I nodded and rested against his side, grateful for the comfort. His T-shirt was worn and soft. He smelled like tea tree shampoo and himself, that hint of oak leaves and sweet tea that made me want to inhale deeply every time I was around him. We’d never touched like this before. I was super aware of every one of his breaths, of the taut muscles of his torso against my cheek. I felt both reassured and a little flustered to be so close to him. I liked it quite a bit actually. I leaned in a little closer.
“This is going to sting a little,” he murmured. “Just for a minute.”
I gave a strangled shriek as he poured hydrogen peroxide solution over the wound. It fizzed and bubbled. He leaned down and blew on it. “My mom always did this,” he explained, smiling sheepishly. “I don’t know if it helps, but it always made me feel better.”
And strangely I did feel better. He grinned at me and I managed a small smile back.
“Just a couple more steps,” Rory said soothingly. He blotted the wound with a clean square of gauze, then bound it snugly with more gauze and taped it. I could feel his hands shaking a little as he worked, and he was breathing fast. I realized he was nervous and trying not toshow it. He was trying to be strong and take care of me. I gritted my teeth and squeezed my eyes closed, concentrating on not crying. I wanted to seem strong and brave too.
“Okay, we’re done.”
I opened my eyes. Rory was sweeping all the detritus into the trash can, even the blood-soaked kitchen towel. The flower pattern was probably beyond saving. He packed up the first aid kit too. When he was done it looked like nothing had happened.
“Thank you.” I looked at my bandaged thumb. It was the size and shape of a chicken drumstick. “Do you want to stay and watch the ball drop?” It was only a few minutes until midnight.
“Sure. I should probably make sure the bleeding has stopped before I go.” Rory guided me into the living room and switched on the TV, turning it to the Times Square New Year’s Eve celebration on NBC. He tucked an afghan around my legs and propped my injured hand above the level of my heart with a stack of pillows. Other than my mom, I’d never had someone care for me like this. It was unexpectedly sweet.
We sat together on the couch, not touching but not far apart. Myrtle lay at our feet, content now that things seemed normal again. She drifted off to sleep and started snoring softly. On TV, Times Square looked frigid and festive, teeming with people celebrating the New Year. I snuck a look at Rory. He was watching the TV.
“I thought you were at Jessica Sharma’s party tonight.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, I was. It was okay, really loud. I just wasn’t feeling it. I left early.”
“I’m glad.” I sniffed, still feeling a little shaky. “Thank you for coming over. I didn’t know what to do.”
He gave me a steady look. “I’ll always be here for you, Lolly,” he assured me, and I believed him. At that moment it was the most comforting thought in the world.
The countdown began in Times Square. “Ten... nine... eight... seven...”
I looked at him again. He’d poured us the sparkling cranberry juice my mom had left for Ashley and me in the fridge since we weren’t old enough to drink champagne. I took a sip and watched his profile. I felt light and effervescent with relief, almost as though I were floating a few inches above the couch. I was profoundly grateful that he was beside me, that he had come to my aid tonight. Sitting next to him, I felt happy and content.
“Four... three... two... one. Happy New Year!” Times Square erupted in celebration. Rory quirked an eyebrow at me and raised his glass in a toast. I leaned over awkwardly and we clinked glasses.
“Happy New Year, Lolly.”
“Happy New Year.” We drank.
On the TV screen flashed a montage of celebrations from around the United States. People in party hats and sparkling sequined evening attire in Atlanta, people gathered around a bonfire toasting with beer in Wyoming. In Maryland a group of senior citizen ladies in swimsuits stood at the edge of the Chesapeake Bay and on the count of three jumped in together.
“I’ve always wanted to do that,” Rory commented, watching the ladies splash and shriek in the water. “I think it’s called a polar plunge.”
I considered for a moment. “We could do one tomorrow.” It was a crazy notion, but I was having such a good time with Rory I didn’t want it to end. The thought of doing something a little adventurous with him was exciting.
His eyes lit up. “Really?”
I didn’t think about my injured hand or how we would convince our parents to let us go. I just promised.
“Sure.” I shrugged. “Meet me here at ten tomorrow morning. I know just the place.”
“Wow. Just wow.”
Late the next morning Rory stood with me on the long, lonely swath of rocky shoreline at South Beach in Magnolia. He looked around him, taking in the panorama—the steely, restless waters of the sound stretching away to the green mound of Bainbridge Island, and beyond the island, the snowcapped Olympic Mountains rising majestically against a cloudy sky. He gave a low whistle. “Lolly, this is amazing.”
I smiled, shivering in the chill air. I couldn’t agree more. It was a cold, clear New Year’s Day, and my mom had dropped us off at Discovery Park, a vast area of evergreen forest and fields and bluffs that ran along Puget Sound just a mile from our house. With its acres of walking trails, lighthouse, and beautiful, remote South Beach, the park had always been one of my favorite places. My parents had been taking me to South Beach for as long as I could remember, and today I wanted to share it with Rory. It would be the perfect spot for our polar plunge.
Bundled in jackets and scarves against the January wind and wearing swimsuits underneath our coats, we stood on the remote northern part of the beach, past the lighthouse and the small parking lot. A cold breeze ruffled Rory’s wavy copper hair and made the freckles stand out on the planes of his cheekbones.
“Ready?” I asked a little nervously. It was so cold and the water would be freezing as well. I was rethinking my rash promise of the night before. I’d told my mom we wanted to take a hike. I was pretty sure she would not have let us come if she’d known what we were planning. I also hadn’t fully considered the cut on my finger the night before. I’d brought a quart Ziploc baggie and a rubber band and was planning to wrap my hand in the baggie to keep it dry. Now, in the cold light of day, it seemed like a dumb idea.
