Reclaiming the Sand
Page 39

“You’re right. She is.”
Flynn nodded, straightening the knives and forks into perfect lines. I didn’t think anyone that worked at Ma’s took such care and attention to their tasks. When Flynn was finished it was the best laid table in the diner.
“You’re food’s ready,” Emily said from behind the counter, pointing back to the booth where Dania and I had been sitting. I had lost my appetite.
“Can I box it up to go?” I asked. I didn’t want to waste the food. A lifetime of scrimping and scavenging wouldn’t let me waste it. I pulled out my wallet and handed Emily some cash.
“Sure,” Emily said, looking between Flynn and me. Flynn had now turned his obsessive attention to the napkin dispenser that he had knocked over earlier.
“I’ll be with you in a minute,” she told him, eyeing him warily as though waiting for him to flip out again.
Flynn ignored her and continued to straighten the napkins. He had withdrawn into himself. Something I had seen him do many times before. I recognized his focused intensity.
“Hey, Flynn. You wanna get out of here?” I asked him quietly, keeping my voice low.
Flynn carried on as though he hadn’t heard me. I left him alone while I waited for my food to be brought over. I shot glares in the direction of the costumers who were still openly gawking.
It was true he wasn’t doing himself any favors but their rudeness pricked my temper.
“Here you go, Ellie,” Emily said, coming back with bags containing the discarded lunches. She turned to Flynn who had stopped sorting napkins and was now tapping his fingers on the counter.
“Did you want to order anything?” she asked him, her lip curling in disgust at his behavior.
“He’s fine. Thanks,” I told her sharply. Her eyes widened and she gave me a nervous smile.
“Okay then. See ya around,” she replied hastily before scampering off to the other side of the diner.
“Flynn let’s go. I’ve got plenty of food here. I hope you like cheeseburgers,” I said lightly.
Surprisingly the sound of my voice snapped him out of it. He blinked a few times and then looked down at the bag of to-go boxes in my hand.
“I love cheeseburgers,” he said and gave me a small smile before heading toward the door.
I was left following after him, not entirely sure what the hell I was getting myself into.
13
-Ellie-
Flynn didn’t slow down and I had to jog to catch up with him. I was wheezing by the time he stopped next to a dark blue sedan. It looked a bit like a grandma mobile and I almost laughed when I saw him opening up the driver’s side door.
“I’d like to go back to my house now. I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten since this morning,” Flynn told me, getting into the car, not waiting to see if I would agree.
I guess I had told him he could have the cheeseburger…
I looked around, almost trying to find one last reason to not get into the car.
But watching Dania tear Flynn down had let loose something inside me and the floodgates, once they were opened, weren’t so easily closed.
So I got into the old lady car. The interior was spotless. The leather seats crunched beneath me as I got situated. After he turned on the car, Flynn fiddled with the CD player and soon the strains of The Cure filled the car. I recognized the Wish album. I remembered Flynn had a Cure fixation back in high school. Obviously that was yet another thing that hadn’t changed.
He sat back in his seat after turning on the air conditioner full blast. In a few minutes my ni**les had hardened in the cold.
“Can you turn the a/c down a bit?” I asked, rubbing my arms, trying to get warm.
Flynn startled, almost as though he had forgotten I was in the car with him.
“Sure,” he said and turned the knob back a degree. It didn’t do much to make the air more comfortable but it was something, I guess I was forced to cross my arms over my chest to hide my obvious nipplage.
“You haven’t been back to the studio,” Flynn said after a period of silence. I watched his hands on the steering wheel. They were at a perfect nine and three position. His rear view mirror was tilted at just the right angle and he drove with his back straight and his seat pushed forward. He was a model of driver safety.
I leaned over to get a look at the speedometer and wasn’t surprised to see he was going the exact speed limit. Not a mile over, not a mile under.
Robert Smith wailed miserably and I wished he would shut up all ready. He wasn’t helping me come up with a believable lie as to why I hadn’t been back to the art studio.
How could I explain my reasons for staying away?
I couldn’t tell him that every time I saw him I hated myself just a little bit more for everything I had done to him. That it was me that had been responsible for losing his house and his life in Wellsburg. That because of my ignorant fears I had hurt the only person I had ever considered a real and true friend.
Could I tell him that the lies of my omission might tear me apart?
Or should I tell him that I was a conflicted mess of emotions? I resented him in a misplaced sense of blame that was still carried over from years of denial. But I also l enjoyed his company. That it was easy to remember a time when I had been almost happy when we were together.
That was some heavy shit. And it wasn’t something I could vocalize. Hell, I could barely admit in the quiet safety of my head the truth of it. So there was no way in hell I could ever tell him.
So I shrugged. “I’ve been busy,” I told him; running my hands along the smooth, cool leather beside my thigh.