Chapter 29

 

 

Their dinner was a trip down memory lane, each story eliciting laughter. Throughout the meal he watched her, gauging her reaction, trying to find the right time to tell her how he really felt. One opportunity came but his courage failed him.

“Do you remember when we met?” Reed asked, mentally cursing his weakness.

She smiled and wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Miss Perkins’s classroom, third grade. We were paired with each other and began to draw. The desk became a casualty and she had to separate us.”

He grinned, recalling that the artwork had sprawled across both desks. “I thought it was magnificent, but to this day I cannot recall what we were trying to draw.”

“Principal Harrison,” she said. “But we couldn’t capture his belly. Miss Perkins did not find it as amusing as we did.”

“How many classes did we have together?” he wondered aloud.

“A lot,” she replied. “Third, fifth, and sixth grades in elementary school, and at least four in middle school.”

“Don’t forget gym.”

She shuddered. “I hated that class.”

“Everyone hates that class.”

She conceded the point with a rueful nod. “We had English, American History, and Calculus in high school.”

“I hated calculus.”

“Everyone hates calculus,” she said fervently, and they both laughed.

“Whatever happened to our teacher?” Reed asked. “I heard he got fired.”

“They found pornography on his computer at school,” she said. “My friend’s sister was in his class and said one day he just disappeared, but news travels fast.”

Reed shook his head in disgust. “I hated the subject, but he made the math fun.”

“Turns out he was just a creepy old man,” she said.

Uncomfortable with the turn in conversation, Reed steered the topic back to their time together. But as they were waiting for the check she abruptly leaned forward and interrupted him.

“Do you mind if we talk about my boyfriend?”

His heart sank but he gamely nodded. “Of course.”

She looked out the window. It had grown dark during their conversation and the street was filled with cars passing the restaurant, their headlights flashing and then dimming. Saturday night had brought people out in droves, and students converged on the bars nearby.

“He was nice at first,” she said. “But he really likes to drink.”

“Has he hit you?” he asked, alarmed.

“No,” she said hastily. “But I get the feeling he has to restrain the impulse.”

You should be with me!

He kept the words in check, but they reverberated inside his skull as they talked about Tim, how he’d grown increasingly physical in the last few months. She still really liked him, especially when he was sober.

“He’s graduating this year,” she said. “And he wants me to go with him to New York. He wants to go to NYU to become an attorney like his dad.”

“Are you going with him?” Reed asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I think I love him.”

“But he drinks too much.”

“He’s in college,” she said. “Everyone drinks too much.” She pulled out her phone and typed a text. Then she looked up at him. “I’m sorry. I forgot about your dad.”

Reed played with his fork, trying not to think of his dad’s drinking problem. “He’s in AA now so he’s getting better. He even met someone.”

She reached out and covered his hand with hers. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

“It’s okay,” he replied, and managed a smile. “I’m probably going to switch roommates in the fall because Willis is doing the same thing. He stumbles in most nights and falls on the floor.”

“Sounds like Tim,” she replied.

They shared a sad smile and then the check came. Reed snatched it and paid, and then they left. On the way out he spotted a sign for the capitol building observatory, which was open late for today and tomorrow. He considered inviting her to go but decided it would be better to play it safe.

“Let’s go to a movie,” he said.

“Okay,” she said.

They drove to the movie theater but most of the drive she was engrossed with her phone, texting furiously. Her expression grew more worried and when he parked in front of the theater she turned to him.

“Actually, can we go another time?” she asked. “Tim wants to come pick me up. He doesn’t like that we are out together.”

“He’s here?”

“He drove us up from Gainesville,” she said uneasily. “He has some friends at Florida State and they wanted to get together.”

“Can he not pick you up after the movie?”

She bit her lip. “I’m sorry. He’s already on his way.”

The entire night shrank into a few minutes, and Reed realized he didn’t have time to say what he needed to say. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. A new text came and she looked at her phone.

“He’s pulling in,” she said. “It’s been fun to catch up. Can we get together again?”

She reached for the handle but he caught her arm. “Aura,” he said, forcing himself to speak. “Can you wait a minute?”

“What?” she asked, the earnestness in his voice finally causing her to meet his gaze.

“I just . . . wanted to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“About what I feel for you,” he said.

Her eyebrows pulled together and she swiveled in her seat. “Reed, what are you talking about?”

He looked away and then back to her. Then down at his lap. Then back to her. Why were his hands suddenly sweaty? He realized he was fidgeting and she was staring and a car was swerving into the lot. Then suddenly the words tumbled from his lips.

“Aura,” he began. “I’ve actually felt this way for a few years, ever since you were in the choir and I watched you sing. Something changed and I looked at you differently, saw you for how beautiful you truly were. I was afraid to speak before but can’t wait any longer. I think I’m in—”

Aura leaned into a kiss, the contact robbing him of speech. It was less than a second but it seemed to linger for decades, his heart soaring. Then she pulled away and he saw the apology on her expression.

“You’re my best friend,” she said. “And I’ll always love you in that way.”

His hope shattered, his heart bleeding into his feet. “Aura,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

She hesitated and it seemed she wanted to say more. Then her phone buzzed and she got out. Numb, he did as well, and came around the car as a black Camaro came to a halt. Tim leaned over and shouted through the open window.

“Let’s go, Aura,” he called, his speech slurred. “We’re going to the gulf coast for a bonfire.”

“One second,” she said.

“Aura,” Reed said. “He’s clearly been drinking. Let me at least take you home.”

“He’ll be fine,” she said, but her tone was filled with doubt.

Tim honked and called her name, which came out distorted. “Aura!”

“Please,” Reed said. “Please stay with me.”

She remained in place, glancing between Reed’s outstretched hand and Tim’s car. For a split second he dared to hope, and imagined her turning away from Tim and taking his hand. Her fingers even twitched. Then Tim honked again and she cringed.

“I’d better go with him,” she said. “I’ll keep him from getting hurt.”

She took a step towards the car and Reed caught up, making a last, desperate effort. “Are you telling me you feel nothing for me?”

She stared at him, her blue eyes bright with worry and regret. She stepped to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, clinging to him as if he were an anchor that would hold her safe.

“I know you’re good for me,” she said in his ear, “but I want more out of life.”

Stung, he retreated. She grimaced and tried to apologize but he retreated another step. She apologized again and then strode to Tim’s car. Before the door had even shut he gunned it, nearly clipping a truck as he sped around the corner. Reed watched the car disappear around the corner, the bitterness like bile on his tongue.

It was the last time he saw her alive.