The Impossible Knife of Memory(22)

“A couple minutes more,” Finn whispered, his voice reassuringly far away.

The last of the cars pulled out of the parking lot, tires

squealing. The chatter of the security guard’s radio moved along the hill below us like a stray breeze. As it faded, I sat up and watched his flashlight bob into the distance. A few minutes later, the guard reached his car and slowly drove

away, tires crunching over the gravel.

“Close your eyes.” Finn’s voice startled me. “Count to

twenty.”

“After I shove your nose into your brain, I will break

your fingers and disable your kneecaps,” I warned. “I’ll stay here,” he promised. “I’ll keep talking so you

know I haven’t moved. Five. Six. Seven. Talking, talking,

talking, okay? Eyes closed? You’re lying down? I’m still

talking and I am looking for something to talk about but it’s

tough because this is a bizarre situation. Fifteen. Sixteen.

Somehow I failed to anticipate that your response to my

well-thought-out date would be to threaten me with violence. I should have been prepared for that. The next time

I’m in a meeting with MI5—”

“Can I open my eyes yet?” I asked.

“Twenty,” he replied. “Look straight up.”

The night sky stretched on forever above me, the stars

flung like glass beads and pearls on a black velvet cloak. “Wow,” I whispered.

“Yeah,” he said. “I had to pull a lot of strings to get the

weather to cooperate, but it all worked out in the end. Can

I sit on the blanket now?”

“Not yet.” I found the Big Dipper and Orion’s Belt with

no problem, but didn’t know the names of anything else.

Had there always been this many stars in the sky? “I won’t try anything,” Finn continued. “Unless you

want me to. Of course, if you wanted to try anything, I’d be

a very willing participant. Do you want to try anything?” “I haven’t decided.”

“Did I mention that the grass I’m lying on is soaked with

dew?” he asked.

“I haven’t even decided if this is officially a date.” “What would you call it?”

“An anti-date.”

“I brought you flowers.”

“I like them. It’s still an anti-date.” I paused. “But I don’t

want you to blame me if you get sick. You can come back if

you want.”

“You promise not to maim me?”

“I promise to give fair warning before I maim you.” I watched out of the corner of my eye as Finn’s shape

stood, walked over, and lay down two inches away from

me. I could feel the heat radiating off his skin. He smelled of

wet grass and sweat and soap. No body spray.

“Nights like this,” he said quietly, “I could look at the

sky forever.”

I expected him to keep talking, to ramble on about the

stars or his adventures as an astronaut or the time he was

abducted by aliens (which I might have believed), but he

just lay there, staring at the corner of the Milky Way that

was smeared right above us. The layers of noise—cars on the road, distant airplanes, the farewells of crickets, the flutter of bat wings—all faded until I could hear only the sound of my heart beating in my ears, and the slow, steady

rhythm of Finn’s breath.

Somehow my hand found its way to his. Our fingers

entwined. He squeezed once and sighed.

I grinned, grateful for the dark.

We left about an hour later so that Finn could drive

me home and get back to his house before curfew. Neither one of us had much to say. We didn’t talk in the car,

either, but that was easier because he turned on the radio.

It felt like the time under the stars had delivered us to a

new country that we didn’t have the language for yet, but

I didn’t know what it felt like for him because I didn’t have

the guts to ask.

I finally spoke up just before he turned into my driveway.

“No,” I said. “Pull up by those bushes.”

“You’re having a party without me?” he asked. “An army buddy of my dad’s is here with a bunch of

guys on leave. They’re headed up to the Adirondacks tomorrow.”

I unbuckled my seat belt and opened my door the instant he shut the engine off because I didn’t know what I

wanted to happen in the front seat. Well, I kind of knew, but

I wasn’t 100 percent sure, and it seemed like the safest course

of action was to get my bike out of the backseat as soon as possible. The handlebars got caught on the coat hook above

the back door, but Finn reached in and unhooked them. “Thanks.” I leaned on the handlebars. “That was a . . . I

had a good time.”

He leaned against his car. “Can we call it a date yet?” “No.”

“Can we call it a pretty good anti-date?”

I chuckled. “Yeah.”

He tossed his keys up and down. “I would like to point