She sobbed into my chest and I let her. I placed my arm beneath her knees and lifted her against my chest. People parted like the Red Sea. The woman who had introduced her nodded at me and I nodded back. I saw Etta crying from the corner of my eye. She was with someone and he was hugging her. I took her through the exhibit, the museum foyer, and out the exterior doors. I walked her through the busy streets of Dallas to the parking lot where we laid that first night. I set her down then brought her over to me as I laid across the paved lot. I tucked her into my side and wrapped my arms around her body.
She stopped crying and her eyes found mine. “I’ve missed you, Atticus.”
“I’ve missed you, Hazel. You have haunted me, frequented my dreams, my thoughts.” I looked down at her. “A year without you has been torture.”
“How can we have a future with a past this bloody?” she asked.
“One day at a time,” I told her, standing up.
I grabbed her hands and brought her up beside me. “Come with me, Hazel.”
She didn’t question it when I held out my hand for her. She slipped it into mine and followed me without question. I took her to my car a block away and opened her door for her. She tucked into the passenger’s seat and I piled into the driver’s. I drove her to my new apartment and as we parked, I ordered Thai from the place downstairs. She held my hand as we got into my elevator and rode it to the twenty-fifth floor. She held my hand when we entered my apartment. She held my hand as I gave her the tour. She held my hand as we sat on the couch.
She sat on one end and I on the other. I picked her legs up by the ankles and laid them on the top of the sofa next to my knee. I removed both her shoes for her and set them on the coffee table. We absorbed one another in that quiet room. She looked out onto the city lights below then back at me. Her eyes caught the enlarged photograph I’d had framed of Juniper and me, the one she’d taken.
She starting breathing really hard and my stomach plummeted. I grabbed her hand and took her over to it. Her fingers traced our outlines. “Oh my God,” she said.
“I know.”
“I miss her so much.”
“She’s left a giant hole,” I said.
She looked into my eyes, and I found it hard to meet them. “I love and hate your face,” I told her.
She nodded. “I know,” she said.
“I can’t help it,” I confessed.
“Atticus,” she said, “I know.”
The bell rang and I answered the door. I paid the guy, told him to keep the change, and set the food on the table. She helped me set it all out then I grabbed a few plates and some nice chopsticks from my kitchen as well as a few serving spoons. We dished out helpings and sat at opposite sides of the table. We stared at one another, neither touching our dinner.
“Do I remind you of her?” I asked her.
She nodded. “Yes,” she answered, “which is how I know.”
I stared down at my plate, unable to eat. “Can you talk about her yet?”
“Not yet,” she said.
“I can’t either. It hurts too much.”
“I have a gaping hole. I know everybody says that. I know it sounds stupid, but it’s really true. For me, at least,” she admitted.
“I can’t fill it,” I said, acknowledging my own. “I can’t seem to find anything to numb it. I’ve tried. Kept busy at work, hung with my family. I tried to spend time with my nieces and nephews, but they just made it worse. I drank for a little bit in the beginning,” I confessed. “I’ve found myself thinking about you a lot, Hazel.”
“I’ve thought of you constantly,” she told me.
“I miss your skin, crave it, actually. It’s like a drug for me.”
She brought her hands up and rested them on the surface of the table. “Is it?”
“But I’m afraid to touch you,” I told her.
“Because touching me means remembering her?”
“Yes.”
“And yet you want me anyway, right? But how can you want someone so much and detest them all in the same breath?” she asked.
“Is that how you feel?” I asked.
She nodded. “I feel sick without you but sitting with you here, now, I can only see her and she brings a pain I don’t believe I will ever get over.”
“What are we going to do?” I asked her, pushing my plate away.
“I don’t know.”
“I can’t get over you, Hazel Stone. I tried.”
“I can’t get over you, Atticus Kelly. I tried.”
“We’re stuck in this limbo then. A perpetual state of pain and no matter how hard we try, it will never go away?”
She swallowed. “Yes.”
She was crying, which made me feel ill.
“Come here, Hazel,” I said as I stood.
I met her halfway around the table and scooped her up, bringing her to my couch again. This time we laid flat beside one another; I wrapped my arms around her.
“Lay with me, touch me,” I said, “until we can know each other again without pain.”
Hazel
We’d fallen asleep. I hadn’t expected to fall asleep. Carefully I stood, trying not to wake him, but he grabbed my wrist. My heart leapt into my throat.
“Don’t ever do that to me again, Hazel. Don’t ever leave me to wonder where you went.”
I turned and looked down at him. The sun had yet to rise and his face was barely visible, but I saw it, saw the despair there. I swallowed.
“I wasn’t leaving,” I promised and meant it.
His thumb caressed my wrist. “Are you sure?”
“Very sure, Atticus.”
“Stay with me today.”
“I don’t have anything to wear,” I told him, looking down at my ridiculous dress.
“Throw your underwear in the washer. I’ve got a robe you can wear. I’ve also got something you can wear for the day. Just stay with me.”
I nodded. He sat up, ran his fingers through his hair, and stood. He grabbed my hand and led me into his cavernous bedroom. He yanked a robe from his closet and handed it to me.
