Finding Dell (30 page)

“I’ll hold these for you while you put it on.”

I shimmied into the worn sweatshirt and I zipped it with
trembling fingers. He was right, I was chilly, but it felt too intimate to wear his favorite piece of clothing.

We veered back onto the sidewalk, our heads still bowed, and walked in silence for several minutes.

“What are your plans for the summer?”

“I’m going to work at the bike shop back home. They said they’d take me back for the summer. It’s going to be weird to see everyone again.”

We fell silent while I realized he was referring to his ex-girlfriend.
Will they get back together over the summer? Does it matter to me if they do?
I wondered.

“Where are you living next year?”

“I applied to be a resident assistant in one of the dorms in Wild Mare Point. If they choose me, I’ll get free room and board. I’m hoping I’m placed in Palomino Hall.”

“I love the Point. I don’t really want to leave it for an apartment, even one with a coveted spot on Cherry Court. I love walking into the hallway and knowing I have a whole family of people outside, and their doors are open all the time . . . literally. I don’t want to have to cook for myself. I’m going to miss pizza and cupcake night at Georgian Grande.”

Cam laughed. We rounded the corner and Magnolia Banks Lake glimmered ahead with light waves lapping on the surface of the water.

“I’ll admit that I like living in the dorm,” he said. “It postpones real life a little longer.”

Paso Fino loomed ahead of us. Cam handed my shoes back but was careful not to brush his hand against mine in the exchange.

“Thanks for walking me home,” I said, struggling to slide my shoe around my raw heel.

I unlocked the heavy glass door and stuck my foot in to prop
it open and turned back to Cam. His eyes were wide, earnest, as he searched my face.

“Can I ask you something?”

I nodded silently, and I could feel my neck and shoulder muscles tensing up, preparing for an uneasy moment.

“Are you happy?”

My mind raced at the unexpected question. Images of spending time with Will filled my mind and I began to nod slowly, imperceptibly, to myself. I thought of the way I’d felt when Will kissed me the night I wore my plaid pajama pants.

“Yes, I am,” I said confidently.

Cam smiled weakly. “Have a good summer, Madeleine. I’ll see you next year.”

He turned and, with a brisk pace, walked away from Paso Fino. I stood in the doorway and watched him disappear into Wild Mare Woods, and when I couldn’t see him anymore I finally pushed the door open fully and walked inside.

I trudged up the three flights of stairs, my feet screaming in protest as my shoes dug into my blistered heels. When I got to the landing on the third floor, I realized two things.

When I told Cam I was happy, the memories that had raced through my head were those of moments that had happened last spring. I’d worn plaid pajama pants last year, when Will and I lived down the hall from each other in Sugarbush. The kiss I recalled was over a year old.

And I was still wearing Cam’s favorite black sweatshirt.

Later that night my shoes slapped on the concrete path as I hurried across campus. Speakers fastened to lampposts emitted a faint song, rising and falling in volume as I passed through patches of light.

I’d paused on the landing to pull Cam’s sweatshirt off before
turning the corner. In my room, relief washed over me when I heard the shower running. I had time to hide the sweatshirt before Natalie could see it and draw any assumptions. Our relationship was much better after our blowout fight, but I didn’t want to risk igniting her judgmental side. I stuffed overnight clothes into my purse and closed the door softly.

I felt guilty for leaving the dorm after Cam had walked me home, but I knew I had to go to Will’s apartment and create a new moment of happiness, one that wasn’t a year old.

The lazy pluck of an acoustic guitar resonated in the air when I reached South James Street. It spilled from Tennessee’s building, where a group of people was sprawled across the porch steps. I hesitated in the street while the cool nighttime air fluttered against my bare skin, but when I saw the dark windows of Will’s apartment, I walked across the street to join the group.

Charlie, the Finance major with the disarming stare, sat on the top step with his guitar cradled in his lap. His head was bent as he adjusted the tuning keys. Satisfied, he moved his hand along the frets to test the sound.

Tennessee and Helen sat in the damp grass at the foot of the porch steps. Tennessee tapped a beat on his bare shin as he listened to Charlie play.

“Can’t you play something with more soul? We’re falling asleep out here,” Tennessee drawled.

