Down on Love (17 page)

“Good.” He reached past her to open the car door, which reminded him of the night he’d driven her home from Beers. She certainly hadn’t been as guarded then. He missed that side of her.

George gathered the floaty folds of her dress and slid into the driver’s seat, and Casey closed the door once she was tucked inside. When he belted himself into the passenger seat, George fired off, “And no remarks about my driving in heels. We women can handle it, you know.”

He just smiled and asked, as she backed into the parking area to turn around, “Where’d you get the dress? Mrs. P’s? Anna Banana and Clothes Horse don’t sell stuff like that.”

“Who said I bought it in town? There’s this little thing called the Internet, you know.”

“Ah. I should’ve known. Mrs. P would never let you out of her shop looking . . . like that.”

George actually growled. “What the hell! When are the busybodies around here going to stop treating me like a kid?”

“Well, we could take a detour, parade you around downtown in that dress for a while. That’ll convince ’em. Of course,” he added with a grin, “you’d also have to stop blogging about Taylor Swift and Justin Bieber if you want them to really take you seriously.”

She glanced over at him and smirked, and Casey was relieved to see she was getting back to normal. Now he just had to work on his drooling issue, not to mention calm his pounding heart and stop the thrumming elsewhere in his body he really shouldn’t focus on because then it would only get worse. Oops. Like that. He decided to pay attention to what George was saying instead, making sure he looked at the profile of her face and no lower. Not that it did any good.

“I’ll make a note of it,” she muttered dryly. “But they’re not just teen idols, you know. They’re icons by now—like the whole country’s captain of the football team and head cheerleader. Like you and Celia.”

Casey’s brow furrowed. Where did that come from? Him and Celia? He took the easy way out. “I didn’t play football, and you know it.”

“Stop playing dumb, Bowen. Would you rather I’d said prom king and queen? Because you were that.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but a lot of water has passed under the Marsden River Bridge since then. Now it’s . . . Tyson and Madison, I think. Speed!” he couldn’t help blurting, because once she left the confines of the gravel drive, she stomped on the accelerator, and the car lurched forward like a bull goaded by a picador’s spear.

“Whatever.” Casey wasn’t sure she was dismissing his cautionary yelp or his comment about high school. “You and Celia are still seen as prom king and queen—permanently. Nobody in any year since has been able to eclipse your legacy. And,” she cleared her throat and gave him a sharp, I’m-about-to-instigate-something look, “I’ve been hearing all about it lately.”

He rubbed his face vigorously, settling his hand over his mouth as he looked at her. “Christ. What have you heard?” he asked from between his fingers.

“What do you need to tell me?”

“Don’t answer a question with a question. What are you implying?”

“‘Don’t answer a question with a question.’”

He grasped the edges of the seat and grimaced as they took a curve at around seventy miles per hour.

“Here’s another question,” she persisted. “Casey Arthur Bowen, is this a date?”

Ooh, she meant business, using his middle name like that. It knocked him even more off kilter that she remembered it. “A date? What—what—why—”

“Ub, ub, ub,” she mocked his stammer. “Answer the question.”

“You mean—”

“A date. With . . . you know.” Suddenly she seemed to lose confidence. “Romantic overtones,” she muttered.

Casey couldn’t help laughing. “What the hell are ‘romantic overtones’?”

“Are you dating Celia or not?”

“What?” He couldn’t take the twists and turns of this conversation and this road. He’d never been carsick before, but there was a first time for everything, and this might very well be it. He started to perspire in earnest under his layers of monkey suit.

“You heard me. I was warned, in no uncertain terms—upon pain of death, in fact—to keep my mitts off you, so I need to know.”

“By
Celia?
” That was impossible.

“No, not Celia. I ran into her at the gym the other day; she was a doll.”

“She is a very nice person.”

“Stop hedging. Answer the question.”

“Wait. If I tell you I’m
not
dating Celia, and this is a date, what would you do with your mitts then? Blind curve! George! Pay attention to the road!”

Was he shrieking? He was probably shrieking. But he didn’t care how he sounded at the moment, because George was looking over at him instead of at the dark country road, which was about to get a whole darker and curvier in the next quarter mile. Then, with a perfunctory glance in the rearview mirror to make sure nobody was behind them, she slammed on the brakes.

