In the next week, Evangeline walked the trails with Rufus each afternoon. It made him crazy happy. He’d forget his achy old body and pad through puddles like a young pup, leap storm-downed trees, dive after creatures not quite seen. Always he was scenting the air. Sometimes he’d land on an aroma so wild and rare it tensed every muscle, raised the hackles up his spine.
With Rufus at her side, the woods became a cauldron of mysterious life. As the light fell, she’d plow deeper into those dark trails, turn corners holding her breath. She searched out the edges of her fear like a tongue worming to a pulled tooth. It was a controlled fear, like a controlled burn, and it amplified the exhilaration of returning to a warm, lit house.
She needed that rush of blood to wake her mind, to ready herself for schoolwork that took all her concentration. On the last Thursday of October, she returned from her walk and went straight to her room, planning to dig into her calculus and trig. The courses were insanely hard. She wouldn’t have had a chance, but the teachers were helping her during lunch and after class. Yesterday Ms. Swanson even slipped her an answer sheet so she could check her work.
A desk had appeared in her room a week back, and Evangeline settled at it then, proud of not delaying. Only she couldn’t find a pencil and decided there might be one in her old backpack. She fished through its foul pockets, snagging months-old candy wrappers and ratty socks, a small flashlight with corroded batteries, a leaky pen.
One pocket was left unexamined. She knew it didn’t contain a pencil, but she unzipped it and retrieved the filthy bracelet. It lay along the lifeline of her palm as she ran a fingertip over the crooked J. She took it to the bathroom and placed it in a sink of hot water, watched as mud seeped from its knots.
She didn’t worry she’d wash Jonah out of it. He had promised that she never could.
AFTER THE EVENING WITH THE FROG, she hadn’t expected another gift from Jonah. Given her abrupt departure, she hadn’t even expected to see the boy himself. But as she approached the park the next night, his truck was in the spot where she’d last seen it, and she did an odd little skip, happy despite herself.
She had been thinking of him all day, how he’d blurted that stuff about his dad, so full of pain and bitterness, acting like he wanted to shock her with it, when really—she felt certain—he longed to be close to her, believed she could relieve him of his particular aloneness. She felt they’d gone through it together, the percussive blast of the gun, the twisting away of Jonah’s head. For all its horror, she rejoiced in believing she knew him, in thinking they had reached—so easily, it seemed—a place where she might be safe exposing some stories of her own.
She snuck up to the truck’s passenger side, picturing him laughing in happiness when he saw her. But when she swung the door open and hopped in, he bucked away, his head cracking against the side window. A crazy, jumpy boy. A boy wired up all wrong.
“You sleep here or what?” she said, pretending not to notice his panic.
He was panting, trying to collect himself, and she wished she could say she was sorry for scaring him, sorry for leaving the night before. She wished she knew how to be sweet.
“No. No,” he said, fast and anxious. “I went home last night. I did. Right after you got out. Today I—”
“It’s okay. I’m just teasing.” But she got even that wrong, her tone implying he was an idiot for thinking otherwise.
He forced a laugh like yeah, he knew he was a jerk.
She almost wouldn’t have recognized him from the night before, though nothing whatsoever had changed; he even wore the same clothes. The more powerfully she felt about someone, the harder it was to imagine them accurately. And on this early-September evening, Jonah appeared more ordinary than the boy she’d created in her head these past twenty hours, his skin not quite as pale, his lashes not so dramatic. Even his acne was less obvious. But when his hazel eyes finally met hers, her body remembered perfectly how it had felt to kiss him. Like he’d been burning inside and passed that bright burning right into her.
“How do you think the little frog is doing back in the wild?” she asked.
“Great,” Jonah said, his voice relieved. “He was singing so loud you could hear him all over the neighborhood. My mom complained he was keeping her up.”
“So. You and the frog got pretty tight? You recognize his croak over all the others.”
“Hell yeah,” he said, laughing. “Like a mama with her baby.”
When he’d jerked away from her the night before, she’d thought he’d talked to Daniel and knew what she was, didn’t want to be touched by a girl like that. If he’d slapped her, it wouldn’t have been worse. But as soon as her feet hit the gravel, she’d known she’d gotten it wrong. He’d been surprised is all. She saw it again tonight, that faulty circuitry of his. She should have gone back to him right then, but she had a habit of sticking with punitive reactions, especially when she was being an ass. Better to wait a day and act like nothing had happened. And it was working, because here they were, wiping out that misstep as if it’d never been.
“Why don’t we go visit him?” she said, picturing the secluded road end where they’d park, already tasting the mints he popped, the heat of cinnamon in his mouth.
“You mean like right now?”
She nodded.
“Yeah, okay. I think he’d like that.” He started the engine, and she noticed, as she had before, a woven cotton bracelet with a crude red J dangling on his right wrist. She reached over and tapped it with a finger.
“This from a girlfriend?”
