Page 37 of Heathens
He only gives me a small, furtive smile before pulling me along. And I realize in that moment that it wouldn’t really matter where he said he would take me.I’d go anywhere with Salem.Anywhere. Any time. “On an adventure.”
You Finally Found Her
Salem
Present
We spend most of the night chasing each other through the city, taking pictures of famous landmarks and also of each other, and anything else we deem good enough for the two rolls of film that we’re carrying. I watch as Lily’s face gets contemplative behind the lens, her brows furrowing in concentration as she tries to get the shot she no doubt sees in her mind. It’s fascinating.
By the time we make it back to her place, the sky has lightened into a soft, muted pink. I follow her up the narrow stairs, aware of the fact that it’s too late for any sensible thought and too early to excuse it as just a friend coming up for a minute. Rosemary’s chair is by her door, but she’s not currently occupying it. Lily unlocks her door and walks in, and I trail behind her. Plopping her purse on the floor, she sets her camera down on the table and turns to me as I close the door.
Her eyes are hooded, and her close-mouthed smile is lazy, indolent.
I pray to my maker for the umpteenth time tonight.
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned... and thought about sinning... and fantasized about sinning...
“Do you want some coffee?”
She wraps her arms around herself and looks at me with wide eyes. Jekyll rubs against her bare calves, looking at me skeptically.
I should go.
Ishouldgo.
“Sure.” My answer is out of my mouth before I can think twice.
She nods and turns, walking into her kitchen. Banging around, she pulls two mugs from a shelf and fills up the kettle. As I watch her work in the kitchen—as she stands on her tip toes and reaches for the french press, effectively lifting her dress and exposing her creamy thighs—I try to distract myself by studying the things in her apartment with greater detail. One of her framed photographs sits on her bookshelf. It’s a portrait of a man. He’s generic. Something you might find already in the frame when you buy it. Lily sketched a pair of round glasses onto the image in sharpie, and below it, written in a loopy, calligraphic font, are the words, “You never really know a person until they show you their soul.”
“This one is interesting, I say, turning to face her.
She kicks her sneakers off and walks over to the picture. Her face pales, and she shrugs. “Thanks. That one is my least favorite one.“
“Why?” I look back at the picture. There has to be a story here.
“Because that's the man who took Evelyn and me.“
“You—that’s him?”
She exhales. “Not him, technically. It's just a person I took a picture of, some man on the street. I tried drawing him—I try to remember his face, but I can't quite picture it.“ She shrugs. “If I saw him—if I heard his voice, it might all come back, but so far, I can't concoct a clear enough picture other than the one picture I found during a Google search. He did have glasses, though.“
I make a contemplative noise, lost in thought. “What does the quote mean?”
She lifts her eyes to mine. “He befriended us. He bought us drinks, and I thought... I thought he was nice. He seemed like a good guy. His name is Auguste. It meansgreatorvenerableand accords a great deal of respect. Ironic, huh?”
My vision tilts slightly.
Auguste.
The kettle starts to hiss, and Lily jogs over to the stove to turn the burner off. I have to grip the side of her sofa to keep from dropping to my knees.
It’s just a coincidence.
“Do you want cream or sugar?” she asks, adding coffee to the press and then the hot water.
“No, black is fine. Thank you.”
She makes a disgusted noise. “Let’s just say I add a bit of coffee to my cream and sugar.”
