety degrees in there, but he showed no signs of moving.
I slipped down the row so he could cry in peace. While I waited, I rewrote the list in the dust on the hood of an old Buick.
1. Wear a tank top in public
2. Walk the line at graduation
3. Forgive Gina and Gray. And tell them the truth.
4. Stop following. Start leading.
5. Drive a car again
6. Visit the Fountain of Youth
As I stared at those six lines, I realized something I hadn’t noticed on the beach. Seven was now six. I had kissed someone without flinching. The list, the impossible list, wasn’t impossible.
Someone else might laugh at my revelation. Let them laugh. Taking a real step forward in life was frickin’ hard.
For the first time in a year, I was proud of myself.
I stretched my arms wide into the crystal-blue sky that even this far from the ocean smelled like salt, and thanked God for vitamin D and possibilities. Then, I ripped off my long-sleeve shirt and danced around like an idiot while the courage lasted.
Three claps stopped me dancing.
I whipped around to see Max crawling out of the Yaris wearing a red face and a smile. Embarrassed that I was dancing in the salvage yard and that my boyfriend had caught me, I slipped my shirt back on, but I kept my grin in place.
He met me halfway, near the Buick.
“Hey, Sadie, that was a tank top.”
“Yeah, it was.”
Glancing over at the list, he ran his finger through number one.
“I’m not sure it counts since I didn’t know you were watching,” I said.
“It’s a beginning.”
“Did you have a new beginning?” I asked, indicating the Yaris.