Chapter 32
1156 Words
God, God, God.
There we are in a tiny car with the windows down in a public parking lot and you’d think sanity would stop us, but nothing does.
I pluck the strap of her halter top to the side.
Dr
I edge one hand down to touch the lever to recline the seat back and instead it folds around this thing, this loop of plastic and squish of rubber that I don’t immediately identify until I get it—a pacifier. For a baby.
In this case, Patsy, but . . .
Matilda will hate herself, and me. Why did this have to happen now?
“This is . . . probably not a good idea.”
Matilda.”
She looks up.
“We need to cool off here,” I tell her. Now I have to discover my inner maturity?
Her eyes are hazy. “We do?”
No. “Yeah.”
“Right, you’re right,” she says, sliding off my lap back into the driver’s seat. I’m abruptly cold without her heat. Her head’s bowed and I bend over to ... her forehead.
“In case it wasn’t obvious, I didn’t want to stop.”
“Uh-huh,” she says, still looking down.
“Matilda. Look at me.”
She slowly raises her head and swallows. All shimmery eyes and wild hair and every kind of gorgeous. Then holds up a hand, stopping anything I might say.
“Give me a second.”
Reaches into the back of the car for a sweatshirt, pulls it on like armor, rests the flat of her hand over her eyes for a beat of my heart. Then another.
Then she turns her keys in the ignition, looks over her shoulder, and peels out of the parking lot so fast, rubber would burn if the drive weren’t made of broken clamshells. As it is, shells fly.
Matilda
We don’t say a word the entire ride back. Max opens his window all the way, tips his head out, drums his fingers on the dashboard. I can only see his profile, and not much of that.
My legs are shaking, like I’ve run miles, breath hard to scrape out of my lungs, my toes tingling as if coming back from numbness. Probably true, they were so tightly curled before. When I reach over to shift gears, my hand trembles a little. I stop to get gas and he pulls up the parking brake, his thumb slipping along my calf as he does so.
He looks down at my leg for a moment, swallows, his Adam’s apple visibly bobbing.
“There’s something I think—I know—I should tell you. But first, I’ve got to know. What was that?” he asks in a low voice.
“What was what?” I scribble my name on the receipt and hand the card back to the gas station guy, turn the car out onto the main road.
Max jerks his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the beach we’ve driven away from. “You know. Are you, like, toying with me, Matilda? Just be straight up, if that’s what this is.”
I hate that he’s so much taller than I am, the top of his head brushing the roof of the car.
“I’m not toying with you,” I say, pulling up to a red light. “God. Like I do that.”
Max meets my eyes.
“Fine. I do that. But I’m not doing that now. At least”—I put my head in my hands—“I don’t know what I’m doing. But it’s not toying, like a cat with a mouse. Or whatever.”
“So this is . . . what? Sample dating? Even though I screwed up our first? Temporary insanity? I don’t know what this is.”
“I don’t know either,” I say, looking at him. “Besides . . . you’re the one who got smart and put the brakes on.” My voice sounds hurt, and I hate that.
“I didn’t want to. You had to know that. It couldn’t have been more obvious. But . . .”
I wave one hand at him, brushing it off, him away. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”
“Matilda.”
I flick my hand at him again, trying to regain myself, shift back into Tin Matilda, the girl with no heart.
“Matilda. Don’t whatever me. It matters. Could you look at me, for Chrissake?”
“I’m driving. Have to focus.”
He sighs.
I drive down the main street of Stony Bay, around the roundabout shaped like a lighthouse, then out onto the straightaway without looking at him again. But, just as we get to our road, I reach out my hand, palm up, and after a pause, he slides his big warm hand into mine, squeezes. Holds on.
When I pull into the driveway and finally sneak a look, he’s drumming on the other leg with one thumb. I turn to him.
“Look, Max. What if we just try—”
“Matilda. There’s something important I’ve got to tell you—”
He breaks off, stares over at the garage apartment.
“Oh, f**k me.”
“What?” I follow the direction of his gaze. A girl is sitting on the steps. Silver-car girl. With a huge bag slung over her shoulder. And a baby in a car seat beside her.
Chapter Twenty-four
Max
Hester waves, all welcoming and chipper, like I’ve popped by to see her at her house with some flowers and a meat loaf.
“My car was acting crazy—making all these strange noises, like Eeeeeeee,” she calls, walking over, leaving the baby behind, “so I left it at that garage on North Street. They gave me a lift over here. It’s good you’re back. Cal’s all fussy, and he probably shouldn’t be out in the sun too long.”
Matilda is a statue, hand frozen on the gearshift. Hester’s smiling. Cal’s asleep. I, at this moment, would sell my soul for any number of things, but first and foremost that stupid sailor hat. Or the lame-ass bonnet. Because there’s nothing covering Cal’s head but his shiny, incriminating red hair.
Hester processes the fact that I’m in the car with this dazzling girl in a bikini at exactly the same second that Matilda takes in the whole picture. Hester’s smile dims. Matilda squares her shoulders. “Sounds like the fan belt needs replacing,” she says flatly. “Yeah, you should probably get that baby out of the sun.”
“Matilda . . .” I say. “It’s not . . .” What, not what it looks like? It’s exactly what it looks like. “I can . . .” Explain? Not really. “I—”
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