He turned away. The sun had lowered on the horizon, pouring amber light over his skin, turning it the color of honey. In a wild, dizzying flash, I wondered if he tasted like that, too.
Softly, he said, “I’m beginning to think that nothing is straightforward.”
9
It’s rare when you see your life is changing. Usually it simply changes and you’re left blinking at the aftermath, wondering how you got there. I knew, though, that Conn’s arrival had already changed me. For years I had ignored my own mystery. Now ignoring it was a luxury I couldn’t afford, because even though I knew I had never seen Conn before the first day of class, he did remind me of something, like my drawings reminded me of something. With every day, I seemed to get closer to it. Strange things were happening.
One night, after I’d kicked the espresso junkies out of the café and cleaned up the wet swizzle sticks and torn sugar packets, my eyes snapped up and stared out the glass door even before my heart had a chance to constrict with fear. I couldn’t see anything. The café was bright, and it was black outside. But I was certain that a face had been peering in at me.
I turned off the café lights and looked out into the parking lot. No one was there.
I was losing my mind. First I thought I saw my fingers disappear, and now this? I shook my head. There was no reason to do anything different from what I always did, which was walk home along a well-lit road. Lakebrook was safe.
I locked up. The empty parking lot was shadowy, and a fallen leaf scratched across the concrete. I curled the keys between my fingers so that they stuck out past my knuckles like short knives.
A young man curved around the corner of the café. He had a bulky body. Dark hair. A forgettable face—forgettable, except for the leer that split his mouth. “Hi,” he said. “Can you help me?”
“Don’t think so.” My fear was instant, jagged. I turned back toward the door.
He squeezed between it and me. “Yes, you can,” he said, and grabbed me.
I punched him in the stomach with my fist full of keys. He doubled up, groaning. I shoved myself back, ready to sprint away, but his hand lashed out and seized my wrist. “You’re still here!” He laughed breathlessly. “Playful little thing.”
Anger threaded through my panic, and I swung my free arm back to strike. That only made him smile more brightly.
“Hey!” someone shouted. It was Conn, striding across the parking lot.
My fear melted. I teetered on my feet, and it took me a second to realize it was because my attacker had let me go. “Why not now?” he said to Conn.
“Back off,” Conn told him. He stood next to me, shoulder to shoulder. “Back away.”
“Why should I?” the guy snapped. “You’re so slow.”
“You heard what I said. Get out of here.”
He shot a surly look between the two of us. “Yes, sir,” he snarled at Conn, and stalked off into the darkness.
I let out a shuddering breath. “What a psycho.”
“Yeah.” Conn frowned into the distance, even though the other man had already disappeared.
“What was he talking about, ‘Why not now?’ Did you understand that?”
“No.” Conn seemed rattled, even more than me. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Why did he call you slow?”
“I don’t know. I guess … I guess he meant that, if it came to a fight between him and me, he didn’t think much of me.”
I looked at Conn. “That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”
He gave me the ghost of a smile. “Well, then: a psycho. As you said.”
“When I hit him, he laughed. He said, ‘You’re still here.’ Like I’d be anywhere else. And, actually … what are you doing here?”
He ran a hand through his short hair. “I came for some coffee.” He looked at the dark café. “Too late, it seems.”
I shook my head. “In the nick of time is more like it.”
“To tell the truth … I came to see you.”
“Oh,” I murmured. “Thanks. For helping me.”
“Don’t.” The word was curt. Then, in an even voice, he said, “There’s no reason to thank me. I didn’t do anything. Anyway, it looked like you were holding your own.”
Now that the adrenaline was draining away, I realized that I had pulled that punch to the gut. I could have hit a lot harder. I don’t know what worried me more—the fact that I could have done more damage, or that I hadn’t.
“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Conn said. “You’re okay?”
“Yeah. Just wobbly on the inside.”
At that, his edginess faded. “Of course you are. Let me give you a ride home.”
We walked to the far corner of the parking lot, to his motorcycle. He got on first, started the engine, and backed it up with his feet, balancing the loud machine. He nodded, and I climbed on, reaching for the bars behind the seat, a little lower than my hips.
“You trust me, don’t you,” Conn said, and I couldn’t tell whether that was a statement or a question.
“Sure,” I said, startled. “You just did this impressive knight in shining armor thing. And we—we’re … friends, right?”
“Yes.” His voice was husky. He reached back for my hand and drew it around his waist. “Ready?”
I felt the hard, warm plane of his abdomen against my arm. “Um.”
He drove.
I didn’t sink against him. I didn’t press my cheek against his leathered back. I held my breath and wished the ride would last.
When he pulled up in front of Marsha’s, I said, “I suppose you came by the café to talk about the project.”
“Yes, but…” He unzipped his jacket, rummaged inside an inner pocket, and pulled out a scrap of paper and a pencil. He gave me his phone number. “It doesn’t have to be about the project. If you need a ride someplace, or want to talk…” He smiled. “Call me.”
10
“Do you think about your parents?” Conn asked me late one night on the phone. There was a hesitant note in his voice.
It was thundering outside, and I could hear Marsha snoring through the walls. I lay on my waterbed, thinking about how to answer him.