The Geography of You and Me(44)

But throughout the movie, she found herself sneaking sideways glances at him, studying the sharp line of his jaw and his neatly trimmed hair, his steady, straightforward gaze. Deep down, she knew she was comparing him to Owen, but the differences were so obvious there hardly seemed to be a point. Besides, Liam was right here. With Owen, the details were a bit foggier. He was a voice in the dark. A presence beside her on a kitchen floor. A series of letters across the back of a postcard.

Liam was a possibility. Owen was just a memory.

So why was she still thinking about him?

Even now, sitting beside him on the bench, she couldn’t seem to keep hold of her thoughts, which were skittering around in her head like marbles. It was only when their eyes met that everything went still again, and a familiar ease settled over her. Just being with him like this again—it was almost enough to make her forget it was only temporary.

As they ate, they filled in the gaps.

From him: stories of the road trip (the cities getting smaller as the spaces between them got bigger; the cheap motels and fast food restaurants; the endless cornfields and far-flung skies; him and his dad and the ribbon of highway and a good song on the radio), and of Tahoe (the blue lake and the ring of mountains; the tiny apartment and the restaurant below; the luckless job search; the short and unremarkable stint at a school there); and, finally, of San Francisco (where things might be different).

And from her: stories of New York (the packing and the leaving and the strange mix of feelings that came along with it), and of Edinburgh (the foggy mornings and the fairy-tale castle; her father’s new job and their family’s new town house; the smell of stew and the early darkness; the constant presence of the sea, which was not so very different from the one laid out before them, sprinkled with boats and the occasional bird).

As they talked, the sky went from pink to purple to navy, and the empty tinfoil husks on the bench between them had to be pinned down when the wind picked up. Lucy pulled her cold fingers into the sleeves of her jacket, listening to Owen tell the story of Bartleby, the stray turtle they’d picked up on the way here.

“I keep trying to teach him to fetch,” he was saying, “or at least come when he’s called, but he doesn’t do a whole lot of tricks.”

Lucy smiled. ‘He’d prefer not to.”

“Exactly.”

“And your dad doesn’t mind having him around?”

“He’s always tripping over him,” Owen said with a shrug, “but it’s kind of nice for it to be more than just the two of us, you know?”

Lucy swallowed hard before managing a small nod.

“Even if it is just a turtle.”

“Turtles count,” she said. “And it’ll be nice for your dad to have some company next year. Have you heard from any schools yet?”

He shook his head. “It’s too early.”

“Where’d you end up applying?”

“Everywhere,” he said with a hint of a smile, but there was something behind his eyes that didn’t quite match up. “But I’m not sure I’m going.”

“Why?” Lucy asked. “Because of missing so much school this year?”

“Nothing like that,” he said. “I’ve got plenty of credits. It’s just…”

She twisted her mouth. “Your dad?”

He nodded.

“But I’m sure he’d want you to go.…”

“I can defer a year,” he said. “Wait till we’re more settled.”

Lucy gave him a long look. “And he’s okay with that?”

“He doesn’t know,” Owen said, and his voice cracked over the next words. “But how can I leave him, too?”

He looked so sad, sitting there, folded over like a comma, his eyes dark and his face pale. Lucy had no idea what to say. For her family, separation was as normal as togetherness, though if it really came down to it, and if you really needed them, she knew they would be there. Still, how could she possibly tell a boy without a mother that it was okay to walk away from his father, too?

“I don’t know for sure yet,” he said, before she could think of a response. “I guess there’s still time to figure it out.”

“Yes,” she said, because it was all she could manage.

He gave her an uneven smile. “Thanks.”

“For what?” she asked, surprised.

“I don’t know,” he said. “But just… thanks.”

At some point, they’d moved closer to each other on the bench, and she realized only now that their knees were touching. Between them, someone had carved the word MAYBE into the wood in uneven letters, and she wondered if Owen saw it, too. She closed her eyes for a moment and let the word expand in her head: maybe. Maybe it was the cold, or maybe it was the conversation, or maybe it was something else that had pulled them so close. But here they were, angled together like this, their faces suddenly too near, and she lowered her eyes, afraid to meet his gaze. The quiet between them had gone on for too long now to pretend it was anything other than what it was. There were no more words; all that was left were two faintly beating hearts.

For a moment, as they leaned toward each other, Lucy forgot about Liam so completely it was as if he’d never existed at all, as if he hadn’t kissed her hundreds of times, as if it didn’t mean a thing. Her mind was muddled and blurry, wiped clean by the boy on the bench with the magnetic eyes.