The Infinite Moment of Us (18 page)

with him. She was so heartbreakingly adorable about it.

He had a memory, unexpected but wonderful, of Wren

lying next to him in their ditch. She’d reached her arms

above her head and stretched, closing her eyes and making

a sweet almost-yawn sound. He wanted to be with her
now
.

“My mom got arrested,” Starrla said, final y giving up on

getting a rise out of him by talking about Wren.

“Ah shit,” Charlie said. “What for this time?”

There was a section of the
Atlanta Journal-Constitution

on the coffee table, along with more than a dozen cigarette

butts, and Starrla grabbed it and tossed it to him. It was the local crime section, dated with today’s date.

Charlie scanned the lists of phoned-in complaints,

police calls, and one account of a gas station robbery. Was

that it? No. He read a little farther and came to this:

A woman described as heavyset and naked except for her

shoes was pulled off Northside Drive on Tuesday morning,

and while cops and medical personnel were evaluating her,

she threw off a blanket that had been wrapped around her,

walked up onto the hood of a nearby car that was stalled in
traffic, and kicked in the windshield. The owner, Jamaal Farsai, shared the statement he made to his insurance company.

“They asked if the car was damaged on the side of a street
or in a parking lot,” said Farsai. “I told them, ‘No, a naked
woman just got on my hood and stomped around.’”

Charlie folded the section of newspaper and tossed it

onto the coffee table. “Classy,” he said.

“You know what she said? Once she got released and

saw the paper? That she was going to sue the fucker who

described her as ‘heavyset.’” She tugged at the hem of her

shirt. “She spent the night in jail. Didn’t bother to call me, of course.”

“Why’d she do it?” Charlie asked. “Was she high?”

“What the fuck, Charlie?” She threw herself against the

back of the sofa. “What. The. Fuck.”

“Where is she now? Does she need help?”

“You know what? Her life, her problems. But she dis-

appeared with the car, so how am I supposed to get to

work?” Starrla hitched her shoulders. “I told Marcus. He

laughed—big surprise.”

Charlie didn’t know who Marcus was, not specifically.

He knew Starrla well enough to know Marcus in general,

however. Probably into drugs. Definitely a partier. And

after he’d laughed, he’d no doubt
oh, honey
-ed her, gotten her clothes off, and offered a different brand of comfort.

“I’m such a dumb-ass,” she said. “Fuck, fuck,
fuck
.”

She started to cry, and Charlie felt trapped. He wanted

to call Wren, to tell her how beautiful and sexy she was.

That picture she’d texted . . .

God, he loved that girl. He wanted to be with her, not

Starrla.

Starrla moved closer to him on the sofa. She put her

head on his shoulder. His muscles tensed.

“You’re the only guy who’s ever been good to me,” she

said. “The only guy, Charlie.”

“Starrla . . .”

“You
are
, you dumb-ass.” Tears choked her laughter.

“You’ll always be a dumb-ass, but hell, you’re my dumb-

ass.”

I’m not your dumb-ass, Charlie thought.

She took his arm and put it around her. He smelled her

familiar scent. He awkwardly patted her shoulder.

“Do you need a ride to Rite Aid?” he asked.

“I just need to be held,” she said. She rubbed against

him. “Not by Marcus. By you.”

Charlie felt the sinkhole pull that was Starrla.

Ten minutes, he told himself, checking his watch. I’ll

give Starrla ten minutes. Then I’m going to Wren.

“Things are going to get better,” he said.

Starrla snorted.

“If you want them to, they will,” he said, and he believed

it, because look at himself. “You can change your life, Star.”

Starrla snorted. “Oh, fucking Christ. The World Accord-

ing to Wren Gray—is that what this is? ‘Oh, Charlie, just

think! You could be president one day!’”

Screw you, Starrla, he thought, because dammit, she

still had the power to get to him. It wasn’t just how Starrla

mocked Wren, either. It was the fact that, yes, Wren
did

make him believe in himself. That he didn’t have to work

in Chris’s shop forever. That he was going to do great at

Georgia Tech, and that he was smarter than anyone she

knew. She’d even suggested, tentatively, that he go to Gua-

temala with her.

