Malcolm smeared a layer of wax over the fender. “You okay?”
From his position flat on his back in the bed of the truck, Paul stared up at the light shining down on them from Malcolm’s garage. It was too bright, but he forced his burning eyes to stay open, everything whiting out. A shadow came to rest over his head. Paul squinted up at his friend, who always knew too much, who told him the truths he didn’t want to hear, who pointed north on the compass of normal. Malcolm leaned his elbows on the edge of the truck, the rag still in his hand, waiting.
“It’s hard to be okay when she isn’t.”
Malcolm nodded. “Fay says she’s alright,” he said, leaning closer to look at Paul’s face. “You look like crap, by the way. Have you been sleeping?”
Paul ignored the insult. “I’m glad she’s talking to Fay. If she won’t talk to me, at least she has someone.”
“It’s a lot to process, what she went through. It’ll take some time.”
It would take a whole lot more than time. Time was only a small drop of what Celia needed. Wednesday morning at school, the day after her birthday, Paul had expected things with Celia to be different. He felt closer to her, drawn deeper into her life. He reached for her at her locker, but after only a short embrace, she pushed against his chest and said she had to get to class. He tried calling Fay’s house later, and was shocked to learn that Celia, Abe, and Mrs. Young had all gone home—and that Mr. Young was there too.
Celia avoided him on Thursday. He went to cross country practice, but the coach said she quit the team. After school she was at the restaurant, and she brought him tea, on the house. But then she hid in the kitchen. He didn’t expect Heidi would like it if he barged back there. Abe waved to Paul from a table in the corner, fries piled high on a plate in front of him, and Paul moved to his table and sat down across from him. Abe told him about the B he got on a history test and talked a lot about Jeremy and his new girlfriend, but he didn’t mention anything else. Paul saw Celia look at them as she delivered food to a table in the corner, and he warmed as a smile touched her lips. He called her house that evening, and her mom took a message but Celia didn’t call back.
Apprehension had ruled him all day yesterday, keeping him from focusing at school or doing anything but thinking about what he could do to get Celia to go back to how she was a week ago. Then at around two in the morning, she’d finally sought him out. She tapped lightly on his window, and he woke up immediately.
She refused to come in, so he went out. She stood looking at him with sad eyes. “I’m sorry,” she had said, and pulled him tightly to her body, burying her face in his neck. After a couple minutes like that, she pulled his face down to hers and kissed him deeply, then turned away and disappeared in the night. Instead of feeling better, the encounter made him feel worse. He wondered if she’d ever learn to lean on someone else, and he still didn’t know what she was sorry for.
He hoped things would change tonight, at the small gathering Fay had organized for Celia’s friends to celebrate her birthday. He couldn’t imagine she was in the mood for it. She probably just wanted to forget all about her birthday this year. Fay said she wanted to give Celia a good memory to pull up when she thought about turning sixteen.
Malcolm went back to waxing. The truck swayed slightly as he polished off the dry wax, bringing the old truck to a high shine.
Paul hadn’t yet figured out how to help Celia. He thought about his mom, and how he felt when people interpreted the small snippets of her life they saw, like three awkward minutes in a grocery checkout line, or one tearful encounter on the phone, and the assumptions they made about her, and him by default. They didn’t know. Maybe Celia didn’t want him making any assumptions about her family, either.
She had her reasons for shutting him out, for holding him at a distance. He knew enough to see she was motivated by love for her family as well as self-preservation. But she loved him. She’d said so, and she wasn’t a person who said things like that without meaning them. Malcolm was probably right. She was processing what happened, and he’d just wait her out. He was no stranger to waiting.
Malcolm slapped the side of the truck. “I’m finished. Ready to move?”
Paul sat up in the truck bed. “Yep, and it’s such a pretty evening, I’m going to ride back here.”
Malcolm climbed in and started up the engine. The cold from earlier in the week had disappeared, and it was now unseasonably warm for October. He scooted toward the tailgate, where the wind would be loudest and had the best chance of blowing all the thoughts out of his head.