purses her lips into a smile. “By your rough estimate?”
“Very rough.”
“Four hundred and sixty-two…”
“Point-two-three.”
“Point-two-three, of course.”
A pause.
The tapping of Laura’s bare feet on the leg of her chair.
She lunges across the table, reaches behind my head and grabs me by my hair. She kisses me. Her kiss starts rough, finishing soft. We separate. She takes my hand. Halfway down the hallway, she unfastens her bikini top and lets it drop to the ground.
Chapter seventeen
Laura meets me at the front door of her house. I’m just back from Hilton Head. We haven’t seen one another in ten days, our longest time apart since we got back together.
“Heeey, you.” Laura yawns.
I give her a hug. “Don’t act so excited to see me.”
“I was napping.” She backs away, leading me into her house. “How was Hilton Head?”
“Before or after I wrecked the van?”
“You got in another accident?”
“I don’t know if I’d call it a full-fledged accident. The other car was stationary and unoccupied.”
“What happened?”
“I cut a corner too tight backing out of a parking space, peeled the side off a Ford Taurus station wagon.”
“What about the van?”
“Just a scratch.”
“And by ‘scratch’ you mean?”
“A gaping wound about three inches wide running the full length of the van.”
“Your dad had to be pissed off at you.”
“Pissed off for sure, but not at me.”
“How’d you talk your way out of that one?”
“I lied, said I was a victim of a hit and run in the Winn Dixie parking lot.”
“Hank, you didn’t.”
“It was only a half lie. There was a hit and run in the Winn Dixie parking lot. I just left out the part about me doing the hitting and the running.”
“Someday someone’s going to see through your bullshit.”
“Probably, but enough about me. You ready to go?”
Some of Laura’s friends, seniors mostly, are throwing a party tonight. She disappears into the bathroom. “Just give me a few minutes to freshen up.”
Laura takes a lot longer than a few minutes. She emerges from the bathroom, still a little bleary-eyed. Her hair is a couple days removed from its last shampoo. She has on a baggy sweatshirt and wrinkled shorts. She looks ragged.
“You okay, honey?” I ask.
Her smile is more rehearsed than genuine. “Never been better.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too, Hank.”
As forced and ordinary as these words sound, they ease my anxiety. Or at least I pretend they do. We walk outside. “You want me to drive?”
“That’s okay.” Laura walks over to her car and unlocks the driver’s side door. “I’m not in the mood to drink.”
The party is at Gary Locke’s house. Gary is a good guy, a little nerdy maybe. Cross country runner. Thick, dark-rimmed glasses. Drives a Volkswagen Rabbit. Gary was Laura’s date to the senior prom, the safety valve in that transitional phase between dumping Lee Barnes and getting back with me. They’re like brother and sister.
Two beers into the party, I notice Laura isn’t talking to me. If I were the paranoid type—and I am—I’d say she’s going out of her way not to engage me. She’s floating around the room, hanging a bit too much on Gary’s arm, and laughing too hard at his unfunny jokes. I see her talking to people I’ve never seen in my life, fake laughing at their stories, too. Or she’s sipping on a bottle of soda water while standing alone.
“Sheila!” I catch her out of the corner of my eye, cigarette in hand and about to make a break for the back porch.
“Hank.” She gives me a hug, a plastic cup of keg beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other. “How was Hilton Head?”
Sheila Fleming lives three blocks down the street from my house. We shared the same bus as underclassmen. Sheila is cute in an unconventional way, thin-figured with a freckled pale complexion, straight orange-red hair, and coffee brown eyes. She was Hatch’s girlfriend for like two minutes, so I keep my flirting to a minimum. Sheila is in Laura’s circle of friends—maybe not her absolute best friend but close enough.
“Hilton Head was okay,” I say.
“How’s Hatch doing?” Sheila asks.
I wave off her more courteous than sincere question. “Never mind that, what’s up with Laura?”
“Laura?”
“Yeah, Laura.”
Sheila takes a drag off her cigarette, exhales. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She’s avoiding eye contact with me. When she reaches to open the patio door, I hold the door shut. “Don’t play dumb with me.”
“Hank, please let go of the door. This isn’t something you and I should be talking about.”
“What shouldn’t we be talking about?”
“Hank!” Laura is right behind me. “Leave Sheila alone.”
I release the door, execute a half turn. Sheila flees. “Nice of you to acknowledge my existence tonight.”
“Please, Hank.” Laura leans in close to me. “We’ll go back to my house. I’ll explain everything there.”
“Explain? Okay, now you’re just scaring me.”
Laura grabs my hand. “Don’t be scared. We’re fine. For whatever stupid reason, I just thought I could put off telling you.”
“Put off telling me what?”
“I can’t tell you now. At least not here.”
The
