Time Between Us (6 page)

He reaches over my shoulder to shut the bedroom door, and the proximity makes my heart race. Until I realize that he smells like sweat and dirty socks. My face must show something that looks like disgust, because he drops his gaze and takes a step backward. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“It’s okay…I’ll just…I’m sorry. I’m interrupting you, aren’t I?” He doesn’t give any hint that he’s accepting my apology. He also doesn’t clear space for me to sit down on any available surface, so I stand, awkward and nervous, leaning against the doorframe.

“I’m sorry about my grandmother,” he says, so quietly I have to strain to hear him.

I’m confused. “Your grandmother? Maggie is your grandmother?”

“She has Alzheimer’s.” He looks past my eyes and studies the door as if considering his next words. “In her mind, I’m—I’m like an infant.”

“Really?” I play back the conversation in the living room. “But…the pictures stop seventeen years ago.…”

He nods. There’s a long, uncomfortable pause, and I feel bad for bringing the pictures up. “They just upset her. We had to take them away.”

“So, who does she think
you
are?”

“After my grandfather died, money was tight and she was lonely, so she started to rent this room out to Northwestern students.” He makes a dismissive gesture and stares down at the floor. “I guess she thinks…” He trails off, and the room goes silent.

He looks horrible. His skin is sallow, and his red eyes are half closed. “Are you okay? You look tired.”

He stares at me, and when he finally talks, he doesn’t answer my question. Instead, he draws his eyebrows together as he asks one of his own. “What are you doing here?”

The way he asks the question makes me even more nervous. “I haven’t seen you since last Sunday night in the park. When you were…you know…” I wait a moment for a response, and when none comes, I blurt out the rest. “You didn’t show up at school this week, and I got worried, I guess, and I…I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” I reach behind me for the doorknob. “And now I know you’re alive. Which is…you know…really great. So I’ll just go now.” It hits me like a shot that a phone call would have been much more appropriate, and I want to kill Emma. What was I thinking, showing up at this guy’s house like I
know
him?

“Sunday.” He squints past me. “That’s right. I forgot about that.”

I let go of the knob and stare at him. Forgot? How could he have forgotten?

“Are you sure you’re okay, Bennett?”

“Yes. I’m fine. I just…” He looks worried. No. Panicked. “How did you find me, anyway?”

I feel my hands start to shake. “I got your address from the office.” It’s true. There’s no sense in bringing Emma into this if I don’t need to.

“Someone in the office just
gave
you my address?”

“No. It was on a Post-it.” Also true.

He looks at me, confused, and he opens his mouth to speak. But suddenly, all the color leaves his face. He wobbles a bit, feeling for the wall as he steadies himself.

I reach forward and grab his arm. “Are you okay?”

He tries to talk, but nothing comes out. He draws in a few labored breaths.

“I’ll go get your grandmother.” I start to release his arm, but he reaches out and grabs me by the wrist, just like he did in the park.

“No! Don’t!” It sounds like he’s trying to shout but he can only manage a whisper. He lets my arm go and starts steadily exhaling. “I mean…that’s okay.” He takes a slow, deep breath. “I just need to lie down.”

“Are you sure?”

He opens the door. “You need to go.” He takes a deep breath. “Now.”

“But, I can—”

“No. Now. Please.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “You can’t make me leave you like this—not again.”

His eyes are cold and frightening as they bore into mine. “This is my house. And I’m telling you to leave. Right now.”

As soon as I’m in the hallway, the door slams shut behind me, so hard I can’t help wondering if he has just collapsed against it. I take a few steps back and stand there watching it and wondering what to do. I step forward again with my arm raised, prepared to knock. But I stop myself. I back away again. And I turn and walk slowly through the hall and back down the staircase.

I stop at the foyer to pull my coat off the hook. As I fasten the buttons, I run through what I’m going to say to his grandmother.
I think he’s sick again
or
I think you should check on him
. But I think of his firm
no
and the
don’t
, and against my better judgment, I decide I need to hold on a little tighter to his secret this time. So I peek into the kitchen, tell Maggie it was a pleasure to meet her, and assure her that she doesn’t need to get up—I can let myself out.

“Oh, good, you’re here.” Like the bells that have just announced my arrival, Dad is way too chipper for me in my current state of mind. “Do you mind if I take off?”

Mind? God, no. Please go so I can pace through the empty bookstore and wonder if I’ve just left Bennett dying alone in his messy antique bedroom. “That’s why I’m here,” I say, trying to make my voice as light as his.

“Thanks. Your mom has already called twice, wondering when I’ll be home. She might be a little too excited about this party.”

He looks handsome. I reach up and adjust his tie.

“We’ll be at the Chicago History Museum. We should be home by midnight, but don’t wait up. You know how your mother and her friends can talk.”

