Hello, Goodbye, and Everything in Between(28)

“Ice Breakers?” he says, and she shrugs.

He takes a few steps in her direction, and for a moment, in spite of everything, she wonders if he might kiss her, right here in the mini-mart. But instead, he stops in front of the candy display, scanning the rows of neatly stacked boxes and bags until he finds what he’s looking for, and when he hands it to Clare, she realizes it’s even better.

Not just one kiss, but a whole package.

The Fountain

10:21 PM

They walk to a sound track of crinkling plastic and fluttering wrappers, swapping colors and flavors, exchanging chocolate for gummy bears and licorice for gum. There’s more back in the car, which they left tucked in a parking spot behind the mini-mart, but they couldn’t carry it all. It had been an impulsive, giddy buying spree, the two of them laughing as they tossed candy onto the counter, the packages skidding like hockey pucks toward the surprised cashier.

Some of the names could have a larger meaning, if you looked at them just right—the wax lips and the candy hearts, even the Chuckles—but most of them didn’t. It was just that they’d gotten a little carried away, relieved to be doing something—anything—together, to be reveling in laughter rather than sulking in silence, a happy reprieve, if not a permanent one.

“I have no idea why I’m eating so many of these,” Clare says, popping another M&M into her mouth as they cross the street. “I’m not even hungry.”

“Me neither,” Aidan says cheerfully. “We’re definitely gonna get sick.”

They haven’t discussed a destination, but once they hit the first few shops on the edge of town—the bakery and the jewelry store and the bank that gives out free popcorn on Saturdays—their options are few enough that they both know where they’re headed all the same. They pass a couple about their parents’ age leaving an Italian restaurant, and they can see down the street to where the lights are still blazing in the windows of Slices, but for the most part, the town is empty at this hour, quiet and still and pretty much all theirs.

At the village square—a rectangular green surrounded by rows of shops on three sides—they head straight for the stone fountain at the center, where the shallow water is littered with pennies, glinting like stars in the moonlight. The rain has stopped now, but there’s still the memory of it in the air, which smells as damp and cool as spring. They hoist themselves onto the ledge, their legs dangling as the water burbles at their backs.

“Remember the first time we came here?” Aidan asks, shaking the bag of Skittles in his hand. His eyes are on the train station across the street, where a few people are milling around on the platform, waiting for a late ride into the city.

This time, it’s Clare’s turn to be confused. “Not really,” she says, trying to think back. They’ve sometimes wandered over as a group after grabbing a bite at Slices, but she can’t remember a specific moment with Aidan, nothing meaningful enough that it would have earned a spot on the list.

“We weren’t together yet,” Aidan says, passing her a few Skittles. “But I liked you. A lot. And Scotty had the idea to get ice cream, but he didn’t have any money—”

“Oh, yeah,” Clare says, giving him a light whack on the shoulder as it comes back to her. “So he waded in to collect a bunch of change.”

“And you started splashing him, which turned into a big water fight.”

“I totally remember that. I just forgot you were there.”

“I find that impossible to believe,” he says with a grin. “I’m completely and totally unforgettable. Not to mention the fact that—”

“Aidan,” she says, and he pauses right on the cusp of a speech.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

He laughs. “Fine,” he says. “But you always think you were the one to notice me first. Clearly I noticed you, too, though. Before we were anything.”

Clare lifts her eyes to the moon, which is bluish and nearly full, big as a spotlight and almost as bright. “Before we were anything,” she repeats, leaning back to trail her fingers through the cool water. “It seems like a long time ago.”

Aidan nods, scratching at his chin. “Hey,” he says. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

“It’s okay.”

“Not really,” he says. “It’s just that my dad made me—”

“You don’t have to explain. It’s my fault. I don’t know why I’m so weird about saying it. They’re just three stupid little words, right?”

“Well,” he says with a smile, “they’re not the stupidest.”

“I don’t know,” Clare says. “I mean… I is kind of silly, right? Bringing only one letter to the table seems like a pretty weak move.”

“And how about you?” he says, laughing. “Three letters when one of them already says it all?”

But they end it there. Neither is ready to say anything about the final word, the one sandwiched between the other two, though it hovers there anyway, as hard to ignore as if it were written across the sky in blinking red lights.

Clare swirls her hand through the water once more, then pats it dry on her dress. “I just realized I forgot to get a souvenir at the bowling alley.”