He’s glad it’s November. In July they’d have to find somewhere to hide, but in November it’s full dark by eight fifteen, been dark for a while. “Hey,” he says, “daylight saving tonight. We get an extra hour tomorrow.” He’s still holding her hand. She’s comfortable behind the wheel, but she’s only had her license for two months, so she drives carefully. Nothing like riding with Wyatt or any other guy he knows. He thinks teenage boys are idiots. Even if the snow from the day before is gone, the roads are wet; she only grazes the speed limit.
They go to the bird sanctuary. It’s about a mile from campus, but it’s still part of Cortaca University. Before last weekend, when he and Deanne went there for a walk, he’d only ever been there on field trips in elementary school, but it’s cool. The Lab of Ornithology is supposed to be world-class, and the sanctuary is 220 acres—it doesn’t escape Jessup that it’s almost the same size as the acreage the Blessed Church of the White America sits on—and littered with trails. More important, it’s also littered with pullouts. It’s not as private as the parking lot by the reservoir, but there aren’t any streetlights, so it’s private enough.
She turns off the car and climbs into the back without saying anything. Jessup isn’t dumb enough to hesitate. He follows her into the backseat, and before he’s even settled she’s on him with an urgency that he hadn’t expected.
She kisses him hard, her teeth hitting his, her tongue darting into his mouth. He’s pressed back against the door, and she’s straddling one of his legs, pressing against his thigh. They stay with kissing for a few minutes, long enough that the windows start to fog. He’s got his hand up her shirt and then pulls it over her head, works at her bra for a few seconds before she sits up, pushes his hand out of the way, and takes it off herself. He wants to reach up and turn on the interior light, marvel at the way she looks, stare at her body, give praise for this miracle, but instead he pulls her toward him so that he can kiss her breast, her nipple in his mouth. After a minute, she pulls at the hem of his shirt, peels it off him, skin on skin, her mouth on his. He slips his hand past her waistband, can’t believe she gives him this. As his fingers touch her, she makes a sound that is both a gulp and a squeak, her nails raking the back of his neck, and then grabs his hair and holds him against her.