Page 24 of Even After Sunset

“I searched the whole festival,” she continues. “I’ve been driving all around town! I thought something happened to you!”

I’m not sure what sort of terrible fate she imagined befalling me at a lobster festival. That I got attacked by a giant mollusk or something? I mean, come on: that place was as family-friendly as it gets.

That’s not what I say, though.

“My phone died,” is my only sorry-ass explanation. Which obviously just pisses her off more. And it surprises me I feel a twinge of guilt, because here’s the thing: any remorse I ever felt for my asshole behavior or my smart-ass comments with my aunt and uncle always got canceled out the second they laid a hand onme. To the point that over time, I’ve come to actually feel a glimmer of victory anytime I do or say anything that visibly gets to them. I actuallyrelishhurting them back now, especially since it’s become harder and harder to affect them over the years.

So technically, I guess I should count the fact that they disowned me as a big win: I managed to piss them off so much they actually kicked me out of my own home. Fifty points for Team Silas.

“You didn’t come back at all last night,” Jackie says, a little calmer now. “ You could have at least… I don’t know, at least let me know where you were going. Or when you’d be back.”

I still don’t say anything. Yeah, I feel kind of bad. But also, she’s starting to piss me off again. It’s one thing to agree to the Trenton-alternative-plan she and Richard made with me yesterday, but that does not give her free license to take over as my case-worker. I agreed to check in with Richard every night at ten, and I did. There’s nothing in our un-written contract that says I need to check in with Jackie every few hours after that, too. In fact, I thought I made it pretty clear that I amnoton board with being her pet project for the summer.

I reach into my shirt pocket and find an almost-full pack of cigarettes. So, that’s one good thing, then: someone obviously gave me a pack of smokes last night. In addition to the seven rubber bracelets, that is.

“Where were you going to hitch-hike to?” Jackie asks, her eyes narrowing with suspicion now. “Were you running away? And you weren’t even going to tell me?”

I take a cigarette out and let it dangle between my lips.

“So, what if Iwasskipping town?” I ask. “Or hitching a ride to Maine or Oklahoma? Or to fuckingParis?How is it really any of your business?”

I say it because she just can’t seem to help herself: she has to position my disappearance last night as a symptom of something else—some issue or behaviour that she needs to understand and make better, and it gets my back up.

I pull the lighter out of the pack and light the cigarette, my cheeks hollowing as I inhale a long drag. I turn away from her when I exhale, but the smokestill billows into a thick cloud that weaves around her hair, and I can tell she’s fighting the urge to make some comment about it.

Instead, she takes a couple of quick steps and turns so that she’s facing me again. “It’s my business because I was worried, Silas. Because, go figure, I actually give a damn about you!”

And then, more softly, she adds: “Also, technically you can’t hitchhike to Paris.”

I snort and take another pull on the cigarette to keep from smiling. She never could let a geography slip-up go unchecked. I turn and blow the smoke away from her again, then turn back, flicking the ashes onto the gravel.

“We’re not friends, Jackie.” I remind her, locking my gaze with hers so hopefully my words will sink in this time and she’ll actually get it. “We hung out when we were kids. Seven years ago. And now we’ve struck a deal just to keep me out of juvie for a few weeks until I move on with my life and you move on with yours.”

But of course she doesn’t back down that easily.

“Okay, you hate me now. Fine. I get it: Message received,” she says all matter-of-fact. “But that doesn’t change the fact thatIstill care aboutyou. And that I still worry about you.”

“Well, don’t,” I snap, bringing the cigarette back to my lips.

I don’t miss the hurt in her eyes. I know I’m being a dick, but why can’t she just take the hint andback the hell off?I can’t risk getting close to her, and everything that would bring up. I know I couldn’t handle it—I’m barely handling it now. And I doubt she could, either.

Also, I wasn’t lying earlier when I said she shouldn’t want to be friends with a guy like me. She seems like she’s doing well and she’s got a good life and good friends— friends who are probably genuinely good people. And who are actually going places and who won’t drag her down. There’s no reason for her to screw that all up over some deluded notion that she can change a guy she used to be friends with when she was a kid. She needs to let go of this sentimental idea that I’m still a good guy. Because I’m not.

Neither of us says anything for a few seconds. A car passes, kicking up dust so that we’re both forced to turn from the road.

“Okay… Well, are you at least coming back with me to Trudy now?” she asks, once the car has disappeared into the distance. “I don’t have anything until the music festival in Old Orchard Beach tomorrow night, so I’m just exploring today. I have kind of… an itinerary,” she says. Which means she’s got her entire day planned out. I’m almost positive she’s the kind of person who plans out even her down time.

My eyes stray toward the long, arched branches of the weeping willow. I’m grateful to her for at least giving the illusion that I have a choice right now. Because no matter what she thinks, I’m not actually going to ditch her and go on the lam. I’m not that deluded. Or stupid. I realize there isn’t some sparkling perfect life waiting for me if I can just make it far enough; to some other town in some other state.

I take another pull off the cigarette, flicking the ashes absently onto the road. When I turn and make my way toward the camper, Jackie lets out a breath. It also doesn’t escape my attention that her eyes widen at the cigarette still dangling between my fingers and that she’s biting down on her lower lip, worried I’m going to light up in her sunshine-mobile.

Because I’m an ass, I pause and take another drag when I reach the passenger door. Sue me for wanting to make her sweat a little. Eventually I do drop it though, crushing the embers with the toe of my boot before getting in. I still don’t make eye contact but I can hear her breathe a sigh of relief as she walks around to the driver’s side, pausing to lean against the door to shake some loose gravel out of her flip-flop before climbing into the seat.

“I have a new playlist,” she announces. “And it’s seriously awesome.”

Fuck. Me.

“Cool,” I say.

---