“Go. Have fun.” I grab his shoulders and pivot him toward the front door.

He takes a few steps forward, then stops and turns back. “Thanks again for working on a Friday night. We didn’t interrupt your social life, did we?”

“Sadly, no.”

As soon as Dad’s gone, I walk around the store, straightening books and thinking about the look on Bennett’s face. When I walk past the front door, I pause, tempted to turn the
BACK IN TEN MINUTES
sign around and sprint to his house. When I pass the back room, I have the urge to go to the phone and call Emma so I can tell her everything that just happened. When I pass the window and see the police car parked down the street in front of the coffeehouse, I want to run down there and send them over to 282 Greenwood. But I don’t do any of these things. Instead I march over to the children’s area and grab the denim beanbag chair, drag it over to the travel section, and plop down with Lonely Planet’s guide to Moscow.

I’m crouching down on the floor of the back room, spinning the dial on the safe, when the bells jingle. I lean on my hands and see someone in a wool cap holding a black coat standing at the front counter.

“Sorry—we’re closing!” I yell. I select the last of the three numbers, pull up on the heavy steel handle, and throw the vinyl cash bag inside.

I’m looking down at my watch as I walk back toward the counter. “Sorry, we close at—”

Bennett turns around to face me, and a small smile moves slowly across his face.

I stop in my tracks. “Hi.” I can’t imagine I’m doing a very good job of hiding my surprise. He already looks much better than he did just three hours earlier. The dark circles are gone, and his eyes are no longer bloodshot. He looks different, relaxed, in dark brown chinos and a light blue sweater that does something sort of magical to his eyes. And I can’t help noticing that he smells shower fresh. He looks better, but still tired.

“Hi, Anna.”

“You’re okay?” I’m so relieved that I want to run over and hug him.

“Yeah. I’m okay.” He smiles. “So…” His eyes move around the store. “This is where you work?”

I nod.

“It’s nice.” He takes a few steps toward me and leans against the counter. “I’m glad you’re here. I wasn’t sure if you worked on Friday nights.”

“I don’t. My parents went to a party in the city.” I don’t know what to say. I walk to the counter and mirror his pose.

“Hey, I wanted to apologize. I didn’t mean to be so rude earlier.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. It was really nice of you to come over.” His expression is soft, his voice kind, and any trace of annoyance is gone from his eyes.

“I should have called—or something—instead.”

“No, I shouldn’t have left the park that night. I didn’t remember you were there until you told me.” He looks at me like he’s trying to figure out what I’m thinking, gauging where to go next. “Anyway, thanks for helping me. I’m sorry I didn’t say that earlier.”

“You’re welcome.”

His eyes stay locked on mine, and he smiles even wider. “Can I make it up to you?”

“Make it up to me?”

“How about a coffee?”

“Coffee?”

“Yeah. Coffee. Unless”—his eyes circle the empty store—“you’re busy.”

I feel my forehead wrinkle. “Are you sure you’re well enough for coffee?”

He shrugs. Nods. “Actually, it helps my migraines. Come on. It’s the least I can do after kicking you out of my house.”

While he stands there, waiting for my answer, I think about Emma’s words in The Donut earlier today.
Just say it
, she insisted.
You like this guy, don’t you?
I don’t feel like I know him well enough for it to be true, but it is.

“Okay. Sure.” Maybe by the time we’ve finished our coffee I’ll know him better. Maybe I’ll even have answers to all the questions he keeps adding to the pile.

I walk around the store, shutting off lights as I go, and flipping the sign from
OPEN
to
CLOSED
. As I’m locking the dead bolt, Bennett lifts my backpack off my shoulder and throws it over his own.

We walk in silence to the end of the block. I can hear the noise from the coffeehouse growing louder as we get closer, and smell the aroma as it floats up through the frozen air and disappears into the clouds above. As soon as we walk in, I notice a group just leaving, and we weave through the crowded tables and collapse on the crushed-velvet sofa in the corner.

“What can I get you?”

“A lot of explanation.” I reach down to pull my wallet out of my backpack. “And a latte, please.”

“I’ve got it.” He touches my hand, and I silently chastise myself for the shiver it creates. He leaves and returns with two small, froth-filled, glass mugs, each with a chocolate-dipped biscotti balancing on the rim.

He sets them down on the table and returns to his spot on the couch. I look at him expectantly. “Big talks require biscotti,” he says. Now I let him have a smile.

He picks up his mug and breaks through the froth with his Italian cookie, and after a few dunks, he pops it in his mouth and chews. When I realize I’m staring at him, I turn my attention to my own cup. The coffee is warm and soothing.

“So. Where should I start?” He dunks his cookie while he looks at me. “I guess Sunday night. The park? I have to admit, my memory’s foggy in some spots, but I take it I told you about the migraines?”

