Until the Day I Die(71)

“I just needed a break, that’s all,” I say. “Would you mind if I stayed here one night? I don’t want to sleep at my house alone.”

“You really shouldn’t miss school this early in the semester.”

Dele leans forward. “I’m in two of her classes, and they’re . . .” She makes a pshh sound. “Shorie’s so smart, a couple of days off shouldn’t be any problem.”

Then Rhys chimes in. “I can find someone to take notes for you in class. If you need me to.” He’s got this smug smile, which is funny—but sweet too.

Ben asks us more about school; then at last, Dele and Rhys say they have to go. I tell them not to worry about me, I’ll be fine. Ben escorts them to the front door, and I hear him thank them for looking after me and tell them to be safe driving back. After they’re gone, he walks back in the room.

“What’s going on?” he says, and this time I can tell he means it for real.

“Nothing,” I say. “I’m just tired. I’d love to lie down for a minute.” That happens to be true. But also, I’m desperate to get this stupid journal out of my shorts.

“You can stay in the guest room,” Ben says. “A day or two, if you don’t mind a little Tiger hair on the comforter. But you know how your mom feels about you staying in school.”

“I know.”

He sighs. “Come on. I’ll help you change the sheets.”

While Ben is gathering the sheets from the hall closet, I hide the journal under a skirted chair. He returns, and we go to work on the bed.

“Talk to me, Shor,” he says. “I can tell something’s going on.”

“I’m having a hard time,” I say. “School’s a lot harder than I thought.”

His eyebrows shoot up.

“Not the classes, just . . . the other stuff. The people, I guess. I don’t think I’m adjusting very well.”

Ben examines the quilt. “Interesting. You know, I told your mom you aren’t the kind of girl who’s going to be easily distracted by things like football games and fraternity parties.”

“You did?”

“Yes. You’re a feeler, Shorie. It’s your strength.”

I go very still. Lots of people have made fun of me for studying too much or understanding a calculus problem just by looking at it, but never because I felt things too deeply. It makes me feel good. But mad, too, that Ben can break down my defenses with one stupid compliment. I need to remember what he’s done. I need to remember that he’s the enemy.

I smooth the blanket and tuck it under the mattress. Ben does the same, but his side looks like crap. The next thing I say comes out of me in a rush. “Are you going to leave Sabine?” The words hang there, awkward and irretrievable. But I’m not sorry I said them. I’m curious to know how he’ll answer.

He looks at me out of the corner of his eye, then lets out a bitter laugh. “Even the nurse who gives me my flu shot tells me right before she jabs the needle in.”

“Sorry.”

He shakes his head. “It’s okay. You know, you are so much like your mom. When it comes to this kind of thing, she, too, has exactly zero tact.”

He surveys the street outside the window. “Marriage is a funny thing, Shorie. Sometimes it’s a partnership and a battle, all at the same time. I don’t mean your parents—they got it about as close to perfect as anybody could. Compared to them, the rest of us are just wannabes and hopefuls. Sabine and me? We’re not the epic love story I thought we were. That I wanted us to be. But that’s okay, you know? That’s real life, and it’s perfectly fine.”

He smiles at me. A fake smile, I think.

“I’ve never seen the point in shielding kids from the truth,” he goes on. “But what do I know? I’m not a father. Anyway, I probably just said about five things your mother would shoot me for.”

I don’t say anything. Then after a few seconds, Ben claps his hands. “Okay,” he says in this hearty voice. “Why don’t you get some rest, and later maybe we’ll pick up some pizza? Or maybe we’ll cook. You could probably use a good home-cooked meal, right?”

“Okay.”

He edges backward to the door. I think about my dad’s journal, hidden under the chair.

“Get some rest,” Ben says. He hesitates, like maybe there’s something else he wants to say, but then he seems to decide against it, and he’s out the door.

I slip off my Toms, retrieve the journal, and slide between the covers. The bed is really comfortable, and I burrow down the way I used to with Foxy Cat.

I think about Dele and Rhys, on their way back to Auburn. Will they stop for dinner and talk about me? They seemed to get along pretty well. We all seemed like friends today, and their absence feels like a dull ache right below my sternum. I suddenly wish I were with them, getting ready for class tomorrow. I miss all that: the books, the work, the energy of the classroom.

I lay the journal on top of the quilt and stare at it. I wonder for a second if it’s wrong to read it. The notes and reminders Dad meant only for himself. Is it wrong to read someone’s things after they’re gone? Do they see you do it, from another plane? Someplace outside of the material universe? I hope so. I hope Dad is watching, even if it makes him mad at me.