Past Perfect (14 page)

“I guess so . . .”

I thought about Dan’s question. I was no Fiona Warren, but I’d dated a few guys before Ezra. A brief summer
135

LEILA SALES

romance with a pensive, historically minded blacksmith’s assistant. My freshman-year boyfriend, who was adorable and earnest and devoted and who had probably never read an entire book cover to cover, including
Goodnight Moon
. The first boy I ever kissed, when I was twelve, who I supposedly

“went out with” for three weeks, even though we never actually went
anywhere, or even spoke to each other. The guy I dated in eighth grade, who was the region’s best speller, but who never had time to do anything with me other than study spelling words. All good people, who went on to make other girls very happy.

My dumb, adorable freshman-year boy started dating a dumb, adorable cheerleader right after he and I broke up, and they’re still in dumb, adorable heaven. My first kiss now spends his time writing and filming artistic movies with his girlfriend. In ninth grade, the region’s best speller found the region’s sixth-best speller, and they would sit together and quiz each other on words for hours.

These are all good people. I know they are. And I, unable to hold on to anything good, threw each one away, or let each one slip through my fingers like water.

Ezra was the only one I really tried with, really
wanted
to keep. But even trying, and wanting, didn’t save anything. That was the only loss that actually counted for me.

“Yes,” I said to Dan, “Ezra was my first. First love. First heartbreak. First everything.”

136

PAST PERFECT

“Well, you can’t have heartbreak without love,” Dan pointed out. “If your heart was really broken, then at least you know you really loved him.”

“I suppose that’s true. But you
can
have love without heartbreak. Why didn’t I get to have that kind?” Dan rolled his eyes and leaned back on his elbows. “I think love without heartbreak is a myth. A pretty myth, but the kind of myth that ultimately makes us all feel worse about ourselves because we’re somehow not able to make it come true.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from personal experience.” I pushed up the sleeves on the hoodie. It was too hot for sweatshirts.

“I’ve never been in love like that. I guess I’m speaking from my personal experience with my parents.”

“Not a great relationship there?” I guessed.

“Really not. My dad took off a few months ago. Technically, this is a good thing, since he was breaking my mom’s heart in very small ways each day that he stuck around. But then he broke her heart in one final, big way when he left. Like I said, technically, it’s for the best. But no one looks at their lives
technically
. I don’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I am, too. If he were still here and everything between them was still fine—technically fine, that is, since it hasn’t been
actually
fine since I was really little—but if he were still here, then I wouldn’t have to be. I would be touring with my
137

LEILA SALES

band this summer. I’d be, right this moment, probably asleep with two other guys in the backseat of the van, or eating eggs at a diner in rural Pennsylvania, or practicing for a gig . . .”

“But instead you’re stuck sitting out by the creek with me,” I finished for him.

“Aw, this part is okay.” He playfully shoved my shoulder, and I had to resist the urge to grab hold of his arm. “It’s the rest of it that I can’t handle. Feeling like I
have
to be here. The only things that really matter to my mom are family and Reenactmentland. I’m not going to take either of those away from her. She’s batshit, though. She keeps telling people that her husband isn’t here because he’s fighting the Yankees in North Carolina . . . and of course she knows that it isn’t
actually
the Civil War, and that Dad’s not
actually
fighting anywhere . . . but sometimes she acts like she believes it. Because she wants to. Everyone else plays along with her, even though they all know that he got fired at the end of last summer.”

“That’s rough,” I said. I couldn’t imagine what my father would do if Essex fired him. Essex was his life. “What did he do to get fired?”

Dan shrugged and looked away. “Some stupid political issue. It doesn’t matter.” He quickly changed the subject.

“Why are
you
in the reenacting business? If not to keep your mother from having a meltdown?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m not a huge history buff or a natural
138

PAST PERFECT

performer, but I don’t mind it, as a job. I like the people—

with a few notable exceptions. My best friend is there, and she wants me there. My parents want me there.” All of these reasons were completely true, but they weren’t quite enough.