“Can I have a shower?” I asked.
“Of course,” he said, and showed me his impressive new bathroom.
He pointed out all his soaps, even produced a gorgeous shampoo and conditioner he pilfered from a hotel he’d stayed at in Japan six months prior. He said he took a couple because they reminded him of me, which made my heart beat harder than it had in a very long time.
“I don’t suppose you’d have an extra toothbrush,” I asked.
“Use mine,” he said, handing me his.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He gave me a towel for my hair and told me to throw my unmentionables to him and he’d wash them for me.
I did as he asked then started the shower. I tried to quiet my nerves but I couldn’t. They were live wires on fire and setting off all over. I washed my body and hair then stepped back out onto the carpet outside his shower. I took a few steps onto the tile and discovered he had a floor heater and must have turned it on for me without my noticing. I put on the robe and wrapped my hair in the towel. Before closing the robe, I glanced at my reflection and took in the faded C-section scar across my bikini line. Unable to stare anymore, I closed the robe and cinched it.
I heard the washer beep and the sound of its door opening, so I padded through to the combined living and kitchen and rounded a hidden corner where the laundry was. Atticus, his own hair wet, his clothes changed, was pulling clean, wet clothes from the washer and stuffing them into the dryer. I saw my stuff mixed with his and it made my heart pound a little harder. He threw a dryer sheet in and started it up. He turned around and saw me there. He leaned against the dryer and smiled.
“How was your shower?” he asked.
“Perfect,” I told him. “How was yours?”
“I have another room. Never used the shower in there before. Thought this was as good a time as any.” He sat up from his leaning position. “I
think I’ve found something that might fit you.” He walked past me, so I followed him back into his bedroom to a walk-in closet.
He held up a pair of jeans and handed them over. “I wore those in tenth grade.”
I laughed as I held them up to my body. “They might fit if I roll the cuffs,” I said.
His tattooed fingers pushed hanger after hanger back until he landed on a V-neck white T-shirt and pulled it free of its home. He handed it over and I took it. The towel around my hair was beginning to fall so I pulled it off my head. He took it and put it in a laundry hamper at the back. We sat in his quiet closet, staring at one another for a brief moment before we headed out. He grabbed my hand before he walked back to the bathroom then dropped it. He reached into the shower for his toothbrush and the toothpaste. He went to the sink and started to brush his teeth. I pulled myself up on to the counter next to him, piling the clothes he’d given me on top of my lap. He tried to smile around his toothbrush, which made me laugh without thinking, something I hadn’t done in a very long time. His free hand found my face; an index finger brushed against my cheek. He spit and rinsed then wiped his mouth. The way he did it reminded me of something a little boy would do, which made me smile.
“Let’s eat,” he said. “You didn’t have any dinner last night.”
“Neither did you, Atticus.”
“You’re so much smaller than I am, though. Smaller people can’t skip meals.”
I shook my head. “You’re funny, Atticus.”
He took my hand and ran the tip of his thumb across the lines of my palm. “I wanna be your friend,” he told me.
“I want to be your friend too.”
He studied me. “But you’re not sure,” he said.
I swallowed. “Are you sure?”
“I don’t know.”
“Neither do I,” I admitted.
“Fine, we’ll take it slow.”
“Day by day?” I asked.
“Minute by minute,” he replied.
“What should we do this exact minute then?” I asked.
“Find you my Adidas slip-ons.”
“Shoes?”
“Yes, so the next minute you can dress and the next we can take the elevator.”
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Farmers Market. How about some breakfast, Hazel?”
Atticus leaned forward and pressed the button for the elevator. We piled in and stood on opposite ends of the car. He pressed the first-floor button and the doors closed. A heavy bass song with piano and horn floated through the speakers, and I started to bob my head without realizing it.
“This elevator music is actually decent,” I said absently.
Atticus began to laugh but coughed to stop himself.
I looked at him as he fought a smile. “What?” I asked.
“This is one of my songs. The Muzak version of it, I guess.”
I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing. “You have to be kidding.”
“I wish I was,” he said, allowing the smile.
“So essentially you’re getting paid right now?”
“I guess I am.”
“Well, then.” I looked down at myself. “I can’t believe how well your jeans fit.” I held out the bottom hem of his T-shirt. “This is a bit big, though.”
He laughed. “The slip-ons look a little big as well,” he teased.
“Just a little,” I added. The truth was my feet could barely hold on as I walked. I felt like I was wearing snorkel fins. I had to lift my foot up a few inches with each step to keep them from falling off. “Where are we going to breakfast again?” I asked, forgetting his earlier suggestion. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to walk too far.
“I thought we could go to the Farmers Market.”
So far. “Um, yeah, okay.”
He laughed. “Hazel, I’m going to buy a pair of sandals for you at one of the shops downstairs. I just gave you those so you wouldn’t have to walk barefoot.”
“Oh, thank God,” I said, relieved.
