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Jimmy and I both stare back at him, wordless ourselves.
Then, as if coming out of a weird dream, Malcolm squints at Jimmy suddenly. “You’re Nadine Strong’s other son, aren’t you?”
Jimmy’s eyes narrow darkly.
Nadine’s “other” son. Yeah, I heard it, too. And Malcolm knows damned well who Jimmy is.
I let go of Jimmy—or perhaps it’s more accurate to say that we let go of each other—and I face Malcolm. “I’m sorry for leaving so abruptly.”
Malcolm studies him for exactly two and a half seconds before he turns back to me. “So are we ready to continue, then? There is still dessert to be had, and my father—”
“It’s his mama,” Jimmy blurts out suddenly. His voice carries a far less polite edge than mine did. “She needs him back in Spruce. Family emergency.”
Malcolm appears annoyed. “What kind of emergency?”
“The family kind.” Jimmy faces me. “Ready to go?”
I nod at Jimmy, then give Malcolm an apologetic wince. “I’m sorry, Malcolm. I’ve gotta go. Maybe we can take a rain check on that dessert? I’m so sorry to run off like this. My …” I give Jimmy a quick look. “My ma needs me.”
“Okay, then.” Malcolm’s words are cold and dry as a picked-over T-bone. “Give your mother my regards.”
Jimmy barely lets me get a, “Thank you for understanding,” out before he’s ushering me to the car—hobbling still on his bad foot, damn his stubbornness—then shutting both our doors and cranking on the engine.
We’re out of the parking lot and on the road in seconds.
Neither of us speak, the hum of the car and the night wind squealing its way in through one of the windows which must not be shut all the way. Cars whiz by as Jimmy gets on the highway, and then we’re hightailing it to Spruce.
“Watch your speed,” I choke out.
Jimmy gives his odometer half a glance, then lets off the gas a little bit.
Silence persists.
“Don’t wanna, um … get a ticket,” I explain.
More silence, whirring wind, and engine purring.
Then: “Jimmy …”
“I don’t know,” he says at once.
I peer cautiously at him. “What’s going on with us, Jimmy?”
“I said I don’t know.”
“Was that another kiss just to … make me feel good?” I don’t realize I’m drumming the fingers of my left hand anxiously on the center console. “Or was it something else?”
Jimmy’s gripping the steering wheel two-handed.
That means business.
“Jimmy …?” I try again.
“I don’t know. I don’t know.” He swallows hard, then squeezes the wheel with such force, his knuckles bleed white.
“You can’t I-don’t-know your way out of this one.”
“Just let me think. Let me think.”
He hasn’t looked at me once.
The road rushing under our feet has his full attention.
I keep drumming away one-handed. My heart hasn’t slowed down a single beat since we left the restaurant.
Good Lord, this is torture.
“Jimmy …”
“Still thinkin’,” he grunts.
“You’re speeding again.”
He slows down with one jerk of the brake, causing us both to lurch forward, then bites his lip as he stares ahead, driving five under the speed limit now. His eyebrow keeps twitching under that hat of his.
The tall metal lampposts that light the highway periodically throw waves of sickly yellow across our faces.
I’m dyin’ here.
“You realize Malcolm will probably report to his own pa that I had to cut our date short,” I point out with mounting frustration, “due to an emergency with my ma, right? That hot piece of news is gonna reach your ma’s ears in no time, no doubt, and then she’ll know that I basically ditched my date halfway through, because if anyone’s a bullshit-sniffer, it’s your ma.” I glance at the side of Jimmy’s tightened face. “You listening over there?”
“Loud n’ clear.”
“Loud n’ clear, alright. Well. You and I need to figure this out, what to say to them, because—”
“That’s what we gotta figure out first?” he blurts, turning his face halfway toward me with his eyes still on the road. “What my ridiculous mama thinks? I’ll handle her, don’t you worry one lick about that. What you and I need to figure out is … is what I … what I’m …” His face seems to lose its color again. “Well, I guess I’m the one who needs to figure out what’s goin’ on with me, actually.”
“We can figure it out together,” I tell him. “You and I …”
“You’re doing that thing again.”
I stop drumming my fingers, retracting my hand into my lap. “You and I just need to spend some time together and … and have a bit of a talk, y’know? Figure things out. You don’t have to sit in that driver’s seat and freak out all by yourself.”
“Oh, thanks for the permission,” he says, his voice cracking, as out of breath as if he just ran the whole way down this highway.
I ignore his attitude; that’s to be expected. “Let’s go back to your place, Jimmy, and just … relax for a bit. My ma expects me to be out all night anyway, so she won’t miss me. And I haven’t spent much time at all at your house this summer, and—”
