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“Of course not.”
Of course not.
We stood in silence a few feet, and he took a step closer. “What is it?”
It was nothing, really. Only that it had occurred to me, for the first time, that there were things about Abraham Krasner that I didn’t know. That he’d lived a whole other life in these years away from California. That he could be an entirely different person from the one I once knew.
I shrugged. “Nothing.”
He gave me a knowing look, and it was my turn to frown and say, “What?”
And his to shrug casually. “Just that I can read your face, too, you know.”
Could he? When had that happened? I’d always been the one studying his face intently throughout the years. “And what’s it saying?”
“That you’re having thoughts you don’t necessarily like. And they’re about me.” He cocked his head. “So I want to know what they are.”
Shock pulsed through me that he’d called my emotion so spot-on. “It’s just... It’s funny, that’s all.”
“What’s funny?”
“You.” I waved at him, suddenly embarrassed to make eye contact. “You’re famous.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment, just stared at me with an oddly blank expression, neither affirmation nor denial. I would’ve expected sheepish embarrassment with an undercurrent of pride, but when he spoke, he kept strictly factual. “Guess so.”
I didn’t like the way he said that, and my eyes narrowed. I’d been so focused on making sure he know I’d changed that I hadn’t bothered noticing if he had, too. “What’s it like?”
He didn’t even glance at me. “It’s great.”
“No, Abe—” I placed my hand on his arm without even thinking, and when he stilled and stared down, I snatched it back. Still... “Really.”
He met my gaze, his own conflicted. “It’s...it’s consuming.”
I tilted my head. “Are you happy?”
He searched my eyes for an aching stretch of time. My breath caught in my chest, like I could keep time from moving forward—but then he laughed and looked away, a dazzling smile on his lips. “Where did you come from?”
Unexpectedly thrown, I wavered back and forth. “What do you mean?”
He shook his head and started walking again. “You’re like some pixie from my past. I feel like time folded over and brought you here from when we were nineteen years old.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” He glanced at the wall, at the photos of men in the same uniform he always wore. “You see the guy I was before I was drafted.”
“Isn’t that who you still are?”
“Tough to tell.”
He’d locked his jaw, a sure sign—if he’d been sixteen—that he was about to storm off to play ball with his friends instead of answering questions any longer. Abe never yelled—never got mad—but the few times his mom kept pushing at him after his jaw locked and he couldn’t escape, he went mute instead, like someone had thrown away the key.
But he wasn’t going to keep me out. “I think you are. I think some parts of you are different, because we grow up, but you’re really who you always were.”
He slid me a glance. “And who’s that?”
I smiled at him. “Someone good.”
He looked struck, like I’d tossed something at his chest, but nothing bad, just surprising. Like my words were unexpected, though they couldn’t have been.
