Push(29)

Since I don’t want to ruin my favorite shoes, I dutifully take them off and toss them into the trunk. The boots are way too big, and I stumble along the trail behind him, my flashlight wavering through the dark. He doesn’t walk for long, though, thank goodness, and about fifteen minutes later, he stops. We are at the tree line now, and there is a pile of huge rocks next to us. He clambers up the rocks and reaches down to help me do the same. It’s tough going in my skirt, but, since I know no one else is here, I hike it up so my legs can stretch farther. I wish it were light enough for me to see his face.
When we get to the top of the rock pile, he stops. And once I am no longer worried about tripping over my own feet, I raise my head and draw in a quick breath. There is just enough light left for me to see the drop-off in front of us. The ledge is pretty sheer, and it is definitely not a place where I want to lose my balance. But out in front, below the cliff, stretches the entire city. The grid of the streets is laid out in lights. There are barges on the river, cars cruising the roads, and buildings of all shapes and sizes. From here, the city looks so handsome, so active. I love it, and I am grateful to David for showing it to me.
“Wow. It’s beautiful. Really. I had no idea.” I sit on the rock, tucking my legs up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them. David follows suit, stretching his legs out and crossing them at the ankles. He puts his flashlight down and opens the cooler. God, I hope there is food in there. Despite my want of a sandwich, he hands me a newly opened beer, and I swallow. It is cold and fresh, but it’s no ham on rye. Still, I drink it in the darkness, enjoying the quiet view.
“David, I need to know something,” I finally say. “It’s been bothering me since I met you, so I’m just going to ask.”
“What?” he says. “Ask whatever you want.”
I take a long, dramatic pause and breathe in deeply, pretending to think hard. “What’s your last name?”
He throws his head back and lets loose a gigantic laugh. It’s the first time I’ve heard anything more than a soft chuckle from him. It is unabashed, lucid laughter. And it sounds at once both heavenly and demonic. I can’t help but laugh myself, and soon we are immersed in a fit of laughter, together. Both of our flashlights are off now, so I can’t see him, but I imagine what his face looks like wearing a full-blown smile.
I wipe the tears off my eyes, and in a few minutes we both wind down.
“Calgaro, Emma. My last name is Calgaro.” As he says it, he scoots his bottom over next to mine and wraps his arm around my shoulder. It’s starting to get chilly now, and I am thankful for his closeness. We sit in silence and drink another beer. I don’t want to ask him anything else. I don’t really want to know anything else about him. And I don’t want him to ask me any questions either. Because I don’t want to tell him about me.
Eventually he lies back on the rock, resting his hands behind his head. I lie back, too, putting my head into the crook of his underarm. His body is warm, so I push myself a little closer to him and line my torso and legs up snugly with his. A few minutes pass, and I can’t help myself. My stomach is growling.
“Do you have a f*cking sandwich in there or not?”
I can tell he is thinking about my question. “Shit, Emma. You haven’t eaten, have you?”
“Not since lunch.”
“Damn it. I’m sorry. I ate downtown before I met you, so it wasn’t even on my radar. Come on, let’s go.” He flips on his flashlight, stands and extends his hand to help me up. We walk back down the trail and get into the car.
“Where do you want to go?” he asks.
“Home,” I say. “I want to make us something in my fine-ass kitchen. But you should know that this time I will not let you off the hook. Tomorrow morning I will wake up with you in my bed.”
He starts the engine, backs out of the lot, and floors it all the way home.



chapter Fifteen

It is ten-thirty, and we are eating pasta alfredo at my little table and discussing all the things I need to see in the city. David tells me about his favorite Thai restaurant, the best mountain-biking trails, the bars he hits with his friends on the weekends, and the shooting range he would like to take me to. His voice comes alive as he is talking. His enthusiasm for the city is clear. I know he has lived in at least two other states, but he tells me that this is the place he’d like to stay. This is where he has been the happiest, he says, and it is only getting better. I’d like to assume that the last part is in reference to me.
When we are finished eating, we carry everything into the kitchen, and he scrapes the plates, hands them to me, and I put them into the dishwasher. When I am finished, I turn around and look at him, leaning my back against the counter’s edge.
“So, where did you live before you moved here?” he asks. Okay, here we go. Here come the questions. Damn it.
“Well, I lived in a shitty little apartment in Chicago for a year, and before that, I was in college at Case Western Reserve in Cleveland.”
“Chicago, huh? Why were you there?” I want to cut off the questions somehow.
“I was working as an intern at an engineering firm.” I walk out of the kitchen, past him, and head straight down the hallway. He follows me to the bedroom and leans on the doorjamb with his arms crossed. I open a drawer and pull out my boy-shorts pajamas while I am talking. “I thought the internship might lead to a permanent position, but it wasn’t really a company I wanted to be with for the long haul. So, I started looking for another job and found this one. I was actually born here, while my dad was finishing his basic training. We moved away when I was just a baby, but I still feel a connection.”