We walked out of the elevators and hooked a right into a small shopping center built in his building, including an upscale version of a quik-mart, a dry cleaner, and a small-scale gift-shop type of store. In a crowded corner of the shop were rows of simple flip-flops, and I spotted a pair of black ones. I started to sort through them, the smallest sized shoe at the bottom, and worked my way up looking for the size eight I needed. It was hanging on a hook a little out of reach, so I hopped up trying to dislodge them.
“Here,” I heard just behind me.
Atticus reached over me, crowding me in. I could smell his cologne. The scent brought memories forward, making me happy and sad at the same time. As the emotions warred within me, he handed me the shoes. We sat there for a moment, looking at one another.
“Can I borrow some money?” I whispered, remembering I hadn’t grabbed my purse from James’s office when we’d left the exhibition.
He smiled at me. “No, Hazel, you can’t borrow some money.”
“Why?” I asked.
He laughed. It was small but it was there. “You are a ridiculous girl, you know that? I’m going to buy them for you, that’s why.”
“You don’t have to do that, though,” I said. “I can pay you back.”
He flipped the tag over. “Three dollars and ninety-nine cents then,” he said. “With tax and interest.”
“Shut up,” I said, smiling. It dropped quickly, though. I realized just how much I’d been smiling with him and felt guilty for it.
He read the moment. “Hazel,” he said.
“Hmm?”
“Let me get these for you. Please.”
I nodded. We took the flip-flops to the counter, where he paid for them and had the clerk cut off the ties and the tag. I slipped them on after Atticus handed them to me. He used a plastic bag from the store to tuck his old sandals in. We thanked the clerk and returned to his building lobby. He handed the bag over to a doorman and asked him to have them delivered to his apartment.
We escaped the lobby, pushing open the doors and exiting out into the new morning sun. The sky was blue, the clouds cottony white. People milled about on the sidewalks. An outdoor cafe nearby bustled with clanking dishes and conversation.
“Let’s catch the train,” he said, glancing down at his watch. “If we hurry, we might make it.”
We sprinted toward the station just as the train was pulling in. The crowds were annoying, but we were able to squeeze into a standing spot. We grabbed the railing handles above us as the train whirled out of the station. We stayed quiet, listening to the private conversations around us.
“Girl, he is lying through his damn teeth,” one woman told another.
“You don’t know that, making assumptions and shit.”
The woman looked at her friend like she was nuts. “Damn it, Mya, how many times does his trifling ass have to get caught by you for you to get it through that thick damn head that he is no good and will never change?”
Her friend clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes. “He has urges, Mel. He can’t help it.”
“You are a damn fool,” Mel, the first woman, the smart woman, said. Atticus and I looked at one another and smiled. “Look at these two, “ she said softly. We turned as she pointed to us. “Did you see the way that boy was looking at her? You should want that too, Mya. That boy would stop the world from spinning if she asked for it. You can see it in his face.”
We turned toward one another. He searched my face for something.
“The one thing you want, I could never give you, though,” he whispered, making a single tear slip down my cheek.
I looked toward the window, at the blur of trees and city buildings as we left them behind. The palm of his hand found my cheek as he turned my face toward his.
“This is so bittersweet; I can barely stomach it,” I told him.
His hand fell but slid around my shoulders and brought me closer to him. My face found his neck and stayed there,
breathing him in, trying to appease the hurt in my chest. It helped. I hated that it helped because that pain for me was proof Juniper had existed, but I also knew I didn’t think I could take it any longer without his help. I was weary of standing alone.
“I’m tired of the pain,” I admitted.
“Me too, Haze.”
“I want to remember her, you, without it. I don’t expect it to ever go away, but I do want a shift in how I remember her.”
“So do I.”
“Now arriving St. Paul Station,” an automated voice announced. “Doors will open to the right.”
He’d kept me held against him the entire ride. I expected him to let me go when they indicated our stop, but he didn’t. Instead, he swung me beside him but kept his arm clutched around my body.
We stepped from the light rail and headed toward Harwood. It would be a good fifteen-minute walk but I didn’t care.
“What have you been doing with your time?” he asked me.
“Mostly laid in bed. James was kind enough to keep my position for me.”
“Sounds like a nice guy.”
“He is.”
“Those featured paintings took me almost six months,” I told him.
“I believe you,” he said. “They’re stunning, Hazel. Seriously heart stopping.”
I nodded, afraid to say anything, to use words without bursting into tears.
“The gallery opened,” I said when I’d gathered myself.
“That’s amazing, Haze.”
“Yeah, we’re going to walk right past it,” I mentioned.
“Is it open?” he asked.
“Not on the weekends, no.”
He nodded.
We were quiet until we met the gallery.
“Saul,” Atticus announced, reading its name on the sign above its doors.
“It’s on St. Paul Street,” I said, laughing a little.
“Ah, so ‘of Tarsus’?”
“Exactly. The point of the gallery is to appeal to the masses, which follows Paul’s theme as well, I think.”
“It does,” he agreed with a small smile.
I walked past the door and kept my eyes trained on Atticus’s back. He was looking through the glass, chasing the lines of artwork on the walls just through the main gallery walk-through that ran the length of the whole space. He stopped abruptly, almost causing me to run into his back. I followed his line of sight.