Helen giggled beside him and her eyes widened when she saw me standing at the base of the porch, hesitant but curious.

“Dell! You’re here,” she said, as if she’d been expecting me.

“I’m on my way to Will’s apartment, but I saw you and thought I’d say hi.”

“Will’s at the studio tonight,” Charlie said, looking up from his guitar. He rested his hand on the hollow wooden body and swatted a lightning bug away.

“Stay here while you wait for him,” Helen said.

“Just for a little while,” I said, setting my purse on the steps.

Between Charlie’s maudlin guitar playing and Tennessee and Helen’s captivated focus on each other, I felt out of place. It struck me again that we needed what had been missing for months: the unexpected variety that Bernie brought to any moment.

As the night wore on, I continued to watch the street corner, waiting for Will to appear, walking sluggishly after a long night at the studio.

“I shouldn’t have walked over here,” I said finally.

“Will and Rocco never lock the door. Just wait for Will inside,” Tennessee said.

“You don’t think he’d be upset if he found me asleep in his apartment? Uninvited?”

“You’re not an uninvited guest, Dell. You’re his girlfriend,” Helen said.

Charlie stood and rested the guitar on the porch step gingerly, stretched and stifled a yawn. Helen stood as she eyed Will’s dark apartment.

“Promise me you’ll be safe?” she asked.

I frowned. “His apartment’s right across the street. It’s not a long walk.”

“I didn’t mean the walk. It’s just . . .” She glanced at Tennessee and then at Charlie. “I don’t think Rocco’s home tonight, but . . . oh, never mind.”

“What about Rocco?” I asked as I bent to pick up my purse.

“Rocco’s got a thing for you, Dell,” Tennessee said, interrupting Helen’s tentative speech.

“Will told us about it the other day,” Helen said. “He said Rocco was pissed when you spent the night recently. Will thought you just needed to spend more time together—best
friend and girlfriend bonding, I guess—so he brought Rocco along on your canoeing trip. But he said that backfired. Will thinks Rocco’s just acting this way because he’s jealous and he likes you.”

“Likes me? Every time I talk to Rocco, I get the impression he
hates
me. If anything, he’s jealous I take Will’s time. He’s a transfer, so Will’s his only friend. He’d probably love if we broke up so he could have his friend back.”

“Well, as far as I’m concerned, you’re more welcome in their apartment than he is,” Helen drawled. “He gives me the creeps, bless his heart. He tries too hard to fit in, but you can tell it’s superficial.”

She fixed her gaze on Tennessee and waited for him to corroborate her opinion, but he just shrugged wearily and turned to the door of his building.

“Look, call us if you need anything. We’re right across the street.”

I nodded and gave her a quick hug before I crossed the street to Will’s apartment.

Tennessee was right, the door was unlocked. When I entered, I let in the breeze from the evening that had cooled into a damp draft.

I wandered down the dark hallway into Will’s room. It was stiflingly warm and smelled of dirty laundry. Without the overhead light, the room was a jumble of unfamiliar shadows.

The airless room was oppressive. I kicked the sheets off the bed and fanned at my face with my hand, wearing only my underwear and T-shirt of Will’s I found on the floor. I mopped the sweat from my forehead and sat upright when I remembered that Will couldn’t fall asleep without a fan.

I scrambled across the room for the light switch and sighed in relief when I saw the large oscillating fan in the corner. I
dragged it through the cluttered mess and situated it to blow directly into my face on the highest setting.

The fan sent my hair fluttering. I dialed Will’s phone number and rested my free hand on my chest to feel my pounding heart slow to a comfortable, rhythmic beat while I waited for him to answer. One ring, and then a half, before the phone diverted to voicemail. I frowned at the glowing screen as I realized he didn’t just miss my call, he’d ignored me.

My heartbeat increased again under my resting hand. I’d spent too many autumn nights in a state of panicky loneliness calling and calling Will while he never answered the phone or explained his disappearance. Anxiety rapidly bubbled to the surface at his dismissal.

