“No. Now. Please.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “You can’t make me leave you like this—not again.”
His eyes are cold and frightening as they bore into mine. “This is my house. And I’m telling you to leave. Right now.”
As soon as I’m in the hallway, the door slams shut behind me, so hard I can’t help wondering if he has just collapsed against it. I take a few steps back and stand there watching it and wondering what to do. I step forward again with my arm raised, prepared to knock. But I stop myself. I back away again. And I turn and walk slowly through the hall and back down the staircase.
I stop at the foyer to pull my coat off the hook. As I fasten the buttons, I run through what I’m going to say to his grandmother. I think he’s sick again or I think you should check on him. But I think of his firm no and the don’t, and against my better judgment, I decide I need to hold on a little tighter to his secret this time. So I peek into the kitchen, tell Maggie it was a pleasure to meet her, and assure her that she doesn’t need to get up—I can let myself out.
“Oh, good, you’re here.” Like the bells that have just announced my arrival, Dad is way too chipper for me in my current state of mind. “Do you mind if I take off?”
Mind? God, no. Please go so I can pace through the empty bookstore and wonder if I’ve just left Bennett dying alone in his messy antique bedroom. “That’s why I’m here,” I say, trying to make my voice as light as his.
“Thanks. Your mom has already called twice, wondering when I’ll be home. She might be a little too excited about this party.”
He looks handsome. I reach up and adjust his tie.
“We’ll be at the Chicago History Museum. We should be home by midnight, but don’t wait up. You know how your mother and her friends can talk.”
“Go. Have fun.” I grab his shoulders and pivot him toward the front door.
He takes a few steps forward, then stops and turns back. “Thanks again for working on a Friday night. We didn’t interrupt your social life, did we?”
“Sadly, no.”
As soon as Dad’s gone, I walk around the store, straightening books and thinking about the look on Bennett’s face. When I walk past the front door, I pause, tempted to turn the BACK IN TEN MINUTES sign around and sprint to his house. When I pass the back room, I have the urge to go to the phone and call Emma so I can tell her everything that just happened. When I pass the window and see the police car parked down the street in front of the coffeehouse, I want to run down there and send them over to 282 Greenwood. But I don’t do any of these things. Instead I march over to the children’s area and grab the denim beanbag chair, drag it over to the travel section, and plop down with Lonely Planet’s guide to Moscow.
I’m crouching down on the floor of the back room, spinning the dial on the safe, when the bells jingle. I lean on my hands and see someone in a wool cap holding a black coat standing at the front counter.
“Sorry—we’re closing!” I yell. I select the last of the three numbers, pull up on the heavy steel handle, and throw the vinyl cash bag inside.
I’m looking down at my watch as I walk back toward the counter. “Sorry, we close at—”
Bennett turns around to face me, and a small smile moves slowly across his face.
I stop in my tracks. “Hi.” I can’t imagine I’m doing a very good job of hiding my surprise. He already looks much better than he did just three hours earlier. The dark circles are gone, and his eyes are no longer bloodshot. He looks different, relaxed, in dark brown chinos and a light blue sweater that does something sort of magical to his eyes. And I can’t help noticing that he smells shower fresh. He looks better, but still tired.
“Hi, Anna.”
“You’re okay?” I’m so relieved that I want to run over and hug him.
“Yeah. I’m okay.” He smiles. “So…” His eyes move around the store. “This is where you work?”
I nod.
“It’s nice.” He takes a few steps toward me and leans against the counter. “I’m glad you’re here. I wasn’t sure if you worked on Friday nights.”
“I don’t. My parents went to a party in the city.” I don’t know what to say. I walk to the counter and mirror his pose.
“Hey, I wanted to apologize. I didn’t mean to be so rude earlier.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. It was really nice of you to come over.” His expression is soft, his voice kind, and any trace of annoyance is gone from his eyes.
“I should have called—or something—instead.”
