I’m stroking so fast. His voice is right there, kissing my ear. No walls, no rain, nothing in the way, just me and Chase Holt.
“At least some part of me belongs to you…my head or my heart…”
“And ain’t that just as satisfyin’?”
I’m close.
“Maybe even somethin’ like love…”
I pry the earbuds out and stop stroking, out of breath, staring up at my ceiling. The song is gone. His voice is gone. Only soft rain on the window as Spruce closes back in on me, bringing me back to my bedroom, to my bed, to the sounds of my catching breath.
I push my phone aside, turn over, and shut my eyes.
The world’s dry as a bone by morning. I eat breakfast at the counter by myself—just toast and a pair of eggs I scrambled up and tossed some hot sauce into. I watch our gardener Bella through the back window working her miracles, admiring how she makes digging through dirt and caressing flowers look like an art form, even when a stray thorn or prickly stem catches her. I wonder if all passions in life look like that, treated with such love that the whole rest of the world just vanishes.
Like spilling breathtaking fantasies from your fingertips to a sheet of clean blank paper with just a pencil in hand.
Or casting a beautiful melody through the rain and touching the soul of some loser sobbing his eyes out by a dumpster.
After I shower and change for the day, my mom catches me at the foot of the stairs. “Headed out?” she asks, sounding surprised. “Thought you might have some time to shadow your father today. I told him he could be expecting you. Did you see the office?”
She doesn’t mean to make choices for my life all the time. By now, it’s just sort of a habit, and I usually never resist. “Not yet,” I tell her, “but I did pass by a ledger in the upstairs study. Does Dad know something’s off in his March and April totals?”
She blinks. “They are? How’d you—”
“Just popped out. Totals don’t track with the columns beside them. Might want to double-check May, too. Anyway, I figured I’d go into town, say hi to some friends, maybe drop by T&S’s and see if they need help. Y’know, since I’m back early and all.”
It appears my mom already made plans with my earliness. “I see. Okay.” She masks the pinch of disappointment in her eyes with a tightened smile. “Alright, of course, your friends,” she then concedes, as if granting me permission. “They always miss you.”
“I’ll be back this afternoon,” I assure her, leaving. “Love you.”
She isn’t quite done. “Haven’t you … outgrown T&S’s?” I stop. “It’s just that I didn’t know you were planning to dabble there still. Billy’s certainly never short on help these days, always dozens of new kids from the high school putting in their applications every summer. And besides, a job is already here for you when you finish your …” She wags a hand in the air, as if collecting all of my university pleasures, relationships, friends, laughter, courses, professors, grades, independence, and Cheeto-snatching squirrels into one little dismissive gesture. “… schooling.”
I gotta be careful here. My mom loves me, but when it comes to the business, nothing gets in the way of her getting what she wants—even while wearing a smile. “I know.” I play it cool. “Pretty sure Billy’s drowning in applicants. But sometimes he stresses out because no one knows his customers like I do—and I have gotmadscooping skills he’ll want me to impart on his new employees …”
“Scooping skills,” she says, finding that adorable.
“Don’t worry,” I assure her. “I won’t get myself stuck behind a counter for the summer.” Only behind a desk, apparently.
One that awaits me like a coffin in my dad’s new office.
My mom gives me a sudden hug. I freeze, taken aback by it. “I am so glad you’re home,” she whispers, rubbing my back. She puts a kiss on my cheek, pats my shoulders, and then takes a look at my outfit. “New shirt? Did you get it at college? I like the style.”
I glance down and realize it’s a shirt AJ got me. I totally forgot until my mom just asked. “Yeah, college,” I murmur absently.
“Can you be back by two at least? I’ll tell your father.”
Sounds like I’m not even getting the day. Just the morning. I figured I’d have at least a week, maybe two, to do what I wanted before the tractors started tractor-beaming me into my prison.
The back door opens and Bella steps inside, peeling off her gloves. “Ms. Cissy,” she calls out in her gentle, saccharine voice. “I noticed something in the flowerbeds. Can I show you?”
“Of course,” says my mom, heading to the door, but throwing, “See you this afternoon, sweetheart,” over her shoulder at me, of course assuming my agreement to being back by two before I’ve even uttered a word.
The winding road from the McPherson estate into Spruce isn’t long enough a drive for me to clear my head nor calm myself. I’m tapping my fingers restlessly on the wheel, non-gas-petal-pushing foot bouncing in place, and I keep gnawing my lip like it’s candy. I feel like I could use three round trips up north to campus and back to clear my head. Maybe four, if no cops catch me speeding up the old country roads. But all I’m allowed is the few miles into town before the cozy and familiar weatherworn-yet-charming shapes of cozy, family-owned storefronts swing into view. The old movie theater. Spruce Fellowship Church,where it looks like maybe an early morning choir practice just wrapped up, judging from the faces outside hanging by the front steps. I pass Patsy’s Pastries & Pies and the antique shop. I have to worm my way around two big shipment trucks sitting in front of Hadley’s Hardware and Crafty Carson, half-blocking the way in. I’m surprised to find some new building popping up in a lot near the end of Apricot Street. A new grocery store, maybe? I miss the sign. The Strong Fitness Zone is a bit of a ghost town this morning, surprisingly, for being the start of a weekend. I can’t remember if high school is still in session for another week or two, or if that has anything to do with it. Maybe Jimmy and Bobby’s clientele are mostly teens? I’ll ask them later.
Then suddenly I’m slid into a spot on Main Street a block from T&S’s Sweet Shoppe—I like giving myself a walk, and it lets actual customers park closer—and I’ve shut off the car. I rest my head back and pretend to seek peace of mind, hands still on the wheel for whatever reason. I listen to the muffled whooshing of the hot summer air outside. A distant car horn. A man calling for someone far away. The playful grunts of a truck engine coming to life. Some woman’s laughter, a little closer.
I don’t hate Spruce. I don’t hate Spruce at all.