“Sure. Didn't you go there with the senior class after prom?”
A stiffer breeze blew in off the lake. She shivered once and folded her arms
to warm herself. “I didn't go to prom.”
“Oh…I thought you went with Adam?”
She shook her head. “By then I had one foot out the door. I couldn't wait to
graduate.” She glanced at him and then back at the lake. And I didn't go to the Homecoming Dance either.
Peter shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “I always forget how cold it
gets here. I should probably put the top up.” He flipped a switch on the lower left dashboard.
A motor whined as the black top of the convertible unfolded, then snapped
into place around them. The car seemed smaller, almost claustrophobic.
He shifted the Mustang into gear. “I guess we'd better head back.”
As they traveled out of the park, Kate could think of nothing to say. It all felt
so…weird. The shops, the plant, the park. What was it they said? You can never go home again?
They moved east through the outskirts of town, then back onto Eagle Bluff
Road, the one high up next to the Mississippi. These were some of the older houses, almost Cape Cod-like, with green shutters and slate dormers, perched up
on the craggy limestone bluffs overlooking the river. One of the more
picturesque parts of Golden Grove.
Peter turned left onto Park Road, and now some of the houses were looking
familiar. That white house was where she had her first sleepover with…she couldn't remember her name. The brick house—Neil something-or-other's—
where she got stung by a wasp on his tire swing and his mom put baking-soda
paste on her leg. Mostly memories from grade school. High school memories, on
the other hand, were scarcer.
And then, as if on cue, the familiar brown and red brick of the high school
building flowed past them on the right. It looked smaller, for some reason. It still said GOLDEN GROVE HIGH SCHOOL etched in stone over the wooden front
doors, but a newer, brown and white sign on posts near the front said
Community Center.
Maybe it was because she had just been thinking about wasps, but it felt like
something had stung her inside. Not hot and sharp, but cold and deep. She looked forward through the car windshield as it rolled on.
Peter was as wordless as she was during the few blocks it took to travel from
there to their houses. She felt bad, but she could think of absolutely nothing to
say.
“Here we are.” He turned the car into the concrete slabs of his driveway, rolled to the back, and stopped. The engine shut off and the small-town quiet took over again.
“Thanks for the ride.” She tried to unbuckle to get out, but the latch wouldn't
budge. She looked at Peter. “It doesn't seem to want to—”
“Sorry. It does that sometimes.” He reached over, grabbed both sides of the
chrome latch, gave a tug. She could feel the heat from his hands. “Try it now,”
he said.
She did, and it clicked open. “Thanks.”
“Sure thing. Anytime.”
She opened her door and pushed up from her seat. He was coming around the rear of the car, a new breeze ruffling his hair. It wasn't fair, his hair. She pictured herself running her fingers through it…
