date?”
He pauses, finishing the braid and pulling it snug. “December seventh,” he says.
“You’re kidding, right? Pearl Harbor?”
“The place she wants is booked till then.”
Oliver sifts his hands through the braid, loosening it. Her skin prickles, electrified. His fingers are cool as water. She
feels his hand on her shoulder. He slides the tie slowly from around her neck. The silk against her skin makes her shiver.
What Oliver fails to understand is the range of possibilities; that people can destroy themselves and one another and the
whole planet with nothing stepping in to stop them; that she can destroy him without even trying. It wouldn’t take much, she
thinks, to let her thigh relax against his, blood rising to the surface of her skin, until they began to consider the harmlessness
of a moment longer. And another.
April remembers Oliver’s high school graduation party, nearly a decade ago, when she pulled him from his chair for a slow
dance, leaning her body into his. Their cheeks pressed, she felt him stiffen against her, his blush warming her face. “Jesus,
April,” he breathed.
She laughed, pulled back, and left him there. She went to Al and sat on his lap. Still flushed, Oliver picked up his soda
can and took a gulp. He tried to joke with a friend, pretend he wasn’t watching, but she knew he was. She giggled, stabbing
Al’s chest with her finger, and he, his breath ripe with Heineken, moved his palm over her knee, playing with the hem of her
skirt.
After a moment, they announced that they were going to buy more beer and needed Oliver’s car to do it.
Oliver stood before them. “You’re in no shape to drive, Al,” he said. April couldn’t look at him.
“Relax, Oliver,” Al said, grabbing the keys from the table. “April’s driving. We’ll be right back.”
April was sure Oliver would stop them, but he didn’t. They never returned to the party. None of it was planned. She danced
with him as a joke, to embarrass him, and was caught off guard by the warm rush deep in her own body. He was so close she
could almost hear the movement of his thoughts, the roll of the tide; she had slipped inside his skin.
But she could never defile Oliver. He was too good. Too pure. So she had to make it look heedless, as though one brother were
as good as another.
April looks at him, not the high school boy anymore, but a man she barely knows wearing a fancy watch and a five o’clock shadow.
Almost nothing about him feels familiar, except the eyes. Those eyes. April gets up suddenly. Oliver doesn’t object. He draws
his hand down the side of his face and across his mouth, a gesture of deep consideration she has seen many times on his father.
“You know what they say.” She nods toward the fireplace. “If you stay awake, he’ll never come.”
He doesn’t smile, but only looks at her with a troubled, thoughtful expression. “Good night, April.”
It is nearly dawn when she has the dream. Buddy is at the top of the stairs looking down at her. He has put on a little weight
and looks ruddy, having just come in from the cold. He smiles at her, his eyes serene the way they sometimes looked after
he spent long hours out on the lake alone. He opens the window at the top of the stairs and begins to climb out. It is a two-story
drop. April screams, runs to him, but by the time she reaches the landing, he is gone.
She awakens in front of the half-open window, snow drifting in. She has never walked in her sleep before. She looks down at
the undisturbed lawn laden with snow. The sky is dark except for a pale glow on the eastern horizon, diffused by the dark
silhouettes of barren trees. In the thicket, a deer moves in a slow high-step, lifting its legs in and out of the deepening
snow.
Her breath fogs the glass, and the deer vanishes. Wind groans against the side of the house, and Oliver’s rondos rise in her
mind, circling there as they have all night. She
He pauses, finishing the braid and pulling it snug. “December seventh,” he says.
“You’re kidding, right? Pearl Harbor?”
“The place she wants is booked till then.”
Oliver sifts his hands through the braid, loosening it. Her skin prickles, electrified. His fingers are cool as water. She
feels his hand on her shoulder. He slides the tie slowly from around her neck. The silk against her skin makes her shiver.
What Oliver fails to understand is the range of possibilities; that people can destroy themselves and one another and the
whole planet with nothing stepping in to stop them; that she can destroy him without even trying. It wouldn’t take much, she
thinks, to let her thigh relax against his, blood rising to the surface of her skin, until they began to consider the harmlessness
of a moment longer. And another.
April remembers Oliver’s high school graduation party, nearly a decade ago, when she pulled him from his chair for a slow
dance, leaning her body into his. Their cheeks pressed, she felt him stiffen against her, his blush warming her face. “Jesus,
April,” he breathed.
She laughed, pulled back, and left him there. She went to Al and sat on his lap. Still flushed, Oliver picked up his soda
can and took a gulp. He tried to joke with a friend, pretend he wasn’t watching, but she knew he was. She giggled, stabbing
Al’s chest with her finger, and he, his breath ripe with Heineken, moved his palm over her knee, playing with the hem of her
skirt.
After a moment, they announced that they were going to buy more beer and needed Oliver’s car to do it.
Oliver stood before them. “You’re in no shape to drive, Al,” he said. April couldn’t look at him.
“Relax, Oliver,” Al said, grabbing the keys from the table. “April’s driving. We’ll be right back.”
April was sure Oliver would stop them, but he didn’t. They never returned to the party. None of it was planned. She danced
with him as a joke, to embarrass him, and was caught off guard by the warm rush deep in her own body. He was so close she
could almost hear the movement of his thoughts, the roll of the tide; she had slipped inside his skin.
But she could never defile Oliver. He was too good. Too pure. So she had to make it look heedless, as though one brother were
as good as another.
April looks at him, not the high school boy anymore, but a man she barely knows wearing a fancy watch and a five o’clock shadow.
Almost nothing about him feels familiar, except the eyes. Those eyes. April gets up suddenly. Oliver doesn’t object. He draws
his hand down the side of his face and across his mouth, a gesture of deep consideration she has seen many times on his father.
“You know what they say.” She nods toward the fireplace. “If you stay awake, he’ll never come.”
He doesn’t smile, but only looks at her with a troubled, thoughtful expression. “Good night, April.”
It is nearly dawn when she has the dream. Buddy is at the top of the stairs looking down at her. He has put on a little weight
and looks ruddy, having just come in from the cold. He smiles at her, his eyes serene the way they sometimes looked after
he spent long hours out on the lake alone. He opens the window at the top of the stairs and begins to climb out. It is a two-story
drop. April screams, runs to him, but by the time she reaches the landing, he is gone.
She awakens in front of the half-open window, snow drifting in. She has never walked in her sleep before. She looks down at
the undisturbed lawn laden with snow. The sky is dark except for a pale glow on the eastern horizon, diffused by the dark
silhouettes of barren trees. In the thicket, a deer moves in a slow high-step, lifting its legs in and out of the deepening
snow.
Her breath fogs the glass, and the deer vanishes. Wind groans against the side of the house, and Oliver’s rondos rise in her
mind, circling there as they have all night. She
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