for the clerk. She fixed her hair in the visor mirror and ran her tongue across her lips. They tasted like nicotine, like him; like a kiss that never should have happened, but that she couldn’t help wanting more of.
He opened the driver’s door and climbed in.
“Everything set?”
“ It’s going to take a week or two for the engraving.” He handed her a familiar piece of crumpled blue paper. She unfolded it and read the short poem. “It’s hers. She wrote it. I’m having them engrave it.”
“I liked this one.” She reached across the center console, took a Newport out of the pack in his shirt pocket, and pushed in the dashboard lighter. “For Harmony,” she said saluting with it.
“Since when do you smoke?”
She lit it and took her first drag. “Since now.” A few long puffs and she flicked the cherry out the window.
“I think I like this bad girl thing you’ve got going on.”
She couldn’t help thinking about what he felt like compared to Jaxon. “I think I do, too.” She crushed the cigarette out in the overfull ashtray and used the hand sanitizer stuffed in the door.
The clean scent filled the truck. “That was Harmony’s. She hated the smell of a cigarette on her hands.”
“I figured.”
She waited until they were a block away from her house and told him to pull over.
“What?”
“Pull over, please . Here.” She pointed at the curb. “I can walk the rest of the way. If my mother sees your truck she’ll shit.”
“She knows who I am?”
“No, but your truck is enough for her to hate you.” She climbed down on to the running board and lingered, collecting her things.
Adam watched, longingly. “I miss Harmony. I need you to know that.”
She smiled. “And that might be the biggest thing we have in common.”
26 .
Brea’s stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten all day. She sat on the brown leather couch with a cup of Ramen and a Coke and put her feet up on the dark oak coffee table. Ellen was on T.V., Jaxon was ringing her cell phone.
“Hello?” She twisted a noodle up and down the tines of her fork.
“Why haven’t you answered my calls?”
“Because I don’t want to talk to you.”
“I’m sorry, okay. I should have handled that whole Adam thing better. It’s just that I’m…”
“A jerk.” Brea heard a horn sound. “Where are you?”
“I’m on my way to your house.”
“That’s not a good idea.” The garage door lifted and she sat up to see her mom’s car pulling in. She sniffed her shirt and it smelled like stale cigarette and Adam’s cologne.
“Shit.”
She ran to her bedroom, tossed the clothes into her laundry basket, and changed into a pair of flannel pajama pants and a blue cami.
“Hello?” Joan called up the stairs. “Brea? Are you home? We need to talk.”
Another car door slammed and she looked outside. It was Jaxon’s.
“I’ll be right down.”
Joan would never yell in front of him.
Brea went downstairs and Joan was bringing in the last haul of groceries. She had two bunches of plastic bags dangling from each hand and Jaxon took them all.
Joan tucked a red curl behind her ear. “I got a call from school today, Brea. Want to tell me what that was about?”
Jaxon set the groceries on the kitchen floor and took an energy drink from his jacket pocket. “I had to go to three stores to get this.” He handed the can to Brea and sat down.
“Well?”
Brea stuffed a now cold noodle in her mouth, stalling. “I…”
Jaxon interrupted. “It’s my fault, Mrs. Miller. She almost fainted in the hallway.”
“Joan, please.”
“Okay, Joan. I didn’t think she’d make it in the office. I mean, do you know how long they keep you there? She just wanted to get home. After how she was feeling last night…”
“How were you feeling last night, Brea? I heard a bunch of noise in your room.”
“I, uh, just felt sick. I think I ate something bad or something.”
Joan set the back of her
He opened the driver’s door and climbed in.
“Everything set?”
“ It’s going to take a week or two for the engraving.” He handed her a familiar piece of crumpled blue paper. She unfolded it and read the short poem. “It’s hers. She wrote it. I’m having them engrave it.”
“I liked this one.” She reached across the center console, took a Newport out of the pack in his shirt pocket, and pushed in the dashboard lighter. “For Harmony,” she said saluting with it.
“Since when do you smoke?”
She lit it and took her first drag. “Since now.” A few long puffs and she flicked the cherry out the window.
“I think I like this bad girl thing you’ve got going on.”
She couldn’t help thinking about what he felt like compared to Jaxon. “I think I do, too.” She crushed the cigarette out in the overfull ashtray and used the hand sanitizer stuffed in the door.
The clean scent filled the truck. “That was Harmony’s. She hated the smell of a cigarette on her hands.”
“I figured.”
She waited until they were a block away from her house and told him to pull over.
“What?”
“Pull over, please . Here.” She pointed at the curb. “I can walk the rest of the way. If my mother sees your truck she’ll shit.”
“She knows who I am?”
“No, but your truck is enough for her to hate you.” She climbed down on to the running board and lingered, collecting her things.
Adam watched, longingly. “I miss Harmony. I need you to know that.”
She smiled. “And that might be the biggest thing we have in common.”
26 .
Brea’s stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten all day. She sat on the brown leather couch with a cup of Ramen and a Coke and put her feet up on the dark oak coffee table. Ellen was on T.V., Jaxon was ringing her cell phone.
“Hello?” She twisted a noodle up and down the tines of her fork.
“Why haven’t you answered my calls?”
“Because I don’t want to talk to you.”
“I’m sorry, okay. I should have handled that whole Adam thing better. It’s just that I’m…”
“A jerk.” Brea heard a horn sound. “Where are you?”
“I’m on my way to your house.”
“That’s not a good idea.” The garage door lifted and she sat up to see her mom’s car pulling in. She sniffed her shirt and it smelled like stale cigarette and Adam’s cologne.
“Shit.”
She ran to her bedroom, tossed the clothes into her laundry basket, and changed into a pair of flannel pajama pants and a blue cami.
“Hello?” Joan called up the stairs. “Brea? Are you home? We need to talk.”
Another car door slammed and she looked outside. It was Jaxon’s.
“I’ll be right down.”
Joan would never yell in front of him.
Brea went downstairs and Joan was bringing in the last haul of groceries. She had two bunches of plastic bags dangling from each hand and Jaxon took them all.
Joan tucked a red curl behind her ear. “I got a call from school today, Brea. Want to tell me what that was about?”
Jaxon set the groceries on the kitchen floor and took an energy drink from his jacket pocket. “I had to go to three stores to get this.” He handed the can to Brea and sat down.
“Well?”
Brea stuffed a now cold noodle in her mouth, stalling. “I…”
Jaxon interrupted. “It’s my fault, Mrs. Miller. She almost fainted in the hallway.”
“Joan, please.”
“Okay, Joan. I didn’t think she’d make it in the office. I mean, do you know how long they keep you there? She just wanted to get home. After how she was feeling last night…”
“How were you feeling last night, Brea? I heard a bunch of noise in your room.”
“I, uh, just felt sick. I think I ate something bad or something.”
Joan set the back of her
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