Casey took a steadying breath. “Mind pulling over?”

“Why?”

“You’re in the middle of the road.”

“So? There’s no traffic.”

“I am
never
riding with you again.”

“Why does everybody always say that?”

“Can’t imagine. Why’d you stop?”

“Because I want to see your face when you answer. Are you dating Celia? Is this a date? If you’re dating Celia, this can’t be a date. If you’re dating Celia and you call this a date, I’m throwing you out of the car right now for being a two-timing dog. If—”

“Hey, whoa! You said answer the question, but I can’t get a word in edgewise. May I?”

“Oh.” George stopped. Then, “Sorry. Go ahead.”

He turned in his seat to face her squarely, then took another breath. “No, I am not dating Celia. We’re friends. That’s all.”

“Why aren’t you?”

“Dating?”

“Yeah.”

“Because we did that in high school, we did that after high school. We tried to keep up a long-distance relationship when I was at college, and it didn’t work. So we broke up. It was for the best, considering. I still care about her, though.”

“She’s a good person.”

“I know. But I don’t—” He paused. “Are you
trying
to get me to go out with her again? Because if you are, you’re going to have to get in line behind half the people in town. Those ‘busybodies’ you mentioned.”

“I could tell. I met the president of her fan club the other day.”

“Who?”

“Audra.”

Oh God.
Casey laughed ruefully. “She’s . . . a special kind of crazy. Don’t pay any attention to her.”

“Kind of hard not to. It got ugly.”

“Why?”

“Because she saw me as Celia’s competition. So answer the other question.”

“Is this a date?” Casey decided to bite the bullet and said firmly, “Yes. This is a date. If you’ll agree to it. I didn’t call it that because I didn’t want to freak you out.”

“Good call.”

“I mean, it is kind of weird, right?”

“Kind of. Very.”

He took as deep a breath as his tie would allow. “Well, I would love it if it could be normal and natural. I wanted to take you out so we could enjoy each other’s company in some sort of pleasant environment. I like you, Goose. You’re beautiful, and bright, and funny, and interesting, and I would like to spend time with you. So I asked you out on this thing, which is a date. I’m sorry I didn’t buy you flowers. I’m also sorry I didn’t have the chance to knock on your door and pick you up so I could stand in your foyer, sweating in my shoes, while Sera gave me the hairy eyeball and asked when I’m bringing you home and what my intentions are—because that would have been on my ‘extreme experiences’ bucket list, right up there with being tasered just to see what it feels like. But yes, this is a date. Do you have a problem with that?”

It was hard to tell in the twilight shadows, but it looked like George was blushing. After a moment, she answered, “No. I don’t have a problem with that. But I do have a problem with you calling me Goose all the time. If you want to treat me like an adult, you can start by not using that nickname you gave me when I was a kid.”

He laughed. “Old habits.”

She smiled back, shyly, and took her foot off the brake. “Fine, then,” she said quietly, a touch of wonder in her voice. “This is a date.” She started the car moving forward again. At least this time she wasn’t acting like she was coming off the line in a drag race, Casey thought.

“That’s okay, isn’t it?” he ventured.

She hesitated. “I’m not sure.”

“Oh?” It felt like someone had grabbed his intestines and twisted just a little bit.

“It’s . . . weird. I wasn’t planning on dating. Anybody. For a good long time. You could call it a hiatus, I guess.”

“Because of all those crap relationships of yours?”

“Yup.” She pressed down harder on the accelerator, and Casey resumed his death grip low on the upholstery, by the door, where she couldn’t see. “I considered it a personal reboot. I was going to wait a while before starting up again. A good long while.”

“Would one date really compromise that?”

“I don’t know.” She was looking straight at him again, twisty road be damned. “Depends on how deadly your dating skills are.”

“Ah, well then, you’re in big trouble.” They swung around the next curve, the passenger-side wheels buzzing in the gravel of the shoulder, and suddenly Casey found himself shouting again. “George! Watch out!”

