What Happens Now(28)

But right now, we were at the same point, hovering on the edge of something with someone. This changed everything.

“I guess we’ll see,” said Kendall.

“You’ve been lying here, writing a rough draft in your head, yes?”

“Oh, yes.”

I passed her the laptop. “Okay, show me.”

Kendall pulled up to the curb in front of Millie’s. We’d pressed Send on her email to James and jumped on the air mattress for a few minutes. I was convinced that light rays of nervous energy were about to shoot out of our fingers.

“You’ll keep me posted?” I asked.

“You’ll turn on your goddamn phone at some point?” she shot back, pointing with her chin at my bag. I hadn’t yet dared switch it on. If it wasn’t on, I couldn’t not get a call.

“Yes, yes.”

“Do it now. I want to watch you do it.”

I gave her a dirty look. “Fine. But there won’t be anything. It’s too early.”

I fished out my phone, held down the Power button, and the screen lit up. We waited for a few seconds for it to tell me I had a voice mail.

It didn’t tell me I had a voice mail.

“Too early, like you said,” said Kendall.

We both stared at the phone as if it might offer a more expert opinion. According to my data, the average turnaround time for a “call me” request to a potential love interest is 18.5 hours. If at all.

After Kendall drove away, I turned to see Richard standing in the window of the store, holding up two coffees.

“Fun night?” he asked as I came inside and took one of the coffees from him.

“Amazing,” I said, realizing it was true regardless of what happened next.

What happened next was that I made myself busy for an hour. Max’s yarn had come in the previous afternoon, and I packed it up in a crisp brown paper bag with handles.

Two people came into the store during that time, and neither of them bought anything. I watched Richard watch the FIND VERA! flyer as the door closed behind each one, until it stopped fluttering and finally became still.

“Aren’t Sunday mornings always slow?” I asked, waving my hand in front of his face.

“Yes, yes,” he said, snapping out of it.

“It’ll be okay,” I offered, even though I wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe that didn’t matter. It was a fill-in-the-blanks thing to say.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. My breath caught. My adrenaline surged.

It was not a number I recognized.

“Hello?” I said, my voice shaking.

“Ari?” asked Camden. He sounded far away. Fainter, and quieter. Tired, or nervous.

I swallowed hard, to make sure my throat was even working.

“You found my note.” I’d discussed this with Kendall, and we’d decided this was the best opening line. It came out okay. Almost regular.

“Eliza found it and stuffed it in my pants while I was sleeping.”

“Oh. That’s . . . sweet?”

“The Eliza version, yes.”

We both laughed, then fell quiet. I felt like we’d traveled successfully up the ramp to this conversation and were now cleared for takeoff. Richard looked up at me from where he sat at the counter.

“Can I have a few minutes?” I whispered to Richard, dropping the phone to my side. Richard smiled and nodded. “Hang on,” I then told Camden.

I went through the storeroom and then out the back door, where I sat down on one of the three wooden steps that led into the alley. It was the most privacy I was going to get anytime soon.

“Where did you take me?” asked Camden.

“To the alley behind Millie’s Art Supply.”

“What are you looking at?”

His voice now. Throaty and curious. The soft curve of interest in it, painfully lovely.

I paused. “Two dumpsters. A blue Ford pickup truck that’s been parked here since last winter. A pair of sneakers hanging from the telephone lines.”

“What color are the dumpsters?” he asked.

“Black,” I said.

“Ah, okay. Got it. I can see you.”

Can you, Camden? And what do you see in me that I can’t see in myself?

“What about you?” I asked.

“I’m in my room,” he said. “I’m looking up at my skylight. It’s a perfect rectangle of blue. Kind of looks like someone painted the color right onto my ceiling.”

We were silent again. Awkward. But also, not. I wondered where he was in his room. I wondered if he were lying on his bed, but didn’t want to ask him any questions that had the word bed in them. I wondered if he was in pajamas or had slept in his clothes, the Atticus Marr costume’s T-shirt and pants. I pictured the combat boots sitting on the floor, the flight jacket hanging over the back of a chair.

“I’m sorry I had to leave last night,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t ask for more explanation.

“I am, too.”

Silence again. I heard him take a deep breath, and it sent a flush of heat down the side of my neck, how loud and close it was in my ear. How person-like it made him. “I can’t talk long,” he said after a few moments. “I’m leaving in a bit for Vermont.”

I felt something inside me lurch to a stop.