Everything We Didn't Say(48)

“If it’s your problem, it’s my problem,” I tell him, linking my pinky with his in a gesture of solidarity. When we were in grade school and kids used to tease us because of our unusual connection, we discovered that we could pass each other in the halls and twine our littlest fingers together for less than a second and no one would be the wiser. It was comforting for both of us to know that no matter what happened, we had each other’s backs. I want Jonathan to know that now—to know that I’m here for him. Always.

But he jerks away. “You’re leaving, June. It’s not your problem at all.”

“You dragged me out here,” I remind him, feeling a nasty little sparkle of anger. “I thought you wanted to talk.”

“Yeah, well, I changed my mind. Just stay away from Sullivan.” Then he takes off at a lope and the darkness swallows him up.

Stay away from Sullivan. Really? Surely Jonathan knows me better than that. His warning is a challenge, and I have a sudden, perverse desire to find Sullivan and throw myself at him right in front of my brother.

I’m fuming, burning with indignation as I wonder if I should try to snag a ride home or go grab one of the beers that I’m sure is turning lukewarm in a cooler near the fire. When I feel something brush against my hand I startle, but it’s just the dog nudging me for a pat. I oblige and give her a little ear scratch, too, even though she’s filthy and smells like she’s been swimming in a ditch. I’m still petting her when a form takes shape in the shadows and someone calls my name.

“June? June!”

It’s Ashley. She’s stumbling a bit but laughing, and I smile in spite of myself. “I’m here,” I say. “Straight ahead. Keep coming.”

When she’s about ten feet away she can finally make me out, and her face splits into a wide grin. I can see the white glow of her perfectly straight teeth. “There you are!” Ashley wraps me in a boozy hug and gives my cheek a sloppy kiss.

“Seems like you’ve been here a while.”

“I tried to text you,” she accuses, “but you didn’t answer.”

I shrug and allow her to lead me toward the bonfire. Or maybe I’m leading her. Ashley has her arm slung over my shoulder and is hanging on for dear life.

“Good party?” I ask, slipping my arm around her waist when the earth dips below us and she pitches.

“The best.”

I know exactly what that means. Sullivan is here. My heart gives an annoying little tingle.

“You know what you need?” I tell Ashley. “A nice guy.”

“I don’t want a nice guy.”

It’s hard not to be irritated at her pigheadedness, but then I’m wrung out at the memory of just how unexpectedly nice Sullivan is. He does possess a certain infectious charm. And even knowing what I now know about Cal Murphy and the Tates’ potentially unethical farming practices, my pulse still sprints at the thought of seeing him tonight.

Of course, he’s the first person I see when we enter the warm glow around the fire. Sullivan is facing us, watching us as if he’s been waiting for this exact moment. Ashley notices, too, and I can feel every inch of her body tense.

“He’s looking at me!” she whispers, but loudly and clumsily.

I bite my lip, considering. But then, before I can fully weigh the consequences, I squeeze my eyes shut and blurt: “What if he’s not?”

It’s a bold thing to say, one step shy of a confession, and when I dare to look at her again, Ashley is stone-faced. Then all at once a smile lights up her face and she laughs. “Come with me!” she begs, as if I haven’t said anything at all. As if it’s ridiculous to imagine that he would have eyes for anyone but her.

“You go,” I sigh. “I’d just be a third wheel.”

“But what will I say?”

“Be yourself,” I tell her. “You’re amazing, Ashley. He’d be crazy not to fall for you.” It’s what she wants to hear, and she giggles.

My stomach twists as I watch her walk away. Partly because she’s my friend and I love her, and partly because I’m remembering how easy it was to talk to Sullivan all the way to Munroe and back. The puppy squirmed in my lap and licked every square inch of my hands and my arms, all the way up to the cuff of my T-shirt. And every once in a while, Sullivan reached over to tug on the puppy’s velvety ears. It was subconscious, a gesture of affection, and when he lifted the puppy from my arms to deliver him to his new family, Sullivan buried his own face in all that golden fur and said goodbye.

Damn him for turning out to be a decent human being.

Intentionally positioning myself directly across from where Sullivan and Ashley are talking with their heads bent toward each other, I accept a can of beer and strike up conversations with whoever’s nearby.



* * *



I don’t know what time it is when Phil decides to throw a few more pallets on the fire, but it takes us all by surprise. The sparks detonate ashes and cinders on everyone standing nearby, and, shaking a burning ember off the sleeve of my shirt, I decide I’ve had more than enough.

I scan the crowd for Jonathan, hoping I can convince him to call it a night even though he was clearly eager to come. Not to mention furious with me. My happiness is going to be at the very bottom of his priority list. But it doesn’t seem to matter anyway, because after circling the now raging fire twice, I can’t find Jonathan anywhere. Sullivan and Ashley are also missing, and I have to stomp down a wave of self-pity. They’ve left me here.