After Dan had opened up to me about his father, I felt like I owed him some honesty. So I said, “Fiona says that I have trouble moving on. That I cling to the past.”

“‘The past,’ meaning 1774?” Dan asked.

“Sure, 1774, or six months ago, or four summers ago . . .

I wasn’t going to come back this summer, but I did, and it’s not entirely because Fiona or my parents asked me to, or because I didn’t know if I could find a better job. It was also because I knew that I would miss it. I’d miss the way my life used to be, when I worked there. I always miss the way my life used to be, and the best way to prevent that is to not change my life very much. I don’t know.” I leaned back onto my elbows, too, so that our arms were nearly touching.

“I guess I don’t handle change very well.”

“I think most people don’t handle change very well.” He looked at me. “Of course,
this
is a change. You’re hanging out in the Civil War—and not even to hide telephones in our trunks!”

“Ha. Yeah, this is a change.”

“And how would you say you’re handling it?”

“So far, better than expected.”

We sat there for a long moment, just staring into each
139

LEILA SALES

other’s eyes. All I could think about was the nearness of him.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” Dan broke the silence, his voice low. “We would both get in trouble.” He stood up.

“Let’s go back.”

“We shouldn’t be doing what?” I scrambled to my feet.

“What exactly are we doing?”

“This.”

“You mean consorting?”

“Sure, consorting. Cavorting. Carousing.” He paused to take a deep breath. “Kissing.” Then he leaned in and pressed his mouth to mine. His lips were warm and soft, moving against my own. And then I was kissing him back, and I closed my eyes to block out everything else except this, this here and now.

A noise that sounded like zippering made me pull away.

“What—” I began, before I realized that I
had
heard a zipper.

Dan had tugged down the zipper on his hoodie, and now, with an expression of wide-eyed innocence, pulled it off my arms and quickly put it on over his uniform.

I was still breathing hard from our kiss, but I managed to get out, “Do you undress all the girls that fast?”

“No,” he answered. “Honestly, I’ve never been in quite this situation before.”

I wet my lips. “Did you kiss me just to distract me? Just so you could get your sweatshirt back?”

140

PAST PERFECT

Dan shook his head slightly, his eyes fixed on mine. “No,” he said quietly.

I wanted him to come back. My mouth, my whole body, wanted him back. I wanted him to hold me, wanted his arms wrapped around me here, in the tall grass, with the water rushing by and the sunlight shining down upon us.

But that’s not what happened. In my life, that’s never what happens. What happened was that he turned to go, like there was nothing between us.

“Dan!” I said, and he turned back around. But then I didn’t know what to say.

“Chelsea.” He ran a hand through his hair so it stuck up in tufts. “I want to. God, obviously, I
want
to. But think what all our friends would say. Think what your Tawny and Fiona and all of them would do if they knew their Lieutenant and a Civil Warrior were together. I’ve been thinking about it ever since I met you. Is it worth it?” I remembered how one of my friends at school had started going out with one of the popular guys last fall. It was a
huge
scandal. Fiona and I gossiped about it constantly.

Our group of friends cut her out almost entirely. We didn’t like the popular kids, because they were casually mean to us, and shallow, and manipulative. And if this friend of ours was going to
date
one of them, then obviously she just wasn’t the person we had thought she was, and we didn’t want anything to do with her.

141

LEILA SALES

And we weren’t even at
war
with the popular clique. We just didn’t especially like them.

“No one would have to know,” I suggested to Dan.

“But
we
would know.”

Which was true, of course. Already, I felt ashamed of what we had done—and we had barely done
anything
.

“Is it worth it?” he asked again, but I didn’t know the answer.

“I wonder if this ever happened during the historical wars,” I said as we started walking together back up the hill from the creek. “Did a Patriot ever make out with a Loyalist? Did a Confederate soldier ever have a thing for a Northern woman?”

