45. Trust

The night wind caresses us as Jocelyn winds through the neighborhood streets. She drives with purpose, knowing where she’s going. I hold the door handle next to me and glance at her.

The picture is one that I believe I will remember until my dying breath, even if it’s a hundred years from now.

Her hair swirls and blends in the darkness. Her eyes seem to radiate, their focus straight ahead, their windows shielding something deep and powerful behind them that I want to see. She looks like she’s twenty-six, not sixteen. She looks like she’s a woman who doesn’t need to be with a boy.

She looks at me with a smile confirms that I shouldn’t think such thoughts.

The old, expensive houses pass us by on old-school blocks with old trees towering above, all reeking of old money. It reminds me of some Chicago suburbs. Money is money anywhere. It’s a beautiful thing to not be in that world, but to be here in the passenger seat, taking a drive and looking out and wondering where we are going.

Jocelyn turns on the radio.

The tune playing is perfect, and I know after two seconds that it will be our song.

She turns it up and keeps driving, not revealing anything, just driving and listening.

I never want to leave this moment.

“Here,” she says. “This is what I wanted to show you.”

“This is crazy.”

“It’s some view, huh?”

I look behind us at the towering stone structure that seems to hover with arms outstretched. The lights from the deck glimmer above us. In front of us, below the falling stairs and the lawns of the golf course, lies the snug and sleeping valley. The downtown of Asheville burns brightly to our left.

“This is called Grove Inn?” I ask.

“Grove Park Inn. Presidents have stayed here. It’s legendary. Made of stone. They say it’s impossible for it to burn down.”

“Have you ever stayed here?”

Jocelyn doesn’t answer. “This is one of my favorite views. When it’s a clear night like this, you can see forever.”

“It’s amazing.”

Slivers of stairs coil down from the hotel several stories above us. We stand in a small, fenced-in alcove that has two lawn chairs facing out. It’s a private nook, one of many scattered around the falling hill.

“The restaurant above us is pretty spectacular,” Jocelyn says.

“You’ve eaten there?”

“A few times,” she says.

“Wow.”

“Yeah. The sun sets while you’re eating, and by the time you get dessert everything around is radiating.”

“I can’t imagine.”

“I wouldn’t be able to imagine either. It’s a whole other world up there.”

“What?”

“The people who stay here. Did you see all those cars in the parking lot?”

“No,” I say.

“You didn’t? Come on—you’re a guy. Guys notice cars.”

“My mind was on other things.”

Jocelyn smiles. “From any other guy, I’d say please.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“But you’re not any other guy.”

“I don’t think I am.”

“I know you’re not.”

I don’t know what to do, what I’m supposed to do. Should I hold her hand? Put my arm around her? It’s a bit chilly here on the side of this mountain with the valley breeze blowing up.

“I wanted you to see something beautiful. Something amazing. There are lots of beautiful things around here. You just have to leave Solitary to find them.”

No, you don’t.

I want to tell her this, but it sounds like another line.

She continues. “I wanted to get away and have some breathing room, you know?”

“Breathing room?”

“Yeah, a chance to not worry about … about anything.”

The way she says anything makes me worry.

“I know this is crazy, coming up to you at the end of school and kidnapping you.”

“I volunteered,” I say.

“I know. But after these last two weeks. I’m sorry, Chris.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“But I don’t want you to just know that. There’s something else.” She turns her whole body and faces me.

This is what it would have felt like to dance with her, to be so close, to smell her and feel her warm breath in the cool night.

“Can I trust you?”

“Yeah,” I say quickly.

“No, I’m serious. I mean this—can I trust you?”

“Trust me with what?”

Her eyes move around, nervous. “Can I trust you with my heart?”

My mouth opens but only swallows a breath. I nod and don’t move my eyes off hers.

“There are so many things about me you don’t know. Things nobody knows.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. Most of them are not okay. They’ll never be okay. But when I hear you say that, I believe you. I believe that they’ll be okay. And this faith—it just seems to be dropping onto me like a waterfall.”

“You can trust me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I’m not worried about me,” Jocelyn says. “I’m worried about you.”

Beyond the girl standing in front of me, the valley of Asheville hovers and seems to hold its breath, waiting to see what happens next.

“I don’t want you to worry about anything.”

She’s just a few inches shorter than me. I move my head down a bit to kiss her cheek, touching her arm as I do.

It’s sweet and innocent, and it’s all I can think to do.

Jocelyn doesn’t let me move away. She locks her arms around me and embraces me for a long time, her head leaning over my shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers to me.

“It’s okay,” I say. “You apologized. It’s done.”

“No.”

“It’s fine.”

She moves and faces me again, a look of fear on her face. “That’s what you don’t understand. It’s not done. It hasn’t even started yet.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

“I can trust you, right?”

I nod.

“Then hold me. Hold me and don’t say a word.”

And that’s what I do.