Page 94 of Wreckage and Rain

I keep my hands in my pockets. If I take my hands out of my pockets I don't know what they'll do. Three weeks of sitting across a coffee table from her has taught me how much restraint costs and I'm running low on the supply.

We don't speak for two blocks.

There's a kind of silence that's hostile and there's a kind of silence that means two people are working up to something. We're in the second category. The air is loaded with it. My ears are humming with whatever blood is pulling itself toward my chest.

She speaks first.

"You were standing in the back."

"Yes."

"You stood the whole time."

"I couldn't sit."

She's quiet a beat.

"I saw you about twenty seconds in. I almost lost the count. I had to keep going."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I needed to know you were there."

The line hits somewhere behind my sternum and I keep walking because if I stop I'm going to take her face in my hands in the middle of the street and I don't get to do that yet.

"Summer."

"What?"

"Whatever you're about to say to me. You don't have to."

She stops walking. We are lit up under a streetlight and she turns to look up at me. The makeup's gone but her eyes are still sparkling.

"You don't get to tell me what I have to and don't have to say to you."

I smile at her. "Okay, Summer. Okay."

She turns onto her street. I've left things on her doorstep, but I haven't been inside. She stops at the door and turns to me. The seam I've been holding together for four weeks is right here.

"Come up."

I look at her.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Summer."

"Don't make me ask twice."

"I'm not. I just need to know you know what you're asking."

"I know what I'm asking."

"Summer..."

"Colt. I've been thinking about this for an hour. I've been thinking about this for four weeks. I've been thinking about this since I drove out of Charleston. I'm not confused. Come up."