The Book of Lost Friends(111)

I hope whatever Nathan’s newly discovered information is, it has the power to move mountains, because that’s what we need—some sort of Hail Mary pass that saves the game in the final seconds. My students deserve a win, to see their hard work and smarts pay off.

“Well, here we are,” I tell the Bug and sit there a moment in solidarity. We’ve both come a long way since leaving the hallowed halls of the university English department. I’m not the same person anymore. Whatever happens next, this place, this experience, has changed me. But I can’t support a system that tells students they are nothing, they’ll never be anything—that views keeping kids in their desks as the major accomplishment for the day. They deserve the same chance friends and mentors gave me, to see that the life you create for yourself can be entirely different from the one you came from. I have to find a way. I’m not a quitter. Quitters don’t build great things. Quitters don’t win this kind of war. You’re not defeated until you give up the fight, I tell myself.

Nathan is sound asleep in the driver’s seat of the little Honda with the windows rolled down. He’s wearing what I have mentally cataloged as the blue, blue outfit—blue jeans with blue chambray shirt. His hair is disheveled, but in his sleep, he has the look of a man who has made peace with everything. I know that’s not the case. It’s incredibly hard for him to be here. The last time he was in this house was the last time he saw his sister alive. But we both understand that this visit can’t wait.

“Hey,” I say and startle him to the point that his elbow hits the steering wheel and the horn beeps. I slap a hand to my neck and look around nervously, but there’s no one else to hear.

“Hey.” A lopsided smirk offers chagrin as he turns my way. “Sorry about that,” he says, and I’m struck by how much I’ve missed his voice. He opens the door and unfolds himself from the tiny car, and then I realize how much I’ve missed him.

“You made it.” It’s tough to keep my emotions in check, but I know I need to. “You look tired.”

“I took the long way home.” And just like that, he reaches out and pulls me into a hug. Not a shoulder hug, but the real thing, the kind you give to someone you thought of while you were away.

I’m surprised at first. I wasn’t expecting…well…that. I was prepared for more of the uncertain off-and-on awkward dance we usually do. Friends…or two people who want something more? We’re never quite sure. But this feels different. I slip my arms under his and hang on.

“Tough few days?” I whisper, and he rests his chin on my head. I listen to his heartbeat, feel the sultry warmth of skin against skin. My gaze lingers on the tangle of wisteria vines and crape myrtle branches hiding the ancient structures of Goswood Grove’s once spectacular gardens, concealing whatever secrets they know.

“Tough few days all around, it sounds like,” Nathan says finally. “We should go in.” But he hangs on a minute longer.

We part slowly, and the next step suddenly seems uncharted. I don’t know how to catalog it. One moment, we’re as natural as breathing. The next, we’re at arm’s length—or retreating to our separate safety zones.

He stops halfway across the porch, turns, widens his stance a little like he’s about to pick up something heavy. Crossing his arms, he tilts his head and looks at me, one eye squeezing almost shut. “What are we to each other?”

I stand there a moment with my mouth agape before words dribble out in a halting string. “In…in…what way?”

I’m terrified, that’s why I don’t give a straight answer. Relationships require truth telling, and that requires risk. An old, insecure part of me says, You’re damaged goods, Benny Silva. Someone like Nathan would never understand. He’ll never see you in the same way again.

“Just like it sounds,” he says. “I missed you, Benny, and I promised myself I’d just put it out there this time. Because…well…you’re hard to read.”

“I’m hard to read?” Nathan has been largely a mystery I’ve pieced together in fragments. “Me?”

He doesn’t fall for the turnabout, or he ignores it. “So, Benny Silva, are we…friends or are we…” The sentence shifts in the wind, unfinished—a fill-in-the-blank question. Those are harder than multiple-choice.

“Friends…” I search for the right answer, one not too presumptuous, but accurate. “Going somewhere…at our own pace? I hope.”

I feel naked standing there. Scared. Vulnerable. And potentially unworthy of his investment in me. I can’t make the same mistake I’ve made before. There are things he needs to know. It’s only fair, but this isn’t the right moment for it, or the right place.

He braces his hands on his hips, lets his head rock forward, exhales a breath he seems to have been holding. “Okay,” he says with a note of approval. His cheek twitches, one corner of his mouth rising. I think he might be blushing a little. “I’ll take that.”

“Me, too,” I agree.

“Then we have an accord.” Nathan winks at me and turns and proceeds on to the house, satisfied. “We can talk details later.”

I float after him, filled with an anticipation that has nothing to do with today’s plans. We’re entering a brave new world…in more ways than one. I’ve never been in the front door of Goswood Grove House. In fact, I’ve never been anywhere but the kitchen, the butler’s pantry, the dining room, the front parlor, and the library. Not that temptation hasn’t tugged during my visits, but I’ve been determined to remain respectful of the faith Nathan has shown in me. In other words, not to snoop.