Page 41 of The Heart That Breaks
Nathan lets go of my hand, opens the glove compartment of the BMW and pulls out a phone and a charger cord. “I got a new one for my birthday. This one is scuffed up a bit, but I had it reactivated. Will you take it so we can touch base when we’re not in school?”
I stare at the phone and then let my gaze find his. He glances back at the road, and I can tell he’s not sure if I’ll be offended by the gesture. But that’s not what I am at all. I’m a little mortified that it’s so obvious how different our lives are, but there’s really no denying it, so I guess it doesn’t do any good to be embarrassed about it.
“You really shouldn’t have done that,” I say softly.
“I wanted to. And if you ever need anything, if things ever get out of hand at home, you can call me. Anytime. Okay?”
I nod, a lump in my throat. “Why are you so nice?”
“I like you, Ann-Elizabeth,” he says, keeping his gaze straight ahead. “It’s not complicated.”
It is though. I don’t say the words out loud, but somehow they hang there in the air between us anyway. Because it really is.
*
Nathan
I HATE LEAVING her.
I know it’s crazy to care this much already. But I do.
Letting her and Henry get out of the car, watching them watch me back out of the driveway, I have to make myself do it.
But I’m only a half-mile or so down the road when I pass the big black truck that I’ve seen in the driveway. It suddenly feels hard to breathe, and I pray that Ann-Elizabeth got Henry hooked back to his chain so that nothing is obvious.
I slow down, and once the truck is out of sight, swing the convertible onto a gravel road, back up and follow him. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I just need to see that nothing awful is going to happen. It would be my fault if it did. I’m the one forcing Ann-Elizabeth to do things she knows will cause trouble.
I slow down as I pass the turn into the trailer park. Lance’s truck is now parked out front, and I see Henry sitting in front of the barrel, his demeanor now completely different from the happy dog who had been in the back seat just a few minutes ago.
Ann-Elizabeth is nowhere in sight. I pull over a quarter mile or so down the road, grab my phone and type a quick text.
Everything okay?
I wait, impatiently watching the phone screen, as if I can make the words appear.
Finally, they do.
Yes.
Relief floods through me.
See you tomorrow.
I hope for an answer back, but when none comes, I ease onto the road and head home.
*
Ann-Elizabeth
I’VE JUST STUFFED the phone in my backpack when Lance opens my bedroom door. I can smell beer on his breath eight feet away and wonder if he guzzles a six-pack on the way home in order to reek like a brewery by the time he gets here.
“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice low and threatening.
“Homework,” I say, zipping the backpack.
“I don’t see any books,” he says.
“I was just finishing up.”