Startled, she looked at the road again, then slammed on the brake with both feet, but the car was still wracked by a heavy thud. They lurched to a halt. One headlight went out. A large something blocked the other one for a moment, dimming the view to almost nothing, then it was gone, and the yellowish beam lit up the asphalt again. George turned off the ignition but left the headlight on, and they both lurched out of the car and around to the front.

“Oh no. No, no, no,” George whimpered, her hands over her mouth, while Casey crouched by the large doe lying on its side in front of the car.

After a moment, he stood up and pulled her away. “It’s okay. Goose, listen. It’s okay. I don’t think . . . Just back up some. Quick.”

There was still life in those huge brown eyes; he had seen it. He was pretty sure, anyway. He hoped. He pulled George over to the edge of the road, and they held their breath. Sure enough, after a few seconds, like everything had been on pause and then someone pressed play, the deer jumped to its feet, stumbled once, and leaped into the trees.

“Holy shit,” she breathed.

George spun around, trying hard to track the doe’s retreating white tail as it dashed into the deeper shadows under the trees. “Is it okay, do you think?” she asked, breathless. “Should we go find it? Oh God, I feel awful!”

Casey looked up at her in alarm and started to rise from his crouch, where he’d been inspecting the front end of the Neon. “What? What do you mean, you feel awful? Are you hurt?”

“No, not me. I’m fine. I’m worried about the deer.”

“Unbelievable.” He shook his head, incredulous, a wry smile stealing across his lips. Returning his attention to the car, he said, “I’m sure the deer is fine, Goose. I don’t see any blood—”

“Internal injuries.”

“Those animals are tougher than you think. They look all cute and delicate, but they can completely mess you up and survive just fine.”
Kind of like somebody else I know,
he thought.

“How’s my car?”

“Well,” he sighed, “it’s not totaled, but something’s leaking out of it. I don’t think it’s drivable.”

She watched him go around to the driver’s side, reach in, and turn on the hazards. “What’s wrong with it?”

“You’re asking the wrong guy. I don’t ‘do’ cars.”

“I thought all guys ‘did’ cars.”

“I thought all women loved shoe shopping.”

“Touché. So you can’t tell what’s damaged?”

“Not sure. Radiator, probably? I’ll call the auto club.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and a membership card out of his wallet.

 

George watched him closely from her spot near the trees. She couldn’t help admiring his profile, especially in that tux. He was so James Bond, standing there with one hand in his pocket, staring off at nothing with a fierce squint.

“Goose?” he said, still looking off across the road, away from her.

“What?”

“Quit it.”

“Quit what?”

“Looking at me like that.”

“Or what?”

“Or you might find out what.”

Oh.
Apparently her body didn’t seem to care about her convictions and personal vows, because it started tingling all over. Some places more than others. She had a crazy notion to dare him, but she stayed silent and looked around instead. “Casey. We’re—”

He glanced over at her. “I know. Doesn’t help, does it?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“We were a little busy hitting a deer.”

Casey started speaking to the auto club representative; his voice faded into white noise as George tried to parse the significance of where they’d ended up: right beside the park. The park with the tree. Of all places. George stared at the empty gravel lot, beyond which were several picnic tables and rusty grills on pedestals, a small playground, and beyond that . . . yeah.

“Goose?”

“What?”

“Can you stop reminiscing for a second and come here, please? We need to get your car out of the way.”

Casey had finished his call and had one hand on the open driver’s-side door, the other on the roof.

George shook herself and joined him in the road. “Just in case a car comes along sometime in the next day or so?”

“It could happen. You steer, I’ll push.”

“Thank goodness. I was afraid you were going to suggest the opposite.” She ducked under his arm and got behind the wheel. When she put the car in neutral, he leaned forward, and gradually they got the Neon nose-deep in the parking area, its rear bumper sticking out on the shoulder.

Casey straightened up and caught his breath. “Well, it’s better than nothing. You steer like ass.”

“Hey, it’s a little difficult when the steering wheel won’t budge.”

“So those fierce lady-biceps are all for show?” he said, following her into the park. As she walked, she kicked out airy billows of dress. They flashed in the light of the half-moon peeking through the pines that washed the fabric’s pale blue color to white.

George glanced over her shoulder at him. “Need me to demonstrate?”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

They leaned against the end of the nearest picnic table. “How long till the tow truck comes?”