“You’d get accepted to the program in a heartbeat,” she

said. “You could help build houses! Or you could do com-

puter stuff. I’m sure they need people who are good at

computers. You could do anything. You’re amazing, Char-

lie.”

No one had ever told Charlie he was amazing.

“I’m sorry,” Starrla said. “I’m such a bitch. Forgive me?”

Starrla kissed Charlie’s collarbone, the barest flick of

lips against skin.

“Star, quit it.”

“But you do know she’s too good for you, right?” She

took his hand and put it under her shirt. Stomach, ribs,

breast. No bra. He resisted, but she kept his hand where it

was. She put her other hand on his jeans. On his dick.

“I said, quit it,” he said, but her touch made him hard.

She laughed. “I’m not saying that to hurt you. I’m say-

ing that to keep you from getting hurt.” She stroked him.

“When she realizes who you really are—where you really

came from—do you think she’s going to want you?”

Charlie stood up. Starrla tumbled backward onto the

sofa. She laughed again.

“Look at you,” she said, jerking her chin at his erection.

“You still want me. You’ll always want me.”

Anger rose in Charlie’s chest. Could he help what his

body did? How his body responded?

“I’m sorry about your mom,” he said curtly. “I’m sorry

she took the car. Wash your face, put some nice clothes on,

and go to your job. Take the damn bus.”

“Won’t you take me?” Starrla said. “Or forget Rite Aid.

We’ll go . . . we’ll go anywhere, do anything. Whatever

you want.”

Charlie walked toward the door.

“
Please
, Charlie!” she cried. “I won’t tease you anymore.

I’m sorry, and I do want you to give me a ride. Please?”

When everything else failed, she could always get him

with a “please.” Goddammit. He didn’t want to help her.

He didn’t want to care. He had told himself he was done

with all of that, and he tried to act on it, but old habits

died hard.

He turned around.

Later, Charlie drove toward Wren’s house, but he stopped

on a side street before he got there. Hadn’t she said she was

at Tessa’s? He should call her first. He would pick her up,

or they could meet at their ditch. Whatever Wren wanted,

Charlie wanted. Whatever Wren wanted, Charlie wanted

to be the one to give it to her.

He pulled out his flip phone. Thank God it was at least

advanced enough to receive pictures, because the one

Wren had sent . . .

Again, her beauty took his breath away. Only the lower

half of her face was visible: her lips, the bottom one caught

anxiously between her teeth. She had nothing to be anx-

ious about. He hoped she knew that. He would tell her

again, when he saw her.

And then . . . her unbuttoned blouse. Her bra, pushed

to the side. All breasts were not equal, Charlie thought.

He didn’t think about Starrla’s breast, or his hand on it,

because Star wasn’t Wren.

Looking at the picture Wren sent, and knowing she had

sent it to please him, made him crazy with love and long-

ing.
I miss you
, she’d said.
I want to make love to you
.

He punched in her number. His call went straight to

voice mail. “Hi, this is Wren. Um . . . leave a message!”

“Wren. Hey,” he said. “Where are you, baby? Call me. I

want to see you.”

He hung up, puzzled and disappointed. Wren’s phone

hardly ever went straight to voice mail. Come to think

of it, Wren’s phone had never gone straight to voice mail

when Charlie called her. He racked his brain and couldn’t

come up with a single instance.

So why now? Was something wrong? Had something

happened to her?

Relax, he told himself. She’s fine.

He called again. “Hey. I’m not getting through for some

reason.” He closed his eyes, feeling like an idiot. “I guess

you have your phone turned off? I just want to see you,

baby. Call me, okay?”

He hit the end button. Do not call again, he told himself.

He could text her, though. Yes. Maybe she was at a

movie, or somewhere else where she had to be quiet. But

after sending that picture, she’d want to hear from him,

wouldn’t she?

