Page 79

My eyes burned unexpectedly. “You make that sound romantic.”

“It’s really inconvenient.”

I laughed as he smiled, then I grabbed the front of his now wrinkled T-shirt and kissed him again. This one was shorter, softer, something chosen with the full knowledge that he would stop it before I lost my mind and I would probably be annoyed when he did.

Afterward he sat beside me on the sofa instead of returning to the chair, our shoulders touching and his hand resting loosely over mine.

Otis had somehow maneuvered himself across the floor until his head lay on Dean’s foot.

Neither of us spoke for a while. The apartment felt different now, charged by something we’d both avoided naming for months.

I looked around the room at the worn sofa, the cheap curtains moving in the open window, the records stacked against the wall, and the tiny bedroom beyond the doorway.

I could imagine waking up here. That realization came so naturally it scared me. I’d come downstairs in the morning before Side A opened, drinking awful coffee while Dean went over invoices at the kitchen table.

I could imagine arguing over music, walking Otis, working here or in Minneapolis. Maybe we’d have children. My mind stopped there, and for the first time since I’d arrived in 1984, the future with Dean didn’t feel like a blank road disappearing into possibility.

This could be my life. The thought frightened me enough that I stood.

Dean looked up. “You okay?”

“Yes, but I should go.”

He walked me downstairs. At the front door, the store was dark except for the yellow light above the counter and the glow from the street coming through the windows. Rows of records disappeared into shadow, while Prince watched from the Purple Rain display near the front.

Dean unlocked the door as I turned toward him. For a second, neither of us seemed to know what happened now. Then he leaned down and kissed me once more, slow enough that I forgot I’d been planning to leave.

“Night, Lorrie.”

I stepped onto State Street. He waited in the doorway until I reached the Rabbit. I could feel him watching when I started the engine.

For most of the drive back to Maple Bluff, I was smiling in a ridiculous way that I hadn’t since my twenties, because grown women were expected to have more dignity than that, although dignity had never made anyone want to crank the radio up and drive with the top down.

I reached the pool house a little before midnight, making sure to turn down the radio before I pulled into the driveway. The main house was dark.

I changed into my old T-shirt, washed my face, and climbed into bed, still carrying the warmth of Dean’s hands on my skin.

Then I thought of Ben. The thought came suddenly, without permission. Ben came first as dark curls, a leather jacket, and that crooked grin. Relief loosened something in me until I tried to picture his eyes and couldn’t.

“No.”

I reached for another memory. Ben at nine in the emergency room. Ben at sixteen behind the wheel. Ben standing in our kitchen after college. The memories came, but the details were fuzzy.

The fear came so fast I barely made it to the bathroom. I dropped to my knees beside the toilet, one hand gripping the edge while my stomach turned over, although nothing came up.

After a while, I sat back against the cabinet, the tile cold beneath my legs.

A few hours ago, I’d been upstairs with Dean imagining morning coffee, Side A, and children we might someday have.

Now I sat on the bathroom floor and couldn’t remember the color of my son’s eyes.

15

Lorrie

Tuesday — August 21, 1984

I woke Tuesday morning still thinking about the kiss and still unable to remember the color of my son’s eyes.