5:15 PM Saturday, Scott’s Donutes

Josh and I stop by Scott’s. He wants to see if they know anything. Like, if you bought a bunch of doughnuts or you were with someone, it might mean you went to Seattle or Portland.

While he’s tying Sam up by the tables outside, I look at the worn wooden sign that says Scott’s Donutes. You always want them to fix the spelling of Donutes, at least cut the e. It never bugged me until you mentioned it, but now it does. Before, it was just this typical thing about living in a mill town with lots of people who don’t care about spelling.

Inside, there’s a really long line. When we get to the front, we ask the staff if they’ve seen you, but they say no, and the weekend manager says we should come in and ask the weekday manager on Monday.

Um, yeah, thanks. That’s a little late. You’d better show up by Monday.

We order two cherry-filled doughnuts and two coffees, and we sit outside next to Sam, who licks my hand. I try not to think about where that tongue has been. I look through the window to our table. Today, it’s empty.

“You know we came here for our first date?”

“Yeah?”

I tell him about how you saw me floating in the river and you poked me with a stick. Josh laughs and says you never told him about that. Which is sweet. I appreciate that.

I tell him how we emerged from the woods that day, me pushing my bike, you loping along beside me with that casual walk of yours that tricks everyone about how intense you really are. “You want a ride?” you said. “I can put your bike in the back.” The only vehicle in the parking lot was a large, old blue truck.

I burst out laughing. “That’s yours?”

“Yeah, why?”

“It doesn’t suit you.”

“It was cheap—a thousand bucks. Bought it from this guy who was having a kid. Guys around here like trucks, and I figured, when in Rome…”

It was odd that this was like Rome to you. “Do you like trucks?”

“Sure.” You shrugged. “But there’s only so much love I can have for a vehicle, you know? This seemed good enough.”

I smiled at you, intrigued. Guys around here go crazy for their trucks, like they’re an extension of their dicks. This was one of the first signs you were different, in a good way.

“His truck was so clean,” I tell Josh, shaking my head. “It was crazy.”

“He’s a neat freak.”

“Yep.” It chokes me up a little. I bend down and rub Sam behind the ears.

The whole way to the doughnut shop, you blasted the heat. I was shivering. Guess it’s kind of dumb to jump in the river in October.

When we got to the doughnut shop, I let you help me out of the truck, holding your hand to jump down, even though I’d been getting out of my dad’s rig since I was a kid. We stood in the long line. At the cashier, you rested your hand on my back and asked what I wanted. “I’m paying,” you said. Maybe you thought I’d be all empowered-woman and say “I’m paying,” but nope, I like getting treated. I ordered a jelly-filled and an éclair and you smiled at me, that killer dimple diving into your cheek. “One jelly-filled and an éclair for the lady.” It was funny that you called me a lady. Nobody ever called me a lady before.

An older cashier woman behind the counter stared at us, disapprovingly, which struck me as weird. It wasn’t like we were making out. We took our coffees and sat down at a table with a crack running through it, like a river, separating us.

I drew my finger along the sharp linoleum. “So, why’d you move to this shithole town anyway?”

“My mom’s best friend lives in Kelso. Winona wanted her to come out. Said we’d all benefit from the nature. Mom found a job here and we moved clear across the country.”

I laughed and waved my hand at the dilapidated doughnut shop. “This is pretty damn far away from Brooklyn. In every way. I bet they have gourmet doughnuts in Brooklyn.”

You started laughing. “You know it.”

“What about your dad?”

A ghost passed over your face. Every now and then I saw it, a shadow, and then that smile would be back. The dark peach fuzz on your upper lip quivered. “He stayed.” You sniffed. Maybe that sniff was to show me you didn’t care, but it seemed sad.

“That sucks.”

“My sister, Raffa? She was pretty broken up about it. She wanted Dad to come, but Mom said he had to finish off some stuff, and he’d move here when he was ready. I guess he’s been going through some…medical stuff. But he’s visited twice, and every time he calls, my sister asks if he’s moving here. He just says not yet.” You looked away briefly, then turned your lips up at me. Knowing you like I know you now, I figure you didn’t want to get too heavy.

“You think he found someone else?” I asked.

“No way.” You shook your head, vehemently. “Nope. He loves my mom. And he’s still, like, really involved—he sends letters and money and he calls every Sunday.”

I let out a long, slow sigh and thought about how nobody’s got a perfect family. They’re complicated—they can make your life hell, but you love them anyway.

You went on, “I just want to see his new apartment. Isn’t that strange?”

I put my elbow on the table, cupped my chin in my cold hand, and stared into your beautiful brown eyes, waiting. You didn’t put on an act, no superficial bullshit like most guys I knew. It intrigued me.

“I wish I’d just seen it once,” you said. “But we moved and then he moved. Now I can’t picture him anywhere, except with us in our old apartment, and that bugs me, you know?”

“Just ask him to take a picture of his apartment.”