“Not sure. I’ll wait here for it. I’m going to call Darryl, have him come pick you up.”

“Sorry I ruined our date,” she whispered.

He bumped her shoulder with his. “Don’t worry about it.”

“And your reconnaissance mission.”

“You make it sound so much more interesting than it was going to be.”

“Word choice is everything.”

They were silent for a moment. George’s insides were a muddle, made all the worse by the shadows behind her, the memory of what had happened the last time she and Casey were in this particular half-wilderness.

“I’ll be right back,” Casey said abruptly, walking off.

“What? Where are you going?”

“Where do you think? I’ve got to see a man about a horse.”

“Well, don’t leave me here in the dark!”

“Like I believe you’re afraid of the dark.”

“I could be.”

“It’ll only take a minute.”

George stayed by the picnic table, the heels of her hands pressing into the rough, splintery cut ends of the wood. She fought the sudden, ridiculous, overwhelming urge to follow Casey into the trees. What was she, a damsel in distress? She could sit in the dark for a couple of—

“Dammit!”

“What?” she called, alarmed.

“Bathroom’s locked. Time for plan B.”

“Watch out for poison ivy.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

George sat quietly for another minute, all her senses on high alert, even though she didn’t really want to hear the patter of his pee on the pine-needle-covered ground. What she did hear, however, was some pretty violent rustling from off to her right. She held her breath. It stopped. Then it started up again. She knew enough not to check it out. She’d seen enough horror movies to know what happened next: solitary woman, alone in the woods in the dark, investigates a strange noise, scary music swells, and pretty soon solitary woman’s blood is a-spurting. Nope, not going to investigate.

After a moment’s silence, the rustling started up again, louder this time. It seemed to be coming from near a rusty oil barrel that served as a garbage can. Oh God, rats? She didn’t think she could deal with rats.

Suddenly, two gleams of light flashed at her from the top of the barrel. George jumped a mile. It took her a second to realize they were animal eyes. Then a raccoon heaved itself the rest of the way out of the garbage can, dropped to the ground with a thump, and lumbered into the woods. George dashed off in the direction Casey had gone, and sooner than expected, she collided with his solid form.

“Jesus, Goose!” he yelped, zipping himself up. “What’s the matter?”

George’s brain caught up with her fight-or-flight instinct, and she felt like an idiot. She tried to sound casual. “Raccoon.”

“It won’t bother you.”

“It could be rabid.”

“So could you.”

She whacked his arm. Then, “You didn’t pee on . . .
the
tree, did you?”

“What, as a statement?”

“Whatever.”

Casey smiled down at her. “No, I didn’t pee on
the
tree. It’s farther over there.”

He was right. The particular tree that all the “young folk” in the area called the Love Tree was off in the distance, nicely isolated, down a slight hill by the creek. It was an unremarkable maple, but for some reason, decades ago, someone had decided it was the tree that was going to witness all young lovers’ declarations. Tradition had it you weren’t officially a couple until you carved your initials into the poor thing, or tied some sort of memento to its branches.

George and Casey hadn’t gone to the Love Tree together, and had made no declarations of undying affection, let alone left a mark they had been there, but it was witness to their intimacies all the same.

It took a few moments before George realized Casey was speaking. She refocused on the present; he was on the phone again.

“Dude. What do you mean, you’re in no condition to drive? . . . Yeah, I know dragging an oak bedroom set up three flights of stairs entitles you to a few beers, but come on—” He sighed, raked his fingers through his hair till it stood on end. George could hear Darryl’s booming voice from where she stood but couldn’t make out what he was saying. “So where’s my truck? . . . And there isn’t anybody who can—? . . . Okay, listen—call Andy. What? . . . Who cares? Andy B., Andy Z., I don’t know, whichever one you find first. Just send one of them out to Creekside Park with my truck . . . I don’t care how you get home. Figure it out in the morning.” After he ended the call, he gave George a significant look. “Seems Darryl’s taken a page out of your Beers playbook and can’t come get you. It might take a little longer to get you home.”

