The Party Crasher(73)

  Is it just a nostalgic yearning for what we had then?

      No. It’s not. It’s a hunger for now. Right now. A longing to reclaim his body, this place, this man.

  Restlessly, I get to my feet, and Joe follows suit. I gaze past him, through the window, at the view which has been the same since before we were even born. Then, slowly, I turn back to face him.

  “Maybe sometimes in life you get another chance,” I say, my voice barely a husk. “Maybe you can go back. Right back to…how it was in the beginning.”

  Something shifts in Joe’s face. His gaze is pinned on mine now, dark and urgent, as though with a question. The same question I’m silently asking.

  “I remember every moment of that day,” he says, his deep, gravelly voice mesmerizing me. “Don’t you? We were kissing, right here. And we both wanted it so badly, but we were kind of nervous, remember? Putting it off, almost. Then at last you said, ‘Is this the day?’ And I said, ‘Is it?’ Because I didn’t want to—” He breaks off, breathing hard. “And you said, ‘Yes.’ And that’s when we…”

  He takes a step forward, his eyes never leaving mine.

  “First of all you closed the shutters,” I manage, and Joe nods.

  “Well remembered. I did.”

  Unhurriedly, he goes to the window. He closes and latches the shutters firmly, then walks back as I wait, quivering.

  “Is this the day?” he says softly, and I feel a white-hot surge of anticipation. Unlocked memories are flooding my brain, mingling with new imaginings.

  “Is it?” I whisper, following the script.

  “Is it?” He pushes the question back to me, and I can see a genuine, last-minute uncertainty in his face. He wants to be sure; he wants to get it right.

      For the past four years, all I could see in Joe’s face was arrogance and cruelty. But now it’s as though a curtain has been swept aside and I can see everything that’s really in him. The compassionate, thoughtful, sensitive Joe I loved was there all the time.

  “Yes.” My voice is constricted. “Yes.”

  For a heartbeat we’re motionless, almost sizing each other up, prolonging the agony. Then suddenly his warm mouth is on mine and my hands are in his hair and the air is heavy with our frenzied, feverish breathing. We should slow down, I think in a daze. I mean, no. The opposite. Don’t slow down. Oh God…Already he’s pushing me up against the wooden wall of the tree house and the whole structure is rocking and my jeans are on the floor and, basically, we’re not hanging about.

  But, then, we have got a few years to catch up on.





  Afterward, I can’t quite speak. My senses feel fried. My skin feels raw. We both collapse onto the wooden floor, and Joe takes me in the crook of his arm. I nestle into his chest and we stare up at the ceiling, just like we did back then, all those years ago. The tiniest rays of sunlight are coming through the wood, here and there, making me blink.

  “That was…” Joe seems equally shattered. He exhales in a sudden, disbelieving laugh. “I guess there was quite a buildup to that.”

  “Four years of buildup.”

  “Four years is a long time to be storing sexual tension.”

  “What’s the cure, Doctor?” I say innocently, and he laughs again.

  “Oh God. The cure is not to be a fuckwit.” He turns and buries his face in my neck. “I should have told you everything. I should have told you.”

      “I missed you,” I say, which seems like a supreme understatement.

  Joe sighs and stretches his arms upward, as though trying to catch a shaft of light. “I missed you too.”

  “I could have been there for you.” I feel a sadness weighing me down. “I can’t bear that I wasn’t. That you went through it all alone.”

  “Well, same goes. I could have been there for you when your parents split up. It must have been…” Joe turns his head to study me. “How are you about that?”

  “Better than I was,” I say slowly. “I’m starting to see the bigger picture. I could never understand, you know? Mimi and Dad seemed so perfect together. But last night, Bean told me some stuff about them which I never knew. And now I’m not seeing it so black and white. I’m thinking…maybe they didn’t have a perfect relationship. Maybe it wasn’t out of the blue.”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t,” says Joe. “These things never are.” He pauses, then adds, “So, why aren’t you at the party?” His simple, direct question catches me off guard, and I take a moment to answer.

  “My dad and I aren’t speaking. Things really disintegrated between us. You have no idea what Krista’s like.”

  “I got a flavor last night,” says Joe. “But you and your dad—that’s sad. You used to be so close.”

  “I know.” I exhale a shuddery breath. “It’s sad. I guess…families are messy.”

  “True.” Joe nods. “Although at least you’re not having fistfights.”