The Hundred Lies of Lizzie Lovett(68)

“Where do you want to go?” Enzo asked while I carefully secured his painting in my trunk.

“It doesn’t matter. Anywhere.”

For a while, we just drove around. I turned on the heat as high as my beat-up little car could pump it out, and we rolled down the windows. I wanted to feel the air on my face, wanted to feel like I was part of the night around me. Angsty British rock music, Enzo’s favorite kind, blasted from the stereo. Enzo rolled cigarette after cigarette, occasionally passing them to me so I could fill my lungs with smoke. Every drag burned more than the last but made me feel free, like rules had stopped applying to my life.

We passed a few straggling groups of trick-or-treaters, their costumes in disarray, lugging overstuffed sacks of candy home to inventory their loot. On other Halloweens, I would have envied them, soaking up the last bit of magic before the world went back to normal. But not that night. That night, I was with Enzo, exactly where I wanted to be. Our night had a magic of its own.

“What was your best costume?” I asked Enzo, shouting over the music.

“Seventh grade. Edgar Allan Poe. I don’t think anyone knew who I was supposed to be. But I loved that costume so much that it didn’t matter.”

“I was Hester Prynne once. I don’t even like The Scarlet Letter that much. I just felt like I should, since everyone always thought I was named for Nathaniel Hawthorne.”

With the music so loud, Enzo probably wasn’t getting every word I said. It didn’t matter though, because after seeing his painting, I was sure he could read my mind. We understood each other without ever having to speak. We were in sync; we wanted all the same things. When I was hit with the urge to stop driving and go into the woods, I knew without asking that Enzo felt the same way.

I drove to Wolf Creek Road, to where it all started, where Lizzie disappeared and our lives started spinning in new directions, hers and mine and Enzo’s. I thought about the first time Enzo and I had gone to the campsite together, the night I told him Lizzie was a werewolf. That night was normal, ordinary, but it actually meant everything. And that made me think, do you ever know a moment is important as it’s happening, or is it only when you look back that you can see your life changed?

We got out of the car and walked around the old campsite again, stumbling until our eyes adjusted to the dark. I knew that Lizzie and Enzo had memories there. But I had memories of being there with Enzo too, and mine were more recent. I sat down on the flat rock by the edge of the clearing, shivering a bit from the chill. After a minute, Enzo joined me. We were close but not touching. I imagined leaning against him, grabbing his hand, stealing his warmth.

“Do you remember the first time we came here?” I asked.

Enzo smiled. “I thought you were crazy.”

“Not too crazy, I guess. You came back.”

“Yeah, well. Maybe I’m crazy too.”

We looked at each other, and it made me dizzy, like I was looking over the edge of a cliff. My heart pounded, my stomach did flips, and I thought the excitement and anxiety would make me explode.

“Hawthorn,” Enzo said softly. “What are we doing?”

“Sitting in the woods.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

I knew that; I just didn’t know how to answer. “What do you want us to be doing?”

Enzo stood up and walked away from me, blending into the dark trees on the other side of the clearing. “I don’t know, Hawthorn. I really don’t.”

I stood too, because I had too much nervous energy to keep still for a moment longer. I stepped toward Enzo and watched him roll a cigarette, his hands shaky. For the first time since we’d met, he didn’t get it right on the first try.

Still, I pushed for an answer. “Because of Lizzie, you mean?”

“Yeah. But not just that.” He lit the cigarette, the flame from his lighter momentarily illuminating the clearing, and looked at me. “You’re so young.”

“I’m not that young.”

“You are. Jesus. You’re not even eighteen yet. You still care about things like prom.”

“It was homecoming,” I said, not bothering to hide my annoyance.

“Whatever. That’s not the point.”

“What is?” I pressed.

Enzo crushed out his cigarette after just two drags. He stepped closer to me, then caught himself and pulled back. “The point is that it’s fucked up to feel this way about you.”

“What way?”

“You going to make me spell it out?”

A long moment passed, and we simply stared at each other. The shadowy woods surrounding us made me feel like we were in a void. Nothing existed but us. I looked at Enzo, waiting. I needed to hear him say it. I needed to know that I wasn’t making something out of nothing, misunderstanding the situation.

“Well?”

“Come on, Hawthorn,” he said.

I frowned. “You know, you can be a real coward sometimes.”

I started back toward my car, pushing past him, close enough for our arms to brush.

Then Enzo’s hand was on my shoulder, and he was spinning me around, and the next thing I knew, his lips were on mine, pressing hard, hungry. It was a better answer to my question than I’d hoped for.

My body relaxed. He pulled me closer, held me tight against his body, the two of us radiating heat in the cold October night.