Run(51)

She’d probably think I was crazy. Or immature.

So I hadn’t told her.

Which meant she had no idea why I was suddenly so quiet when they sat down.

“You all right, Agnes?” Bo asked. “Something wrong with the fries?”

“No,” I said. “I’m fine.”

Bo stared at me for a second, like she wasn’t sure if she ought to believe me, but then she turned to Colt. “So what’re you doing here?”

“Visiting Mama for the weekend. And came to pick up the last of my stuff.”

“How’s work?”

“It’s all right. I get a lotta shit, since I’m the new guy. And the youngest. But it’s money.”

They talked like this for a while, Bo drilling him with questions about his new apartment and what it was like living outside of Mursey. And I just sat there, hoping I didn’t look as awkward as I felt. And, for the first time, wishing Mama’s overbearing side would kick in and convince her to come pick us up early.

Not that I wasn’t happy to see Colt again—I was. I just had no clue what to say to him.

I was gonna have to come up with something, though, because a few minutes later the bell over the door jingled and a woman went up to the counter to order. None of us paid attention at first, but we all heard the gossip she told the cashier.

“That Dickinson woman is outside her trailer without a coat,” she was saying in a voice that sounded a lot like an elderly Christy might. “Looks like she’s trying to fix that lawn mower again even though there’s no grass to be mowed.”

“Shit,” Bo muttered.

“Wow,” the cashier said. “Meth, you think?”

“Oh, obviously, honey,” the Elderly Christy said. “That family, I tell you what.”

“Gimme your keys,” Bo said. But she just snatched them off the table before Colt could say a thing. “I’ll be back.”

And then she was gone.

And it was just me and Colt and a whole lot of silence.

“I … I hope she’s all right,” I said, finally, when the quiet was getting to me. “Bo’s mama, I mean.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Well, I’m more worried about Bo. I’m glad she seems to stay at your place more than at her own these days.”

I just nodded.

And this time, after a few minutes of nobody talking, Colt was the one to break.

“Listen, I’m sorry I ain’t called or—”

“I didn’t expect you to,” I said.

“You didn’t?” He sounded surprised.

I shook my head. “No. I mean, when we … On New Year’s, I knew you were leaving. I knew there wasn’t gonna be a future for us.”

“And you’re all right with that?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Well, I mean … I don’t feel bad about what happened, if that’s what you’re asking.” Then, after a pause, “Do you … feel bad about it?”

“No,” he said, real quick. “No, no. Not at all. That night was … It was great, Agnes. I just wish I’d been able to take you out on a date after … or before. I reckon you’re supposed to do that before, but—”

“Colt, I really never expected you to—”

“But I wanted to,” he said. “If I was sticking around longer, I would’ve.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I like you, Agnes.”

“Oh.”

The surprise must’ve been written all over my face, because Colt said, “You didn’t know? I figured it was obvious. I always felt like I was staring at you …”

“Well … I’m blind, so … it’s easy to miss that stuff.”

We both smiled and, for a minute, it was like that night in his trailer again, just the two of us, laughing through the awkward moments.

“Well, of course I like you. You’re smart and nice, and a lot tougher than people realize, I think. I’ve liked you from day one. Not that it matters much,” he went on. “Even if I was still in town, you don’t wanna date a Dickinson.”

“That’s not true,” I said.

“Well, you shouldn’t wanna date a Dickinson.”

“I’ve done a lot of things I shouldn’t over the past few months,” I said. “And, honestly, I’m feeling pretty good about most of them, so …”

“Well … I’m glad,” he said. “That you don’t feel bad about what happened that night. And I am sorry I ain’t called. Not because you expected me to, but because I wanted to. If … If I want to again, would it be okay if—”

“Call any time,” I said.

“All right. Thanks …” He let out a breath, like everything we’d just said had relieved a weight he’d been carrying for months. “And, uh … I know you say we ain’t got a future, but you know. If we’re ever living in the same town again, maybe …”

That seemed unlikely. After getting out of Mursey, it was hard to imagine Colt or anybody ever wanting to move back. And even harder to imagine me being able to get out. But maybe that’s what I needed—some hope, some promise of a future, even if it was unlikely. Maybe if I did what Bo and Colt and Christy had been telling me to, talk to my parents about how suffocated I felt, maybe it’d pay off. Maybe one day I’d get out of here.