“No, I shouldn’t have left the park that night. I didn’t remember you were there until you told me.” He looks at me like he’s trying to figure out what I’m thinking, gauging where to go next. “Anyway, thanks for helping me. I’m sorry I didn’t say that earlier.”
“You’re welcome.”
His eyes stay locked on mine, and he smiles even wider. “Can I make it up to you?”
“Make it up to me?”
“How about a coffee?”
“Coffee?”
“Yeah. Coffee. Unless”—his eyes circle the empty store—“you’re busy.”
I feel my forehead wrinkle. “Are you sure you’re well enough for coffee?”
He shrugs. Nods. “Actually, it helps my migraines. Come on. It’s the least I can do after kicking you out of my house.”
While he stands there, waiting for my answer, I think about Emma’s words in The Donut earlier today. Just say it, she insisted. You like this guy, don’t you? I don’t feel like I know him well enough for it to be true, but it is.
“Okay. Sure.” Maybe by the time we’ve finished our coffee I’ll know him better. Maybe I’ll even have answers to all the questions he keeps adding to the pile.
I walk around the store, shutting off lights as I go, and flipping the sign from OPEN to CLOSED. As I’m locking the dead bolt, Bennett lifts my backpack off my shoulder and throws it over his own.
We walk in silence to the end of the block. I can hear the noise from the coffeehouse growing louder as we get closer, and smell the aroma as it floats up through the frozen air and disappears into the clouds above. As soon as we walk in, I notice a group just leaving, and we weave through the crowded tables and collapse on the crushed-velvet sofa in the corner.
“What can I get you?”
“A lot of explanation.” I reach down to pull my wallet out of my backpack. “And a latte, please.”
“I’ve got it.” He touches my hand, and I silently chastise myself for the shiver it creates. He leaves and returns with two small, froth-filled, glass mugs, each with a chocolate-dipped biscotti balancing on the rim.
He sets them down on the table and returns to his spot on the couch. I look at him expectantly. “Big talks require biscotti,” he says. Now I let him have a smile.
He picks up his mug and breaks through the froth with his Italian cookie, and after a few dunks, he pops it in his mouth and chews. When I realize I’m staring at him, I turn my attention to my own cup. The coffee is warm and soothing.
“So. Where should I start?” He dunks his cookie while he looks at me. “I guess Sunday night. The park? I have to admit, my memory’s foggy in some spots, but I take it I told you about the migraines?”
I feel my face soften with concern, and I nod again.
“I honestly don’t know what happened. I was walking around town, and I felt a headache coming on. Before I could even process what was happening, it just hit me—” He takes another bite and a sip before continuing, “Anyway, I’m not sure how long I sat there in that park before you found me. All I remember is trying to get home.”
“I would have helped you. Why didn’t you just wait for me to get back?” I look down at my mug and take another sip. When I look up again, I find him watching me.
“I left as soon as I could walk again.” He pauses, searching the air for something I can’t see, then looks back at my eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember w
hy you left.”
“I ran back to the coffeehouse to get you some water.”
He nods, like it’s all coming back to him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take off on you. I just wasn’t thinking straight.” He shakes his head as if casting off the memory of that night.
I’ve never been that out of it, but I can see how it would be disorienting. “And you’ve been sick all week?”
“On and off. I planned to go to school on Thursday, but I felt another headache coming on when I woke up, and I was worried that it might happen again. It would have been embarrassing to pass out on my second week at school.” I’m surprised to hear that he cares what any of us think. “And now I have a ton of homework to catch up on this weekend. A woman from the school came by with all of my assignments after you left.”
“Ms. Dawson.”
“That’s who I thought you were. I guess that’s why I was so surprised to see you.”
“Surprised?” I raise an eyebrow. “Is that what you call that?”
He drapes his arm over the back of the sofa. “I’m really sorry I made you leave earlier tonight.”
He’s smiling and leaning, and I find myself doing the same. “That’s okay.”
“You just kind of…threw me.”
