We Are the Light(42)

“You don’t want to come along?” I asked, which is when he asked what exactly was going on between Jill and me, to which I replied that we had been very good friends for many years. Then I told him that Jill and Darcy and I had all gone to the same high school he had attended, where Eli and I had met, back when I used to help troubled teens.

Eli didn’t seem to care that all of us had the same alma mater. Instead he went on a rant about how much Jill had been doing for both of us, pointing out that she did all the cooking and cleaning and laundry and now she was doing the catering for our monster movie production, all in addition to holding down a full-time job. “So,” Eli said with finality, “you’re going to take Jill out for a nice fancy dinner on her birthday.”

Before I knew what had happened I was dressed in khakis and a button-down shirt and riding shotgun in Jill’s truck, which was pointed toward Center City, Philadelphia. Jill was wearing a white sundress that showed off her well-toned legs, leather sandals that showed off her recently painted nails, and large golden chandelier earrings that bulged through the two curtains of blond hair that framed her face, which she had made up special for our evening.

We parked in a garage near Rittenhouse Square and then walked to a restaurant called 215, which Eli had found on the internet, saying it was “the hot new place.”

When we entered, Jill told the hostess we had a reservation under “Majestic Films Incorporated,” because Eli had given them our corporate account and even our corporate credit card, which Mark had supplied for occasions such as this.

“Right this way,” the hostess said, and then led us toward a prime seat in the corner, where we’d have privacy. After giving us our menus, she said, “It’s not often that we have Hollywood types in here,” and then she winked at Jill, although I’m not quite sure why.

This was a tapas place, meaning you were supposed to order many small plates, which Jill took care of for the both of us, shortly after which food started arriving and didn’t really stop for more than an hour. Jill was in heaven and kept saying, “Can you believe how good this is?” She asked our servers so many specific questions about the food that the head chef finally came out and offered Jill a tour of the kitchen, which she happily accepted. I could tell that this chef, who was maybe ten or so years younger than us, was attracted to Jill because he kept looking at her backside whenever Jill’s eyes were focused on one of the many boiling pots or the hissing pans or trays baking in the large silver ovens. He also kept touching Jill’s arms lightly as he moved her around his work space and never once made eye contact with me. I followed the two of them like a forgotten tail. I started to get the strangest feeling in the pit of my stomach—it felt like I had swallowed a ball of fire—and then I was sort of angry with Jill although I’m not sure why.

After we paid for our meal, Jill asked if we could walk around the city. It was a hot night, but not too hot. Just hot enough to make your skin feel alive and your lungs feel a bit heavy with the moist city air.

In the Rittenhouse Square Park, we sat down on a bench and Jill said, “Forty-nine. How did that even happen?” When I shrugged, she added, “I wish Darcy were here.” Then she took my hand and held it in her lap. When I gave her a questioning glance, she said, “It’s okay,” and then she just watched the people pass as she lightly stroked the back of my wrist. It almost tickled, but I found her touch mesmerizing. I sat there unable to move a muscle for what felt like a half hour.

Then Jill turned and looked into my eyes for a long moment before she said, “You and me, Lucas, we’re going to be okay. Eli’s going to be okay too. You understand that, right? Because that’s what I want for my birthday—for you to know that the three of us are going to be okay.”

When I didn’t say anything, she kissed my right cheek and then led me back to the parking garage by the hand.

On the drive back—riding shotgun in Jill’s truck again—I was sweaty and nauseous. It felt like I had done something unforgivable, when all I had done was follow Eli’s instructions, taking our Jill out to dinner on her forty-ninth birthday, thanking her for all she had done for Eli and me, letting her know that she was appreciated.

But the night just didn’t sit right with me.

When Jill pulled her truck into our driveway, Eli’s tent was glowing orange as a jack-o’-lantern again. I was glad that he didn’t come out to see how our evening had gone.

Inside the house, Jill looked at me for a long time as we stood there in our tiny vestibule, before she said, “Do you want to come up to my room?”

I swallowed hard and felt the blood drain from my face. When I started to shake, Jill hugged me and—in a very different sort of voice—said, “It’s okay, Lucas. It was a really nice birthday. Thank you.”

When I finally stopped shaking, Jill kissed me on my left cheek this time and then she climbed the stairs and disappeared into our guest bedroom.

I stood there in the vestibule, trying to puzzle together what had just happened. It was like my feet were cemented to the floor and my fists weighed five hundred pounds each. Only when the spell wore off was I able to climb the steps. And then I was in my room again with the door locked. I opened the windows wide, but winged Darcy never came.

I’m really starting to worry about her.

Do you think I did something wrong, Karl?