Down on Love Page 18

  “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.

  Chapter 17

  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 w
as too hard to have a long-distance relationship. I never would have kissed you if I’d still been going out with Celia.”

  “Why did you walk away?” she whispered, fearful of the answer.

  “You were too young.”

  “Sounds familiar. I didn’t believe you then, and I don’t believe you now. I was eighteen—completely legal.”

  “Too young.”

  “So, what, you felt like kissing me just for fun? ‘Hey, I know what’ll be funny—I’ll kiss George, drive her crazy.’”

  “I drove you crazy?”

  “You knew.”

  “I guess I did. A little. Maybe I hoped.” He paused. “So tell me, how much did I drive you crazy?”

  “Stop fishing.”

  “For the record? I never meant it to be funny. I was dead serious about you.”

  “And what about now?”

  “Not laughing,” he murmured.

  And before she could take a steadying breath, Casey pulled her into his arms and kissed her—again. Softly at first, as if venturing into it to see how she’d react, then firmer, when she didn’t resist. She just couldn’t. It crossed her mind, but her mind was in the process of melting, so she didn’t take the thought too seriously. She did try, for half a second—stiffening in his arms, considering pushing away. Then the feel of his strong, solid body under the heavy fabric of his tux was all she could focus on. She ran her hands up over the lapels of his jacket, across his shoulders, and around his neck—and she melted into him. After all this time.

  He was so warm, so real. She could feel the heat coming off his body, and it made her own break out in goose bumps. His hands were hot through the gauzy fabric of her dress, then on the bare skin of her back.

  The way he kissed her—was it possible it was a hundred times better than the first time? He was more present, more confident. But she was too. This time she knew exactly what she wanted. And it was more of this. Not content to let him have complete control over the situation, she kissed him deeper, her tongue finding his. He groaned.

  “Oh God, Goose—” His lips skimmed the length of her neck to the hollow of her throat.

  “Say my real name, Casey,” she rasped, clinging to him, sure that if she let go she’d collapse.