Hello, Goodbye, and Everything in Between(56)

“You’ll see.”

But when they reach the entrance to the beach, he turns left instead, and they weave through the quiet neighborhood that sits along the edge of the water. The houses are still mostly dark but for the occasional light in an upstairs window, and Clare realizes that the people inside are preparing themselves to start a brand-new day, while she and Aidan are still finishing out the last one, which somehow manages to feel like both the world’s longest and shortest day all at the same time.

Clare sits up and tucks her hands into the pocket of her hoodie. “I sort of thought you might be going back to check on Rusty.”

“Nah, he’s fine. In fact, I’m sure he’s downright buoyant this morning.”

She rolls her eyes. “We forgot to get a souvenir.”

“There wasn’t much to grab except bolts and screws,” Aidan says, braking to let a squirrel pass on the empty road ahead of them. “And I think that might have been getting into felony territory.”

“I guess it doesn’t matter, anyway. We forgot a bunch of other places, too.”

He nods. “The fountain. And Scotty’s house.”

“And yours. And jail…”

“Oh, I got some pictures of Scotty. I can’t imagine a better souvenir than that. We should have swiped something from Andy Kimball’s house, though. And the bowling alley.”

“Next time I’m there, I’ll be sure to steal a napkin or something.”

“A napkin? Who steals a napkin from a bowling alley? Where’s the challenge in that?”

“It was never supposed to be a challenge,” she tells him. “Just a memento.”

“Yeah, but if you’re gonna do it, you’ve gotta do it right,” he says as he comes to a stop at an intersection. “Smuggling a bowling ball out of there would’ve been amazing.”

“I’m not sure it would make much sense to lug a bowling ball all the way to New Hampshire. But I take your point.”

“Sometimes the hardest things—”

“—are the ones most worth doing,” she finishes, and he looks over at her with a smile, then flicks the button for the radio, which is still tuned to the same bluegrass station from earlier. A song—slow and warbling—fills the car, and Clare lowers her window to let her arm dangle outside, feeling the heat of the still-rising sun, and the wind rushing in, warm and sweet and new.

When she realizes they’re just a few blocks away from the high school, she glances over at Aidan, the question left unspoken, but he shakes his head anyway.

“Nope.”

In town, they pass the fountain in the village square, where a few birds are taking a morning bath, then Slices, which is shuttered and empty at this time of day. It feels like they’re reliving the night all over again, and she wonders if that’s the point of this, or whether the town is just so small that they can’t help passing everything more than once on any given drive.

When they catch a light at the corner near the gas station, Clare remembers the stash of candy still in the back of the car. She grabs a roll of Smarties and offers one to Aidan, who is already holding out a flattened palm.

Finally, as they loop back toward the other end of the main street, she gives up.

“We’re going in circles,” she informs him, and Aidan nods.

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“I don’t get it.”

“This is it,” he says, glancing over at her. “This is the last stop.”

“What? The car?”

“Think about it. We’ve probably spent more time together here than anywhere else in the world. How many nights have we just driven around for hours ’cause there’s nothing else to do?”

She knows it’s true. For all the memories of these past two years, this is how she’ll probably think of him most often: his hand slung loosely over the wheel, a lazy smile on his face, the music filling the air around them.

“You’re right,” she says, letting her eyes flutter shut for a moment.

He reaches out and pokes her. “Don’t fall asleep on me now. We’ve made it this far.”

Her eyes flash open again. “But no farther,” she says, the words slipping out before she has a chance to think better of them.

Aidan looks at her sideways, a question behind his eyes.

“It’s just… I heard what you said to your dad.”

“About what?”

“About us. He asked if we were staying together, and you said no. Remember?”

Aidan frowns. “Is this a trick question?”

“No.”

“Well… I thought we decided that hours ago. You decided it.”

“I know,” she says, shifting to face him. “We did. But it was the way you said it. Like it was nothing. Like we were nothing.”

He readjusts his grip on the wheel. “Look, I’m sorry if I did something wrong, but I thought we were both on the same page here. I thought we’d decided—”

“But that was before,” she says in a small voice.

“Before what?”

“Before I said it.”

“Said—” he begins, then stops short. “Oh.”