“I’m sure they did,” Dan answered. “If there’s one common thread throughout all of history, it’s that people have always fallen for the wrong people.”

I gave a little laugh. “Somehow they didn’t mention that in Essex’s historical training.”

“When am I going to see you again?” Dan asked.

“Do you think we should see each other again?”

“No,” he said. “Of course we shouldn’t.”

“Right.” I felt so sad all of a sudden, so
trapped
. “Let’s exchange numbers, anyway. Just in case we later find out that we should see each other again.” So we did. And those ten numbers that I knew I could never dial helped a little, but not enough.

“Look, Chelsea, I meant what I said.” Dan grabbed my
142

PAST PERFECT

hand, interlocking my fingers with his. “I guess it doesn’t make any difference. But I really do
want
to.” We held hands all the way back up the hill, until we came into view of the big field, busy with reenactors. Then we immediately dropped our hands apart and walked away in opposite directions.

143

TION

“

S
o I said to Mike, ‘Look, the King had porphyria. All the studies point to that explanation. It explains why he had his worst attacks of madness when he was older. It explains why his medical treatment just made him act crazier and crazier. To my mind, there is no doubt.’ And do you want to know what Mike said?”

This was my father talking, obviously. We were out to dinner at the Italian place in the mall—me, Fiona, and my parents. My father had talked for roughly eighty percent of the meal, Fiona was sneaking in at around fifteen percent, PAST PERFECT

and my mother and I were tied for dead last.

“Do you want to know what Mike said?” my father repeated.

He was already laughing. I could tell that, whatever Mike had said, it was a doozy.

“What did Mike say?” Fiona rose to the bait, claiming her dwindling corner of the conversation.

“He said—listen to this! ‘Then you must be out of your mind’! Get it? Because King George was out of his mind?

Ha!” To the approaching waitress, “No, I’m still working.”

“Wow,” I contributed.

“Mike still thinks the King had a ‘simple case of mental illness.’ As though mental illness is ever simple! He says—honey, listen to this.” Dad laid his hand on Mom’s arm. “He says claiming that the King drove the Colonies out of his empire because he had porphyria is the same as claiming that El Greco painted elongated figures just because he had astigmatism!”

“Well, El Greco
might
have had astigmatism,” Mom pointed out. Yes, that would be seven times the number of words that I said. Assuming you count “El Greco” as two words.

“That’s exactly what I told Mike!” Dad crowed.

I gave Fiona a
why is this my life?
look. Fiona smiled back beatifically.

“What do you think, Elizabeth?” Dad turned to me.

“Um, my name’s still Chelsea. Remember, you named me that yourself? When I was born?”

But pesky details cannot deter my father from his quest for
145

LEILA SALES

historical truth. “Why do you think King George went mad?” he asked again. This was a test.

“What are my options?” I asked.

“Because he had a metabolic condition. Because he had bipolar disorder. Because he had lead poisoning.” Dad ticked them off on his fingers. “No, I’m still eating”—to the waitress.

I knew what answer Dad was looking for, but still I couldn’t give it to him. “Does it matter?” was what I said instead. “I mean, if he was crazy, does it matter
why
he was crazy? If the outcome’s the same?”

Does it matter
why
we’re at War with Reenactmentland?

We just
are
, and that means Dan can’t kiss me, and that’s all there is to it. Does it matter
why
Ezra broke up with me? No, because we are not together, and I could know every little thing, and still we wouldn’t be together. Does it matter
why
King George was crazy? He just was, and he’s dead now, and we will never put together the pieces.

This was the wrong answer for my father, obviously, who shook his head with disgust and muttered about how I “disrespected the past” and excused himself to the bathroom. The waitress saw her chance and swooped in to clear his plate.

“Can we see the dessert menu?” I requested.

“Are you really hungry for dessert?” Mom asked, clutching her stomach.

“Yes!” Fiona and I said at the same time. “Mom,” I went
146

PAST PERFECT

on, “we are becoming ice cream connoisseurs this summer.