“I threw you?”
He looks down, then back up again, and shoots me a bashful grin. “I looked horrible. A beautiful girl shows up at my door, and I’m in sweats, smelly, and looking like I hadn’t slept in a month.” His eyes never leave mine. “I shouldn’t have been so rude.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I smile.
“Thanks for not telling Maggie. I don’t want her to worry.”
“Sure.” He’s still staring at me, and with all the tension in the air, I latch on to the change of subject. “Your grandmother seems nice,” I say. I watch his face light up.
“Yeah, she’s great.”
“So, you moved from San Francisco to live with her?”
“For now. I’m only here for a month, you know, while my parents are in Europe.”
“Oh,” I say. My head falls forward as my heart sinks. “I didn’t know that.” I guess that explains why he hasn’t bothered to meet anyone.
“Yeah, well…I feel like I can tell you the truth. Can you keep a secret?” He waits for my nod. “It’s not just that my parents are traveling.”
“Oh?” I take another bite and chew. I hope he knows that means he should continue talking.
“I was supposed to go with them, but I made a mistake,” he says. “I blew it pretty big. My parents understand, but let’s just say Evanston is the best place for me to be right now. Taking care of Maggie is much better than spending a month with them—or in reform school.” The huge grin on his face makes me think that’s supposed to be a joke.
“And?” I ask.
“And what?”
“And you aren’t going to tell me what you did to deserve this frozen version of hell?”
He shakes his head and gives me a dismissive little laugh. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”
“Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad. You didn’t kill anyone.” I stop in mid-dunk and look at him. “Did you?”
He swirls the coffee in his mug, looking into it for answers, as if there were tea leaves inside. “No, I didn’t kill anyone. But someone…disappeared. And it was my fault.”
I picture him on that frozen park bench, rocking back and forth and mumbling about needing to find someone. I start to tell him what I heard and to ask him what it means, but I look at his face and something tells me not to. When the silence continues, I press him for more information. “That doesn’t give me much of a secret. Is that really all you’re going to tell me?”
“For now.” His face brightens as he asks, “So, how long have you lived in Evanston?”
I stare at him. “We’re going there now?” I ask.
“We’re going there now,” he says.
I decide to let him off the hook for the time being but give him a look that signals that he has more explaining to do. I sigh. “All my life. Same house my dad grew up in. Same house my grandfather grew up in.”
“Wow.” He looks at me with what I think at first are soft, understanding eyes; then I realize what’s really behind his expression: sympathy. Like I’m a hobbit who’s never left the Shire.
“Yeah.” I feel small. “Wow.”
He leans in even closer, filling what’s left of the space between us, looking like he’s genuinely interested in my pathetically simple life. “Do you ever feel…trapped?”
I want to tell him about my map and my plans to travel the world, but as the words start to form in my head I realize they sound as pitiful as his stare. Yes, I’m trapped for now, but I won’t be forever. Still, deep down, I can feel the reality I live to ignore percolating to the surface: I can dream all I want. It’s more likely that I’ll be here when I’m old and gray, rocking and knitting on my porch when I’m not at the bookstore I own and run with the help of my grandchildren, who think I’m a crazy old bat because I refuse to go near the Travel section. Trapped doesn’t even begin to cover it.
“Every day,” I say.
“I can’t imagine being in one place that long.” I shrink back away from him, but he props his head against his hand and fills the space I’ve just created. “I’ve traveled everywhere. I’ve seen more than most people get to see in a lifetime.” This isn’t helping. He must realize that, because he suddenly shifts gears. “But you have something I’ve never had.” His expression softens and he looks almost sad. “Deep roots. A history of a place. You’ve watched the kids you knew in kindergarten grow up right before your eyes. Aside from my parents and my sister, I feel like everyone I know is somehow”—he pauses to search for the right word—“temporary.”
