Emerson
After the run-in with Reid and fleeing Rob’s place, I head back to the store to lock up. Toby is sitting behind the counter, engrossed in a well-thumbed copy of Snow & Skate.
“Where’s Jake?” I say, noting that the store looks like it’s had a spring clean in my absence.
Toby looks up and shrugs. “He quit.”
“Quit?” I say, my blood running slow and cold at the news.
Toby shrugs and makes a face—a what did you expect? kind of face.
I turn away. Damn. I quickly correct myself. Not damn. This is a good thing. This is what I wanted in the first place. So why, then, don’t I feel happy about it? I kick the shelf in front of me and a dozen water bottles topple off. I wish I could just quit so easily. I wish I had that option.
Toby picks up the fallen water bottles.
“I’m sorry,” I say, bending down and helping him. “I know you can’t keep working overtime.”
Toby doesn’t reply and we start rearranging the bottles in silence. He has an internship with a top architecture firm in Seattle and college work to be doing. He can’t keep pulling extra hours to help me out. “I’ll find someone else,” I tell him. “I promise.”
Toby puts a hand on my shoulder. “You know, you could do a lot worse than Jake.”
“Huh?” I turn to him. “What are you talking about?”
“For the job,” he says. “He’s a really good salesman. And since the tweenage population of Bainbridge discovered that he works here, we’ve had a constant stream of customers through the door.”
“Twelve-year-olds. The last of the big spenders.” I laugh, though something inside me twists painfully tight at the thought of a stream of girls passing through the store checking Jake out.
“They dig the Chupa Chups,” Toby says, nodding his head in the direction of the counter. I glance over and see that the Chupa Chup stand is bald. “But where twelve-year-olds go,” Toby continues, “their moms follow. We’ve sold four pairs of inline skates today, three skateboards, and we’re all out of the LOWE KAYAKING CO. T-shirts in extra-small.”
“What?” I say, astonished. We barely sell any of those things.
Toby nods. “A fact that may or may not have anything to do with it being modeled by the hot guy you just made quit. We should get new ones printed up ASAP with Jake’s face on them. Or maybe just his naked torso. Have you seen it?” His expression goes all dreamy.
I frown. Yes, I’ve seen it. In the Vogue pictures, not in the flesh. I open my mouth and then shut it again, noticing the balled-up T-shirt on the counter. Toby follows my gaze. “Is that—” I start to ask.
“Yep,” he says, snatching for it. “He took it off when he announced he was quitting, much to the enjoyment of the fan girls in the store. I’m saving it. Figured I could auction it off.”
I stare at him in bewilderment.
“Kidding,” he says, and throws it at me. “You can keep it.”
“I don’t want it,” I protest.
“Well, if you want my advice,” says Toby, “take that T-shirt, go find Jakey-Jake, and plead with him to put it back on. We need him.”
* * *
I do not need Jake, so I don’t go to find him. Besides, I have no idea where he’s staying.
On the way home I decide to stop by one of my favorite places. It’s a traditional Tibetan prayer wheel sitting inside a beautiful landscaped garden overlooking Eagle Harbor.
Right alongside the park is a labyrinth made out of stones inlaid into the ground, and when I pull up on my bike, out of breath from the uphill ride, I see a familiar figure standing at the start to the maze.
What is he doing here? How does he even know about this place? For God’s sake. For seven years, I don’t see hide nor hair of him, and now he’s around every damn corner. Wherever I turn, there he is.
Jake hasn’t noticed me yet. He’s too busy studying the stones. I watch Jake start to walk the circuit, making his way toward the center, which is marked by a stone sun. I could turn around and ride off, but I’m struck by the look of concentration on his face, the furrow between his eyes, and I find myself rooted to the spot. I’m intrigued by this new Jake, by how different he is, how grown-up. I wonder if he thinks the same about me? That I’m the same but different too? How could he? I’m nothing like the way I used to be.
Halfway around, he looks up and notices me staring at him. He falters and for a moment we both stand there watching each other, neither of us speaking. Finally, he says, “I’m lost.”
“You took a wrong turn,” I say, pointing him back.
He nods and turns around, following a new path toward the center. “Remember that time we got lost in Islandwood?” he says without looking up.
“Yeah,” I say, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my jeans. We were on a four-day overnight program with school. Jake and I wandered off when we were supposed to be collecting pond critters. We had heard there was a really old cemetery somewhere in the grounds, and we wanted to see if we could find it. But we got lost and wandered into a bog. They had to send out a search party for us.
“You were so worried,” Jake says now with a smile, glancing my way.
“I was not,” I argue.
He cocks an eyebrow, still smiling.
I frown, hating the way my pulse quickens in response to his smile. “So were you.”
His half smile becomes a full-on grin, revealing his dimple. “I wasn’t worried,” he says, turning his back on me as he walks around the labyrinth. “I wasn’t lost.”
Huh? What does he mean by that?
“So when did they build this?” he asks, pointing at the labyrinth.
“Last year,” I tell him. “It’s meant to represent the different circuits of the planets. The sun is in the middle.”
Jake studies it and nods. Taking a deep breath, I try to calm myself. Being around Jake is sending me into a tailspin. I don’t know whether to be mad at him still or to let it all go, to walk toward him or walk away from him. There are so many conflicting voices in my head, so many conflicting feelings battling it out.
I watch him in silence as he winds his way into the center, where he stops and looks over at me. “Where do I go now?”
“Now you come back,” I say. As soon as I say the words, I look away. Looking at him is like looking at the actual sun. I can’t keep my eyes on him for longer than a second. When I do dare a quick glance, I notice that he’s still staring at me as though trying to figure something out. My breathing speeds up in response and my skin starts to warm under his gaze.
“I wanted to, you know,” he says quietly.
“Wanted to what?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
“Come back.”
He holds my gaze, and this time it’s too difficult to look away. I don’t know what to say, though. Is it worth even having this conversation? It feels far too late. And it’s not a conversation I even want to have. If he didn’t want the truth back then, why would he be prepared to listen now?
Finally, I manage to wrestle my gaze away. I turn my back and walk toward the prayer wheel. A few seconds later, I hear Jake’s footsteps following. He stops an inch behind me. A shiver runs up my spine, making me frown and cross my arms over my chest.
“What’s that?” Jake asks.
“It’s a Buddhist prayer wheel.”
“When did Bainbridge get so hippy?” His voice is filled with amusement, and it takes me straight back to when we were kids. Jake was always laughing. We were always laughing.
“What’s it for?” he asks.
“You turn it nine times while saying a prayer, and then, when the bell sounds inside, the prayer is released to the universe.”
“You come here often?” Jake asks, one hand resting on the bell.
I give him a sideways look and see he’s grinning at me.
My stomach flips over on itself.
“Sometimes,” I say, walking off. It’s hard to be near him, to be close to him. Harder than it should be.
Behind me, I hear Jake start to turn the wheel.
What would he think if I told him that I come here all the time? That I ring that bell almost every day? I’ve been ringing it for years. I’ve prayed for my dad to get better. I’ve prayed for the business to stay afloat. I’ve prayed for other things too. Lots of things. The universe never listened. My prayers were never answered.
Until now.
Jake came back.