You shook your head and smiled a little. “That would be weird.”

I took my éclair out of the bag and stabbed it into the air like a sword. “Okay, fine, right here, right now, we’re going to make up a place for him.”

You laughed. “What?”

I sucked out the creamy insides of the éclair and licked my lips. “We need to imagine his place and give him furniture and decorations and everything, so that you can picture him somewhere.”

“I like how you suck out the insides first.”

I raised my eyes at you. Were you being a perv? I didn’t think so. That wasn’t your style. “Don’t change the subject. What town is he in?”

Your dimple twitched, maybe you thought I was funny, but you were definitely humoring me. “Brooklyn.”

“How big is his place?”

“Probably a one bedroom.”

“You don’t know?”

“I never asked him. We used to have a three bedroom, half a brownstone, in a good area. He’s a music promoter but it was too expensive for him to stay there and support us here. I figure he just got a one bedroom.”

“Okay…what color are his walls?”

You paused to think, pressing your lips out. “He’d leave them white.”

“White?”

“Why paint if you’re renting?”

I shrugged. “I’d paint. Bright colors everywhere.”

“I bet you would.” You laughed. Every time I made you laugh I felt like I’d just hit a home run.

“How about a sofa?” I said. “What color?”

“I don’t know.”

“Let’s give him a mustard sofa with brown flowers.”

“He’d hate that,” you said, grinning.

“It’s temporary. He’s coming here, so he found this sofa on the street and he’s just going to make do with an ugly sofa.”

“People do put perfectly good sofas on the street in Brooklyn.”

“See?” A shiver ran up through my body.

“You cold?”

“Nah, it’s just my hands, mostly.”

“That’s what you get for swimming in the river in October. Here.” You grabbed my free hand. It was a pretty smooth move. Your palms were dry and hot. “Your hands are so small.” You fit my hand in your two hands, cupped, enclosing it entirely, heating it in your hand box. “You have the kind of hands that could fit into those little white gloves that women used to wear.”

“Mmm.” I finished my éclair, licked some chocolate off my finger, and reached forward with the other hand. “This one too, please. She feels lonely.”

“Your hand told you that?”

“Yes,” I said. “We have ESP.”

“ESP?”

“Extrasensory perception. Like mind-reading.”

You held that one too and gazed into my eyes, and said, “I’d like to have ESP with you.” Oh man, I thought, I am in serious trouble.

That’s when Tamara and her friends sashayed up to us. I don’t know if you dropped my hand first or if I pulled it away, but all of a sudden we were sitting all chaste, opposite each other.

“Hey, what’s up, Chris?” Tamara said.

That girl could not keep her eyes off me. She couldn’t believe it. I guess you’d asked her out just a week or two before.

“You all know Jessie?” you said.

Right away, you made me more important than all of them. But were you doing that to rub it in her face? I wish you were the one who’d told me you’d asked her out.

They chorused, “Hey,” or “Hi.” In varying degrees of disinterest.

“We just worked out at the gym,” she said, shaking her hips, wearing her tight little workout shorts.

You nodded politely. Averted your eyes. I glared at her.

“You coming tonight to Fisco’s?” she asked. “It’s poker night.”

“I don’t know,” you said.

“She can come,” Tamara said. I stiffened. She. I’m right friggin here.

“Thanks,” you said, raising your eyebrows at me. “I think we’re busy.” Like we’d been going out for weeks.

Now, I gaze at the empty table where we sat that day, and tell Josh, “He said we were busy. We. Pronouns matter, you know?”

He swallows, like this is a sad story. “Sure they do.”

“So then Tamara turned around, her butt in my face, and walked away. Most guys would have checked out her ass, but Chris didn’t.”

“I don’t think he’s noticed anyone since you guys started going out.”

He’s right, I know he is. Your eyes light up every time I walk into a room. “Nobody has ever been that happy to see me, except maybe my dad.” Josh is just staring at me. I feel bad that I’m blabbing on about you. “Anyway.” Sam licks my hands and I scratch his ears. I think dogs can sense if someone’s sad. I let out a laugh. “Your dog is pretty great.”

A smile flickers on his lips. “Should we go?”

I nod and we stand. “Where do you want to go now?” I don’t want to go home and do nothing, but I’m running out of ideas.

“I’m going to check the other side of the river.” He shrugs. “Who knows.”

“He never runs there.”

“Yeah, but I’m thinking Sam might smell something.”

“Sam does like to smell stuff.”

Josh groans. “Don’t remind me.”

“Maybe I’ll go to Chris’s house. See if I can find out anything. Unless you want me to come?”

“Nah, it’s okay.” Kind of sounds like he wants to be alone.

He rides with me part of the way, holding Sam’s leash. That dog can run. By the highway, I wave and yell, “Let me know if you see anything.”

“I will.” Then he heads toward the river.

For some reason, as I watch him leave, I’m worried. I have a weird feeling that he’s going to disappear too.