He ground through a gear as they started up a hill. “Don’t have a girlfriend.” He glanced at her. “My little sister, Nells, made it for me a year ago.”
“Pretty nice big brother to wear it all this time.”
“Nells had a matching one for a while. Best-buddies kind of thing.” He shrugged. “She took hers off a long time ago. I probably should too. She’s thirteen and thinks I’m useless.”
EVANGELINE RESTED HER HEAD ON JONAH’S SHOULDER, listening for frogs who’d yet to sing. They hadn’t kissed, but there was no hurry because she knew they would. Finally a croak rose from the pond.
“Is that him?” she asked.
Jonah laughed. “That’s a girl.”
“Don’t I feel stupid.”
“I’d think so.”
She didn’t know if she’d ever spent time like this with a boy. Just quiet and listening. It made her body feel different, like the weight of it had lifted away. When he finally did tilt her face to his and she was brought thumping back into her body, she had never felt so happy to have lips and skin and heat pulsing through her.
He didn’t buck away when she touched him this time. She’d been careful though, starting at his knee and working her way there. She should have waited longer to make her move, but a frantic greed filled her, as if he were a table laden with food and she’d been starving for a terribly long time. To have a boy be cautious with her—to worry she might not be ready or that she could be hurt—well, wouldn’t that make anyone crazy with lust?
The sex didn’t last long. He probably came on entry, but she kept moving, pretending he hadn’t. She gasped and shivered and moaned with a reasonable amount of drama, and when she figured he was convinced, she dismounted, throwing herself back in the passenger seat as if awash in pleasure.
She pulled on her jeans. “Not bad,” she said, and kissed his cheek.
He sat there stunned, his cock limp on his pale thighs, his breath fast, almost gasping, as if he’d survived a horrible accident. “We didn’t use protection.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “It’s a good time of the month.”
She had no idea if that was true. She hadn’t bothered to count the days since her last period. But why should he worry? She’d had her share of unprotected sex and never gotten pregnant. Maybe something was wrong with her that way. Besides, she’d decided long ago that if she ever got pregnant, she wouldn’t tell the boy. Unless she and the boy were married or something. Maybe then she would.
“You sure?” he said, looking at her squarely, like it mattered to him, and even knowing he had a crush on her, she was surprised by this caring.
She brushed his bangs from his eyes, regretting the tenderness of it, the way he might be misled. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
“Okay. Good.” He pulled up his shorts and turned to her, kissed her with every bit as much passion as if he hadn’t already come, as if his feelings for her fell into some wider, more potent place. He kept petting her hair like she was a dog. Ordinarily she’d hate that, but there was no ownership in it, just an intensity of feeling that confused her. He stopped and began working the knot on the bracelet. When he got it loose, he said, “Give me your wrist.”
“Really?”
“Like I said, Nells threw hers away a long time ago. I like thinking of it touching you . . .” He tried to say more but couldn’t manage it. “Sorry,” he muttered.
She held out her arm. “It’s perfect. It really is.”
He had to tie it in the thick part of the bracelet because her wrist was tiny compared to his. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s a little dirty. You could wash it.”
“I wouldn’t want to wash you out of it.”
“Don’t worry. You couldn’t if you tried.”
THERE WAS ONE IMAGE THAT STAYED WITH HER AFTER: the astonishment on his face when she swung a naked thigh over his lap and lowered herself onto him. She had seen men overcome with lust, caught in the ferocious grip of arousal, but she had never witnessed this kind of shocked rapture, this level of submission, and she found its naked vulnerability ghastly. If she were a flood, a rush of water swirling higher and higher, he would have happily lain down in her, let her be the last of him.
And there was the ghastliness of her own feelings, her sense of fragile happiness. She couldn’t have it. Just couldn’t. She wasn’t sure she’d ever been truly happy, but she could tell with this small glimpse that happiness would be addicting, that you’d forever be seeking that first perfect high.
No, whatever this feeling was, it needed to be snuffed out before it rooted and began to spread, before it needed feeding in order not to ache.
AND SHE’D BEEN RIGHT, HADN’T SHE? That happiness had been an illusion. Here she was, pregnant and alone. If she hadn’t had sex with Jonah, neither boy would be dead. That had to be true. Somehow Jonah had found out about her night with Daniel and hated him as a result.
She opened her chemistry book, tried to focus on the elements of scientific notation, but she kept seeing Daniel the night she first met the boys. He was talking away, some story about himself. For no apparent reason, he reached over and ruffled Jonah’s hair. Jonah’s eyes shot to the ground. When he looked up, his smile was tense and ashamed.
She’d taken Daniel’s act as one of affection and Jonah’s response as part of his general unease. But now she understood: Daniel believed that Jonah’s hair—and no doubt everything Jonah thought of as his own—was Daniel’s to do with as he pleased.
Maybe, she thought, Jonah had hated Daniel all along.