It’s my turn to look sympathetic. I’ve known Justin longer than I’ve known my other friends, but I can’t imagine thinking of any of them as temporary.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to Northwestern.” He keeps smiling, so I just keep talking, like I’ve been injected with truth serum.
“God, no. At least, I hope not. I’ll apply, because everyone does, but it’s definitely my last choice.” I tell him about running and my plans for a scholarship, and he looks at me like he’s hanging on every word, and I can’t, for the life of me, figure out why. But his eyes are wide with interest, and this time, when I picture my map, I decide I can tell him. “There’s also the other plan,” I say, “the one my parents don’t know about.”
He smiles excitedly. “I get a secret too?”
“Yeah, except, see, I’m actually planning to tell you the whole thing,” I say, and that makes him grin so wide his eyes narrow into little slits. “I’m thinking of taking a year off after graduation to travel. I know I’ll go to college, but I feel like I have this one window after high school, you know, to see the world.” I look down at the sofa. “But of course, my parents would never approve of this plan.”
“Why can’t you travel after college?”
Of course he’d have to ask. I’ve seen where he lives. “I’ll need to go straight to work to pay off my student loans,” I explain. “Even if I get a cross-country scholarship and financial aid or whatever, I won’t get a full ride.” His smile encourages me to continue. “I guess I’m afraid that if I don’t go soon, I never will, and I just…need to.”
He’s staring at me. I can’t tell what he’s thinking.
“What?” I ask.
“You’re interesting.” His mouth curves into a half smile. And beautiful, I want to add. Earlier, you said I was beautiful. “I had a feeling you’d be interesting.” He watches me, and I hope he can’t tell that my stomach has started doing those damn flip-flops again.
And as I stare back at him, I realize that over the last hour I’ve let myself forget all the little—and big—things that have haunted me for the last two weeks. How he disappeared into thin air at the track that day and then denied it. How strangely he r
eacted the first time he heard my name. How I found him in the park that night. Even that bizarre trip to his grandmother’s house just hours ago. I don’t see what he’s learning about me that’s so interesting, but I know I’m a little too fascinated by everything I don’t know about him. I just want to complete this puzzle, but the most important pieces keep dropping on the floor, landing upside down and just out of reach.
But the questions disappear again when he reaches forward and slowly traces the line of my jaw to my chin. I close my eyes as his thumb slides toward my mouth and brushes my lower lip, and I can feel myself moving in closer, like I’m being pulled into the gravity that surrounds him. He starts to kiss me, and I close my eyes and take a little breath as I wait for the touch of his lips.
But the kiss never comes. Instead, I feel him pause. His breath travels past my cheek, and the words I’m sorry fill my ear in a whisper.
“About what?” I murmur.
“This.” He sighs. “I’m sorry. I can’t—”
“What about daring adventures?” I hope he can hear the smile in my voice.
I feel him laugh into my neck and he sighs again. “I’m afraid I’m already on one. A different one.” I pull back to see his eyes, and wonder why he looks sad. He rubs my cheek with his thumb and pulls away from me.
He looks at his watch. “I should really get back to Maggie. Can I walk you home?”
I sink back into the chair, confused. Dejected. “That’s okay. It’s just a few blocks.”
“I’d feel terrible if something happened to you.”
“If I went missing?” I ask sarcastically. “Yeah, it sounds like you have that effect on people.” I’m still close enough to see how his face falls, and then hardens.
“Thanks.” He scoots backward, and the part of me that’s upset he didn’t kiss me feels satisfied. “I’ll be right back.” He walks toward the bathroom, leaving me alone on the couch to berate myself.
“Bennett, I’m so sorry,” I say as soon as he returns. “I was trying to be funny.”
He bends forward and picks my backpack up off the floor. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” We maneuver into our bulky jackets and walk in silence past the couches and tables and out into the street. We walk side by side, but there’s a visible gap between us. We hardly say a word for the next three blocks, and I can’t help noticing that the Bennett I just spent the last hour talking to isn’t anything like the one who’s now walking me home.