Page 52 of Dreams of Falling
Jackson cleared his throat. “I think I got caught up in all the end-of-senior-year stuff, but that’s no excuse. My behavior was inexcusable, and I’ve been waiting all this time for you to come back so I could tell you I’m sorry. To ask for your forgiveness. And to tell you I’m not that same jerk anymore.”
I smiled, my shoulders relaxing. “I needed to hear that. Thank you. And I accept your apology.”
His thumbs caressed the tops of my hands for a moment before he pulled away. “What do you say we get out of here?”
I sipped my wine and watched as Jackson paid the bill; I admired the move of muscles under his jacket, and how the sunset sky shonelike a halo behind his head. He leaned forward and took my hand. “What would you like to do now?”
I forcibly held back the words that threatened to come out of my mouth, my brain knowing and somehow managing to communicate that I needed a bit of time to sober up before I could responsibly answer that question. Forgetting that my shoes were what Ceecee always referred to as “sitting-down shoes,” I said, “Let’s go for a walk. It’s such a beautiful night.”
“Good plan,” he said, taking my hand, then leading me through the restaurant to the front door.
Before we’d reached it, I became aware of someone saying my name and a table of people pushing back chairs and moving toward us. It took me a moment to register Mabry and a tall young man—presumably her husband—her parents, and Bennett.
“What a coincidence,” Mabry said a little too loudly, and reached over to hug me. “I had no idea you’d be here. Are you leaving? We are, too!”
My brain was foggy, but not too foggy to remember I’d told her when and where Jackson and I were planning to eat tonight. I started to laugh, but it came out as a half burp that thankfully nobody but Mabry seemed to hear.
“Have you met my husband, Jonathan?” The tall man, with wavy dark brown hair and glasses, reached for my hand, then said, “What am I doing? Mabry’s told me so much about you that I already feel like we’re kin.” He hugged me tightly, and behind his shoulder I saw Bennett smiling with the same intensity with which Jackson was frowning.
We left the restaurant in a large group while Mabry introduced Jackson to everyone, and I got another hug from Mr. Lynch, who’d been like my second dad while I was growing up. Except for a little less hair, he looked exactly the same as I remembered.
“Where are y’all headed?” Bennett asked.
“Home,” Jackson said at the same time I said, “For a walk.”
Ignoring Jackson, Mabry said, “We were all planning on going fora walk, too—it’s such a gorgeous evening. Why don’t you join us?” She tucked her hand into the crook of my arm and began leading me down Front Street.
“Larkin’s with me,” Jackson said loudly, and I noticed he was slurring his words. “Come on, Larkin—let’s go somewhere...” He took a step forward and missed the edge of the curb, which left him sprawled in the street. When he didn’t immediately get up, Mr. Lynch and Bennett went over to help him. They pulled him to his feet, his face scraped and bleeding, gravel sticking to the wound.
“I hope you’re not planning on driving anywhere, young man,” Mr. Lynch said, brushing dirt off Jackson’s jacket. “You can barely walk. Why don’t you let me drive you home, and I’ll catch up with the group later.”
Mrs. Lynch stepped forward with a tissue. “And you might want to put this on your chin. I recommend giving that cut a thorough wash when you get home.”
Jackson stared at the tissue, as if trying to figure out what he was supposed to do with it. For a moment it looked as if he might protest; then he took it, pressed it to his chin, spotted the blood, and frowned. “Fine, whatever,” he slurred. Looking at me with glassy eyes, he said, “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Okay.” Remembering my manners, I said, “Thanks for dinner.”
“Any time.”
“That’s his car,” I said helpfully, pointing to the space right in front of the restaurant. After getting the keys from Jackson, Mr. Lynch opened the passenger-side door of the BMW, and Jackson got inside, Mr. Lynch placing his hand on top of Jackson’s head so he wouldn’t hit it on the door frame like cops do when apprehending criminals.
We all waved as Mr. Lynch drove past us, popping the clutch only once, while trying to get it into second gear.
We’d made it only a few blocks to Cannon Street before I stopped. “My feet hurt.”
“Of course they do—look at those heels!” Mrs. Lynch leaned downto get a better look at my feet. “I don’t know how you young people walk in those things.”
“Bennett should drive her home,” Mabry announced.
“Good idea,” her mother said with a finality that brooked no argument.
“That’s okay,” I said, noticing with horror that my words were bumping into one another. “I’ll just walk.” I bent down to unbuckle my shoes, and Bennett’s arm going around me saved me from toppling over.
“Why don’t you go with her, Bennett? Jonathan can drive Mama and me back home, and it’s not too far for you to walk. Sound good?”
I looked up to see Bennett nodding, his arm still holding me up as Mabry bent down, unbuckled my shoes, and helped me slide them off my feet before handing them to Bennett like she wasn’t sure I could keep track of them. I stood on the sidewalk, spreading my toes and flexing my ankles as if I’d just been given a new set of feet. “My feet feel like they’ve died and gone to heaven.”
Bennett began leading me away, and I waved to Mabry, Jonathan, and Mrs. Lynch, trying to make a mental note to tell Mabry that I thought she’d made a good choice of husband.
