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“Hey,” he calls to me softly. A moment later a jacket is draped over my shoulders, over my own coat that’s now soaked through.
“My keys are gone,” I cry. “I threw them so that he, so he…So he couldn’t get me back into my car and—”
Through the jacket he rubs my arms. “That was smart, Charlotte. That was definitely the right thing to do.”
“I can’t leave my car here. They’ll ask questions.”
“Which direction did you throw them...Can you remember?” I gesture to the left, my body suddenly so weak I can barely raise my arm to point. “I’m gonna put you in my truck to warm up. I’ll find them.”
He ushers me across the street, practically holding me up as if I’m an invalid. I think the shock from this morning is just now settling in. My entire body is shaking, and once I’m seated inside the truck I begin to sob uncontrollably. I don’t care that Simon is witnessing my meltdown. I’m too far gone to care. He sits beside me, fiddling with the heat, looking over at me every few seconds, his discomfort rolling off him in waves. He lets out a breath, giving in to whatever he’s wrestling with, then slides across the seat to pull me in close.
“He’s never coming back here. He’ll never touch you again, I promise you that.” Words whispered into my hair, hands rubbing up and down my back, strong arms blanketing me with a sense of much needed security. I want to stay like this forever. He pulls back a few inches and tips my chin up to search my eyes. “You sit here and warm up. I’m just grabbing a flashlight from the store and I’ll find your keys.”
In just a long sleeve shirt that’s completely soaked, Simon roams the parking lot for at least ten minutes before coming back and tapping on the window, smiling as he holds my keys up between his fingers. When he follows my eyes and looks down into my lap, he backs up a step.
He’s not smiling anymore.
* * *
Simon
Why the fuck didn’t I leave that thing at home?
I startle her when I knock on the window, but she isn’t crying or looking like an injured bird anymore. I’m glad for that until I follow her nervous eyes down to what’s unfolded in her lap. That big yellow piece of paper, or my soul laid bare for the whole world to see—same thing.
I want to scream at her, ask her what the fuck she’s doing. Who does she think she is, snooping around and reading my private things? But one look at her face, fearful and anxious, and I know I need to rein it in.
I walk around the back of the truck, taking deep breaths, face turned towards Heaven so I can ask for strength as the cold rain pelts my skin. I don’t look at her when I get in. Don’t know what to say as my forehead slumps against the steering wheel.
Her voice is small, cautious. “I promise, I just went in there to look for some tissues. It had my name on it.”
“It’s all right.”
“You almost left this for me last week, didn’t you?”
“What?”
“I saw you…I saw you in the parking lot at school. You put something on my windshield.”
“I never intended for you to read it.”
“I’m sorry.” She reaches over but stops short of touching me. “Do you want me to go?”
Do I want her to go? Yes, I do, and no, I never want her to leave me. Still resting against the steering wheel, I roll my forehead from one side to another. That’s as close as I’ll come to telling her to stay.
I’m tempted to blurt out even more of what I know is true, but I hold back. Moments pass as we sit in choked silence.
“Say something, Charlotte. I can’t read your mind and you’re killing me right now.”
“I don’t…I don’t know what to say.” The passenger door opens as Charlotte draws in a shaky breath. “I dream about you too,” she says, hopping out and closing the door behind her.
I see her tucking the yellow paper into her pocket as she crosses the street.
What to do? What to do?
She’s there, standing with her puke in the bushes friend and another girl. Barf girl is doing some ridiculously uncoordinated dance moves while Charlotte and the other girl laugh. The other girl is genuinely laughing, but Charlotte’s smile doesn’t come close to reaching her eyes.
I want to go to her, want to know how she is, but I won’t approach her now. I wanted to call her last night or go by her house. Fuck the letter—I’m not going to let my embarrassment stop me from doing the right thing. But there are barriers. I won’t be asking anyone for the Mason girl’s phone number and I certainly won’t be stopping by her house.