Hey, baby. You there? he texted.

He drummed his fingers on his thigh. Nothing.

Wren, you all right?

Wren?

He wasn’t sure what to do. He could go home. Should

he go home? Or he could drive to Tessa’s . . .

Half an hour ago he’d felt exhilarated. Now his stomach

knotted up. He knew he was overreacting, but he would

feel so much better if he just heard from her.

She’s busy, that’s all, he told himself.

Except she usually answered his texts immediately.

She’d set a special text tone just for him, and when she

turned the sound off, she set her ringer on vibrate. And the

whole straight-to-voice-mail business? Not good.

He texted again.

Did I do somehj wrong? Just let me know yr ok.

He realized the bad spelling too late.

*Something, not somehj. I dont even know what a

somehj is.

He hoped that would make her laugh. He hoped it

would make him laugh, or lighten his mood, but it did neither. The blank screen of his phone taunted him.

He started the engine. Loitering on this side street

wasn’t doing him any good. He’d drive to Tessa’s house,

just to check. Maybe Wren and Tessa were in Tessa’s back-

yard, or listening to Tessa’s loud music, or . . . playing

Parcheesi, with their phones in another room? He’d driven

two blocks when an alert flashed on his screen:

wren gray

text message

His heart leaped. He clicked to read her message.

I’m fine dont worry

He felt relieved. Then, within seconds, his confusion

returned. Wren usually used perfect grammar when text-

ing, first of all. His own texts, painstakingly tapped out on

his crappy ghetto phone, were riddled with misspellings,

which amused Wren. She dubbed his errors “thumbles.”

But more troubling than her lack of punctuation was the

brevity of her message, especially since she hadn’t added a

smiley face to help him read her mood. Without a smiley

face, her text seemed curt.

He pulled over.

Wren, where are you?
he typed.
You sure everything’s all right?

Her response came quickly.

I’m a little mad, but whatever. Don’t worry. Just . . . what-

ever.

He read it twice. A buzzing filled his head. Wren was

mad? Why? At him?

He typed quickly, text after text, and now she replied

quickly, for the most part. Every so often there would be a

pause, and when there was, Charlie could hear how loudly

he was breathing.

Mad? Why are you mad?

You really don’t know?

I really don’t. Are you mad at me?

Well I’m not mad at Tessa.

And I’m not mad at PG

There are a lot of ppl I’m not mad at. I wish I weren’t mad

at all. So let’s just pretend I’m not.

What did I do? Just tell me.

nvm.

I’m worried I let you down somehow. i’m so sorry

Wren?

Oh, and will you delete that pic I sent you? Plz?

Wren, that picture is gorgeous. So sexy. I’m sorry I

didn’t tell you rigt away.

You are SO sexy, baby. I shld have told you immediately.

I hd to go, thats all.

Can you forgive me?

Have you deleted the picture?

Baby . . .

I feel like my heart is being ripped out. I know I let you

down and I’m so sorry. YOU ARE THE SEXIEST GIRL IN

THE WORLD!

Uh-huh, and that’s why you disappeared. You were just

. . . gone. Poof.

I told you I had an emergency to deal with, remember?

Oh, ok, it’s my fault, then. My bad. Bye.

Wren, I don’t understna.

I’m sorry I had to go. Next time I won’t.

Wren?

Listen. I suck.

Where are you? I’ll come. We’ll talk.

If I cld hold you, I’d feel so much better—and maybe

you wld too?

Seriously, plz stop txting. We’ll talk soon. I guess.

Can I call you? Can we talk over the phone at least?

Um, nah. Bye for real. I’m turning off my phone.

Wren? Wait.

Are you still there?

I feel like my world is falling apart. Can I please please

call?

She didn’t respond.

Charlie tried to stop panicking, but he couldn’t.

When they were talking earlier—when Wren was at

Tessa’s, right before she sent the picture—he told her he

had to go. He’d said that Pamela needed him, because of