I feel my face soften with concern, and I nod again.

“I honestly don’t know what happened. I was walking around town, and I felt a headache coming on. Before I could even process what was happening, it just hit me—” He takes another bite and a sip before continuing, “Anyway, I’m not sure how long I sat there in that park before you found me. All I remember is trying to get home.”

“I would have helped you. Why didn’t you just wait for me to get back?” I look down at my mug and take another sip. When I look up again, I find him watching me.

“I left as soon as I could walk again.” He pauses, searching the air for something I can’t see, then looks back at my eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember why you left.”

“I ran back to the coffeehouse to get you some water.”

He nods, like it’s all coming back to him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take off on you. I just wasn’t thinking straight.” He shakes his head as if casting off the memory of that night.

I’ve never been that out of it, but I can see how it would be disorienting. “And you’ve been sick all week?”

“On and off. I planned to go to school on Thursday, but I felt another headache coming on when I woke up, and I was worried that it might happen again. It would have been embarrassing to pass out on my second week at school.” I’m surprised to hear that he cares what any of us think. “And now I have a ton of homework to catch up on this weekend. A woman from the school came by with all of my assignments after you left.”

“Ms. Dawson.”

“That’s who I thought you were. I guess that’s why I was so surprised to see you.”

“Surprised?” I raise an eyebrow. “Is that what you call that?”

He drapes his arm over the back of the sofa. “I’m really sorry I made you leave earlier tonight.”

He’s smiling and leaning, and I find myself doing the same. “That’s okay.”

“You just kind of…threw me.”

“I threw you?”

He looks down, then back up again, and shoots me a bashful grin. “I looked horrible. A beautiful girl shows up at my door, and I’m in sweats, smelly, and looking like I hadn’t slept in a month.” His eyes never leave mine. “I shouldn’t have been so rude.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I smile.

“Thanks for not telling Maggie. I don’t want her to worry.”

“Sure.” He’s still staring at me, and with all the tension in the air, I latch on to the change of subject. “Your grandmother seems nice,” I say. I watch his face light up.

“Yeah, she’s great.”

“So, you moved from San Francisco to live with her?”

“For now. I’m only here for a month, you know, while my parents are in Europe.”

“Oh,” I say. My head falls forward as my heart sinks. “I didn’t know that.” I guess that explains why he hasn’t bothered to meet anyone.

“Yeah, well…I feel like I can tell you the truth. Can you keep a secret?” He waits for my nod. “It’s not just that my parents are traveling.”

“Oh?” I take another bite and chew. I hope he knows that means he should continue talking.

“I was supposed to go with them, but I made a mistake,” he says. “I blew it pretty big. My parents understand, but let’s just say Evanston is the best place for me to be right now. Taking care of Maggie is much better than spending a month with them—or in reform school.” The huge grin on his face makes me think that’s supposed to be a joke.

“And?” I ask.

“And what?”

“And you aren’t going to tell me what you did to deserve this frozen version of hell?”

He shakes his head and gives me a dismissive little laugh. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

“Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad. You didn’t kill anyone.” I stop in mid-dunk and look at him. “Did you?”

He swirls the coffee in his mug, looking into it for answers, as if there were tea leaves inside. “No, I didn’t kill anyone. But someone…disappeared. And it was my fault.”

I picture him on that frozen park bench, rocking back and forth and mumbling about needing to find someone. I start to tell him what I heard and to ask him what it means, but I look at his face and something tells me not to. When the silence continues, I press him for more information. “That doesn’t give me much of a secret. Is that really all you’re going to tell me?”

“For now.” His face brightens as he asks, “So, how long have you lived in Evanston?”

I stare at him. “We’re going there now?” I ask.

“We’re going there now,” he says.

I decide to let him off the hook for the time being but give him a look that signals that he has more explaining to do. I sigh. “All my life. Same house my dad grew up in. Same house my grandfather grew up in.”

“Wow.” He looks at me with what I think at first are soft, understanding eyes; then I realize what’s really behind his expression: sympathy. Like I’m a hobbit who’s never left the Shire.

“Yeah.” I feel small. “Wow.”

He leans in even closer, filling what’s left of the space between us, looking like he’s genuinely interested in my pathetically simple life. “Do you ever feel…trapped?”

I want to tell him about my map and my plans to travel the world, but as the words start to form in my head I realize they sound as pitiful as his stare. Yes, I’m trapped for now, but I won’t be forever. Still, deep down, I can feel the reality I live to ignore percolating to the surface: I can dream all I want. It’s more likely that I’ll be here when I’m old and gray, rocking and knitting on my porch when I’m not at the bookstore I own and run with the help of my grandchildren, who think I’m a crazy old bat because I refuse to go near the Travel section. Trapped doesn’t even begin to cover it.