Beautiful Graves(106)

“Who’s asking?”

“His late brother’s fiancé.” I pause. “Oh! And his ex-girlfriend.” I stop and frown. “Hopefully, his current girlfriend too. If things go right for me.”

One of the men turns to the other two. “I knew he liked eccentric, but this is laying it on thick.”

They laugh. I don’t care. I just want to find him.

Finally, the guy with the clipboard tilts his chin toward the water. “See the forklift over there?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s inside. Good luck catching his attention. He listens to rock music on full blast.”

I jog there with a huge smile on my face, because it is such a Joe thing to do. Listen to angry music while lifting heavy shit. I catch a glimpse of the yellow forklift before I see Joe. The closer I get, the more he comes into view. He looks miserable, his frown deep, his lips flat. He’s never been more beautiful in his life. He’s on the dock, in front of a ship, unloading giant crates. I’m about to approach him when a woman steps between the forklift and me.

“Excuse me, this is private property.”

“I understand, but see this guy behind you?” I point over her shoulder. “He is the love of my life, and I need to tell him that.”

I am bursting with excitement, expecting her to Aww and Why didn’t you say that? To get out of my way. Can someone please finally grant me one perfect movie moment?

“Who, Joe?” She throws a look at the forklift, popping her gum. “Well, you can tell him that from where you’re standing. No trespassing, ma’am. We’re unloading expensive things here.”

“Seriously?” I growl. “I’m not going to steal anything.”

“And I wasn’t going to eat an entire sleeve of RITZ Crackers yesterday. But then I did. Fickle is human nature. Stay here and call him.”

When I see there is no reasoning with her, I resort to acting fully insane. I guess I deserve it, after everything I’ve put Joe through.

I cup my mouth and go at it.

“Joe! Joseph!”

He doesn’t hear me. He has massive headphones on.

“Joe! Hey! Over here! Joe! Joe!”

I start jogging in a line parallel with the direction the forklift takes. He continues about his day, oblivious. Lifting crates with the forklift. Putting them somewhere else. Then again. And again.

“Joe! Hey! Hey!”

I’m aware of the dozens of pairs of eyes looking at me in amusement. Every longshoreman around who isn’t Joe has caught up on the fact that I am trying to grab his attention. I continue jogging in the same line as Joe, my eyes on him, until I collide with a huge crate and fall on the ground.

“Aww.”

That, of all things, gets his attention. Maybe it was the thud I made as I hit the metal crate. Joe pushes one headphone down and turns his head. He squints, then frowns. I don’t think he is too happy to see me. My heart sinks.

“Ever?” he asks coldly.

“Joe!” I moan.

I’m still lying flat on the ground. Joe turns off the forklift but doesn’t make a move toward me. I have a feeling he still suspects I came here just to tell him in another creative way that we can never be together. I get up and dust myself off, ignoring our growing audience and the embarrassment I must be causing him.

“Joe, I came back.” I open my arms in the air, smiling like an idiot.

“I can see that.” His expression is grim.

“Can we talk?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Are you not going to run off on me in the middle of our chat? It seems to be your expertise.”

“Burn.” The woman who gave me trouble laughs.

I shake my head, knowing I deserve all of this and more. “I promise not to run away unless you try to kill me, which . . . honestly? I wouldn’t blame you for doing. Even then, I’d give you a head start.”

“The bad news is you’re not out of the doghouse. But my interest is piqued.” He hops off the forklift, knotting his arms over his chest.

He sounds cold. Distant. Gone. I can’t blame him. I have been an absolute nightmare to love. And he loved me anyway.

“I bought a first-class ticket here.” I chuckle awkwardly, covering my face with my hands.

“All right.” He quirks a brow. “Brownie points for determination. Why?”

“Why!” I laugh to myself, frantic, and desperate, and so far gone for him. “Because I love you. Because I don’t want to lose you again. Not ever again. I read about that Curt Richter experiment on my way here,” I tell him. “And I know all about the rats. The wild rats fought for their survival. They were savages. They didn’t give up. You’re my rat, Joe. I want you to be my rat. I promise not to land you in deep water ever again. From now on we’ll swim together.”

I’m searching his face. All I care about is his reaction, not the massive public declaration I’ve just made. He blinks a few times, taking me in. He is still by the forklift. A good twenty feet away from me, at least.

“How is this time different from all the others?” he insists. “How do I know you won’t walk away tomorrow? Or the day after? Or in a month? I can’t do this anymore, Ever. I can’t put my heart in your slippery hands.”

“They’re no longer slippery!” I half beg, throwing my arms upward. “I swear. Sturdy as a surgeon’s. My only hang-up wasn’t about loving you—there was never any doubt in my mind that I loved you. It was about sparing you from the heartache of being with me. I thought I was cursed or something and didn’t want you to . . . I don’t know, I didn’t want anything happening to you, I guess. Like Mom and Dom.”