The Kind Worth Saving (Henry Kimball/Lily Kintner, #2)(33)

She walked me to the door and told me I should come back to the Taste of Hong Kong in a week, and she would definitely be there. “I will,” I said. “I need to hear an update on your relationship status.”

“Hopefully I’ll tell you that the weirdness is entirely over.”

“What makes it weird?”

“Maybe I’ll tell you that too.”

She leaned in and we kissed, a fraction longer than a friendly goodbye between acquaintances. “That was nice,” she said. “And by the way, you really shouldn’t be driving home.”

“Probably not,” I said, and we kissed again. Truth was, it felt nice, and I knew I was rationalizing but maybe it would be okay to spend the night. I told myself I wouldn’t ask her any more questions about her adulterous affair.

We moved from the living room into her bedroom, and as she slid her jeans down her legs she said, “No expectations, right?”

“Meaning I shouldn’t have any or you don’t have any?” I said.

“Both.”

I left around four a.m., hoping to not wake her, but she sat up as I was getting dressed and sleepily said, “You’re leaving?”

“I have a hungry cat at home,” I said. “He’s been texting me all night.”

She nodded, smiling, then lay back down and was asleep again in about five seconds. I thought of leaving her a note, maybe jotting down a limerick. It would have been a nice thing to do, but I decided against it.





Chapter 14





Joan


The night was mostly clear, but it seemed somehow darker than it had been when she’d walked the jetty with Richard. There were intermittent clouds in the sky and a sharp wind. Joan sat on a round rock on the edge of where the jetty began, waiting for Duane to arrive.

It was only a few minutes past ten o’clock, but it bothered her he was late. Maybe he was chickening out, or else he was drunk with his friends somewhere, and he’d forgotten all about it. What would she do then? Would she walk the jetty alone to find Richard and tell him that Duane had never showed up? The more she thought about it, the madder she got.

But then she heard Duane’s voice, saying “Yo,” and he was in front of her, dressed in shorts and a sweatshirt, his face in shadow.

“I thought you were going to blow me off,” she said.

“No way,” he said. “I’m psyched.” His words were too loud and a little slurry, and she wondered if he was drunk. When she stood up and got closer to him she could smell beer, but also a skunky smell.

“Are you high?” she said.

“I smoked a little bud with Derek earlier but I’m cool. Why, you want some?”

“No, I’m good.”

“High on life,” he said, and bark-laughed, then coughed a few times.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m great. Let’s do this thing.”

Halfway down the jetty she began to wonder if Duane would make it the whole way. He kept stepping on the edges of the granite and nearly falling over, Joan having to steady him. He eventually sat down on a rock, pulled Joan down so that she was sitting next to him, and went in for a kiss. She kissed him back a little bit, and his hand instantly went to her breast. “Hey,” she said. “Let’s get to the end of the jetty. It’s a lot more comfortable there.”

“Oh, yeah? Is there a bed?” He laughed at his own joke.

When he got to his feet, Joan took his hand and they kept going. She pointed out where he should put his feet, and he followed her directions, limping a little and groaning every time he put down his right foot. The sky was darkening, purple clouds crossing the moon, and Joan thought she felt a gust of rain, although it could have been spray coming off the ocean. There were sporadic whitecaps on the black water.

When they were nearly at the end, where the jetty sloped down toward the surface of the ocean, there was a brief flash of light in the sky then a distant rumble of thunder. “Jesus,” Duane said.

“It’s a long way away,” Joan said, staring toward the horizon, where another sliver of lightning fluttered. “We’re nearly at the end. It will be worth it.”

They began to pick their way down the slope just as a large wave slammed into the end of the jetty and sent up a wall of spray that got them both.

“Holy shit,” Duane said, and Joan was worried he would want to turn around, but he said, “It is pretty cool out here, I guess.”

“Come on down to the very end. The rocks are nice and flat.”

“Okay,” he said, and together they scrambled down to the jetty’s terminus. Joan said, “Come back toward here. It’s even flatter.”

Duane, crouching slightly, like an afraid cat, moved toward where Joan was, her back pressed to a dry rock under a slight overhang. He leaned against her, and together they watched the black ocean, periodically lit up by pockets of lightning, waves smacking into the rocks all around them. Joan could see the block of granite that Richard should be hiding behind, but she couldn’t see Richard. The rock was soaked though, occasionally getting hammered by waves, and Joan wondered if Richard was even able to hang on back there. She turned toward Duane, what little light there was showing her his eyes, wide and jittery, staring out toward the distant storm.