I felt as if I were looking at my sticky, sweating form in the lonely bed, panning out to examine the scene. This moment didn’t feel like the happiness I’d assured Cam I had in my life. At best, I was alone in an ex-boyfriend’s bed. My stomach twisted, rolling into a thick ball of anxiety that began to travel quickly up my throat, lodging itself in my chest and pouring out of my eyes in hot, desperate tears. I reached frantically for the sheet at the foot of the bed, suddenly self-conscious though I was alone, and I pulled it over my bare legs. I held onto the sheet with tight fists as the tears streamed into my hair and onto the flat pillow below my head.

The next morning, little light streamed into the room, but I woke up with a pounding headache. The pillow was still damp, and my thoughts were muddled with the hazy remnants of dreams, of Will’s hand in mine and bright blue eyes looking at me,
into
me, in the dim light of the Sugarbush stairwell. The air smelled like him, until a single clear thought rattled me awake: I was alone, in his unwashed shirt that smelled of wood from the
architecture studio, and my heart ached with the realization that Will wasn’t in bed. But I wasn’t surprised.

I felt a tear roll down my cheek and fall onto his flat pillow. I wondered why I couldn’t let things go with Will, just like Dean had asked months ago. What was it about him, about us, which kept me planted in his bed for a miserable night in the stifling heat of his room?

I raised my head from the pillow quickly, my eyes darting to the spot where I’d plugged in Will’s large fan. It wasn’t there anymore. Confused, I scrambled from the bed and opened the door, tiptoeing down the hallway to the living room.

Will lay on the couch, one arm dangling over the side, his brown hair ruffling in the light breeze.

My hand covered my mouth involuntarily. The tears started to fall again, more insistent this time, and I slunk back into his room, closing the door quietly behind me. I stood in the center of the messy room, swaying on my feet, my hand still raised to cover my mouth.

Will’s purposeful avoidance hurt more than if he’d never returned home.

CHAPTER 34

THE ARCHITECTURE STUDIO
smelled like wood shavings and glue.

Industrial wooden tables dotted the huge room, filling the expanse under the exposed rafters and fluorescent lights. The tables were covered with green drafting mats, cardboard, balsa wood, and scraps of discarded projects. Pinned to fabric-covered wall panels were grayscale geometric drawings.

Will sat at a table near the back of the room, perched on a metal stool while he measured a dimensional wooden form with a ruler. His shirt sleeves were rolled back and the circles under his eyes suggested he hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in days. A large cup of coffee left rings on the drafting paper draped across his table. It was past ten at night, but there were still a few people in the studio.

He didn’t look up from the delicate model in his hands when I approached. I cleared my throat to announce my arrival and smiled, excited to surprise him. But when he raised his gaze, he didn’t return my smile and the line in his forehead became more pronounced.

“What are you doing here?”

I stepped closer and set down a paper bag with a growing grease stain on the edge of the table.

“I thought you might want some food, so I brought a burger and fries,” I said. “I won’t stay long. I just wanted to say hi.”

His tense shoulders slumped, but he didn’t let go of the model in his hands.

“So is this the other woman?” I joked. As soon as the words tumbled from my mouth I wished I could take them back.

Will frowned. “What are you talking about?”

I pointed at the wooden model. “I just meant, is this what’s been taking up all of your time? I haven’t seen you much lately.”

He set the model down and rooted for a level under the scraps of paper and wood on the table.

“I slept over at your place the other day,” I continued, “but I guess you never came home. At least, you didn’t sleep in your room.”

With the level in his hand, he reached for the coffee cup and lifted it to his lips, shaking it to loosen any remaining drops.

“This project is a killer,” he said, as if that explained why he’d spent the night on the couch.

I shifted to take a seat on an empty metal stool across from him. Overhead, the bar of fluorescent lights hummed softly. A few tables over, a boy rhythmically sanded a wooden dowel while another lowered an X-ACTO knife and carefully sliced a piece of cardboard.

“Explain it to me,” I said.

Will sighed. “I’m making an urbanscape. We have to submit a model of a hypothetical mixed-use development.” He stood up and placed the model gingerly in the center of the table. “This plaza is surrounded by a colonnade, and there are rooftop gardens for sustainability. But, in trying to create balance, we’re
fragmenting the space.” He looked up at me. “My brain is fried.”

I bit my nail as I watched him. He took pleasure in being challenged by a problem, but, taking in his rumpled clothes and dull blue eyes, I could see his calm demeanor cracking under the demands of this project.