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No. I hate it when he tells me no.
Let me help you, I barely keep myself from begging.
“Okay,” I say instead. “Are you ready to head out? Got my jacket and my purse, but I can dump them in the closet if you want to hang around longer.”
“You have plans,” he reminds me.
I do. And they aren’t ones I’d feel comfortable canceling.
“I do. But I can also ride the bus if you need to stay here. It’s not a big deal.” Would me leaving help? Is that what he needs? The fact that I can’t figure it out frustrates me.
“I’m driving you.” He speaks low, as if to himself. Cole’s mind is somewhere else. Somewhere not great.
Another person might have backed out of the kitchen and waited by the front door to be collected. But his rigid form draws me toward him rather than pushing me away.
“Cole.” When my palm rests on his arm, the muscle twitches, and his frigid eyes flick to me. “What do you need? Right now.” He can’t tell me no if it isn’t a yes/no question. Can he?
The line of his mouth tightens, far from any kind of smile. I want to kiss him into happiness, but that’s not how feelings work.
Tell me how to help you. I try to force the thought into Cole’s head, afraid if I speak it out loud he’ll shut down. His gaze traces over me, coming to land on my purse. The thing is faux leather, almost the same cool blue of Cole’s eyes, and has tiny snowflakes dangling from each zipper. New Orleans barely ever gets snow even in the middle of winter, so I decided to carry it around with me.
“I need your bag.”
I slip it from my shoulder. “To wear? It does kind of go with your sweater.”
He doesn’t even give me a lip twitch. Instead, Cole accepts my purse, setting it in front of the microwave and unzipping the main compartment. As I try to remember if there’s anything embarrassing contained within, Cole pulls open the drawer he’s been glaring at. The space is filled with envelopes, and he doesn’t waste any time shoving them into my bag.
I don’t move. The sight is too strange. As he clears out the drawer, I try to puzzle out what exactly I’m seeing. When every last letter is tucked into my purse, I still haven’t figured anything out. Cole zips it shut, closes the drawer, and slides the bag onto my shoulder.
“Let’s go.” He cups my elbow, turning me toward the front door.
“We’re saying goodbye, right?”
Cole stumbles to a stop, staring at me with wide eyes. “What?”
“To your dad and your grandma. I don’t want to leave without saying goodbye.”
He shakes his head, but not in a denial, more like to clear out errant thoughts. “Yeah. Let’s say goodbye.”
We find them upstairs in a spare bedroom, pulling old suitcases out of a back closet.
“Mama Al stores some of her stuff here,” Cole murmurs to me as explanation, then raises his voice a touch. “We’re heading out.”
The peacock of a woman wraps me in a tight hug. “Loved meeting you, Summer. I’ll come by the library to get a card.”
“You better!” When I let her go, Mr. Allemand offers me a hand to shake. I take it, smiling wide, trying to ignore the burn of my purse pressing into my leg.
I hope Cole has a good explanation.
Once we’re in the car, a thick tension makes my skin feel sticky. Like dirty humidity.
“Which way?” he asks at a stop sign, voice casual, as if I wasn’t just used as a mule to smuggle something out of his father’s house.
“What’s in my bag?” I can’t simply continue with my night without addressing this.
“Don’t worry about it.”
My teeth clench, then I force my jaw to relax. “I have considered your request, and I reject it. The worrying is already happening. Can’t stop it now. Might as well tell me.”
