“And you and your mom—you were like, superhuman cleaning that up.”
“It’s what Mom and I are good at,” Dean agreed. “Cleaning stuff up.” He took a swig from the flask and then handed it back over to Trina. She took another sip. The flask was nearly empty, and she was much warmer. Because of the booze. Because he was here.
What would I do if he wasn’t here? she wondered. And the endlessness of her life here blended hard with the endlessness of Wyoming. With her father’s land. And for a minute she couldn’t breathe. It was as if all the space…the distance, it pulled at her, picking apart her seams. And if she didn’t leave—didn’t concentrate really hard on who she was and who she wanted to be—she’d lose herself here.
She’d just bleed into the air and the snow and mountains. The coyotes would take off with her.
“My mom’s not coming back.” There was no use in pretending. No point.
“No. She’s not.”
“It’s just me and Dad now,” she said, her throat tight.
“You got me,” he said. “I’m here, too.”
“Thank you.” The tears she wouldn’t let fall were blinding her. Burning her eyes. But she held onto them. Held onto the pain. Stitching it into her skin, another thing that would keep her from getting lost in all this space. She was the inverse of Virginia Woolf, loading her pockets with rocks so she’d sink.
Dean curled his hand around her shoulder and pulled her back into him.
And she was so happy to rest back against him. The scratchy camouflage snowmobile suit couldn’t totally hide his warmth, the sturdy, solid feel of him. And she relished it.
“You want to leave?” she asked. “We could go to Holly’s.” Holly’s was a bar on the edge of town that didn’t card, or at least didn’t card the two of them. And she was always open on Christmas Eve.
“No, I’m good.”
“Freezing your ass off on my porch?”
“Yep.”
Oh, God, Dean.
“Tell me how you’re going to go to Stanford,” he said. “And law school, and save the world from the evil corporations.”
“Well, first I’m going to get a cape.”
“Good idea.”
“I might need a sidekick.”
“Like a trusty dog or something? A sassy gay best friend?”
“You’re not gay, are you?” she asked, shocked and tingly from the strange audacity of that question.
His body shook with a laugh. “Not gay.”
“Well, that rules you out, doesn’t it?”
He laughed, and there was a strange quick pressure on the top of her head that she barely registered through the thick yarn of her hat.
Did he… did he just kiss my head?
She wished for a moment she was another kind of girl, the kind that was brave and bold and could turn around and kiss him. Right here on her dad’s porch.
But in the end she was Trina Crawford, and so she just leaned against him and tried as hard as she could to soak up some of his strength.
To last her. Because they were both leaving Dusk Falls.
And they were never coming back.
“Merry Christmas, Dean,” she whispered.
“Merry Christmas, Trina.”
Chapter Two
December 24, 2003
To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Hey Trina – I got your emails. Sorry I didn’t get back to you. It’s been a crazy year. College is good though. Hard. But fun. SO MANY PARTIES!! How about you? Stanford everything you wanted it to be? I hope so. Mom said you stopped by at Thanksgiving. Sorry, I wasn’t there. I’m staying at school for the holiday. Which is a little lonely, but better than being with Dad. Anyway. I’ll try to be better about writing you back. I miss you. And it’s Christmas Eve and I’m suddenly hungry for a yule log. Later – Dean.
December 24, 2005
7:13 PM
Trina squeezed into the party through a front door that could barely open.
“Sorry,” some guy said. He stepped out of the way of the door, but it still didn’t open too far.
The room was wall to wall with people. This was not the “little holiday thing” Dean had talked about in his email. She’d expected a dinner party. An open house kind of thing.
“Is this the right place?” Trevor asked. He squeezed in after her and they both stood against the closed door, sweltering in their winter coats and scarves. The cake box in her hand was suddenly ridiculous.
“Is this Dean’s apartment?” she asked a girl walking past with two blue plastic cups held up over her head so they wouldn’t get bumped and spilled.
“Yep,” the girl answered. She tossed back her blonde hair and jerked her chin toward the kitchen. “He’s at the keg.” And then she was gone. Swallowed up by the sea of people.
“Give me your coat,” Trevor said. “I’ll find a place to stash them.”
“I’ll… go say hi and get us some beers.”