“What a crappy night.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he mused. “We got all dressed up, scared the shit out of a deer—who returned the favor—then kept company with a rabid raccoon. And of course I got to experience your new driving technique.” George made a face. “What is up with that, anyway? You didn’t drive that bad before.”

“What are you talking about? My driving hasn’t changed.”

“Uh,
yeah
it has.”

“Okay, I might be a
little
more aggressive. But you have to be, when you live in Boston. Ruthless wins—that’s the most important rule. If you don’t keep up, you’re dead meat. Oh yeah—and if you hesitate, even for a split second, like if you’re the first car at a stoplight when it turns green or something, you get the horn. It’s hard core.”

“But you’re not in Boston anymore.”

“I know
that.
I just haven’t . . . recalibrated yet.”

“It might be time to, Goose.” He studied her for a second, his body loose, his hands in his pockets. “Do you miss living in Boston?”

“Not as much as I expected to. Do you miss living in London?”

“When I have a craving for Indian food, hell yes. Other than that . . . not as much as I expected.”

“It’s weird being back in Marsden,” George murmured, dragging the toe of her sandal across the dirt, inadvertently scraping pine needles into it. She shook her foot to get them out.

“Why?”

“Well, it’s . . . it’s a place with so many memories—layer upon layer of them—it’s like being forced into an archaeological dig. And I’m turning up so many . . .
issues
. . . I haven’t thought about in a long time.”

Instead of mocking her, as George feared, Casey just sighed softly. “I know. And it all comes back like it was yesterday, right?”

“Exactly.”

His voice was far stronger when he said, “Okay. Let’s exorcise one demon right now.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about this . . . elephant in the room. This stupid thing hanging over our heads.”

“There’s an elephant hanging over our heads? Am I allowed an umbrella? Because that could get messy—”

“You know what I mean.”

Casey grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her farther into the park, right to the place she hoped he wouldn’t, but knew he would.

“Okay,” he said again, as she stared at all the paired-up initials carved into the trunk, caught sight of a few trinkets tossed up into the higher branches where they couldn’t be stolen by other passing visitors—some cheap Mardi Gras beads, a Hello Kitty keychain, a friendship bracelet. “Once upon a time, many years ago—” He paused at her sharp look. “Okay,
not
so many years ago, you graduated from high school and had a party in this park.”

“And you were home from college and crashed my party.”

He smirked. “Well, I couldn’t let you suffer with just Sera and a couple of friends and half a dozen tiny cousins, now could I?”

“Not to mention my Great Aunt Sadie.”

“May she rest in peace.”

“She’s still alive.”

“She is? What is she, a hundred and two?”

“Ninety-eight. Aren’t we getting off track?”

“Right. So, sometime later in the evening, you wandered off in search of firewood for your family’s illegal bonfire. And you ended up standing right about . . . here.” Casey grabbed her shoulders and positioned her with her back to the trunk. “Stay put.” He watched her for a second to make sure she didn’t move as he backed away. “And I came along . . . here.” He backed up and walked forward, pretending to saunter up on her right. Just as he had nearly two decades ago. George felt a little light-headed. Those layers of memories floated to the surface and converged with the present, like a double-exposure photograph.

“You gave me some cheap excuse about helping me find some kindling,” George supplied. “But you never picked up a single piece.”

“Well, I was lying, wasn’t I?” He picked something up off the ground, handed it to her. “Here.” It was a thin stick.

“Very funny.” She took it from him, bent it, and tossed it away. “Green. Useless.”

“Sorry.”

“Why did you crash my graduation party?”

“Because I wanted to see you.”

“Why?”

“Because I missed you. I had been away so long, and even surrounded by all these other girls at college, I found myself thinking about you. All the time.”

George’s stomach swooped. She pressed on with all the questions she’d never gotten a chance to ask him. “Why did you kiss me?”

Casey looked her squarely in the eye. “Because I wanted to.” Her stomach lurched again. “Because you were beautiful and smart and interesting and funny. Just like now. More so now, although back then I wouldn’t have thought it possible.”

Casey stepped closer. George let him.

“What about Celia?” she asked.

“What about her?”

“Were you still dating her then?”

“Absolutely not. I told you, we broke up, because it was too hard to have a long-distance relationship. I never would have kissed you if I’d still been going out with Celia.”