“What the hell?” Wyatt said as Stuart slid to a stop next to him.
The sedan Mira hopped into zoomed out of range, its red lights fading in the distance. Wyatt punched his palm with his fist.
“She in that car?” Stuart dropped his hands to his knees.
“Everything okay out here?” Mr. Miter said from a crack in the door.
Had no one but him and Stuart noticed his girlfriend run like a banshee through a crowded room? What they said about witnesses must be true: they miss the obvious. “Yeah.”
The doors closed again.
Wyatt turned to Stuart. “She was. In that car, I mean.”
“How’d she get out here so fast?”
Wyatt had chased Mira as she flew through the dance hall, hadn’t known she would be so quick. He’d caught a speck of color as she pushed out into the patio where they’d almost fulfilled his ultimate fantasy.
“What happened, man?” Stuart asked.
Wyatt ran a hand through his hair. “I have no idea.”
He’d been happily entwined in her arms, fingers, lips, cheeks-touching and arousing. He’d found a tear on his thumb and worried he’d hurt her in some way-the dance with Julie burning in his gut.
One day. He only had one day left with her, and he’d spent more than a second with someone else.
Stuart slunk to the side. “What do we do?”
Wyatt paced back and forth along the patio, yanking at his hair. The glint of light off the slate brought to mind her eyes. The light had played a trick on them right before she’d called out a quick ‘I love you’ and bolted.
Stuart leaned against the building’s brick. “Wyatt, man. What’cha gonna do?”
He slapped his hands against his thighs. “I’m going to find her.”
“I’ll go with ya.”
“You don’t have to.” Wyatt grabbed his keys from his pants pocket. They jiggled in his hand as he searched for the right one.
“You’re my ride, dude.” Stuart huffed a laughed. “I gotta. Uh… what about Leena?”
“She’s with them.” As Wyatt’s car came into view, Stuart took a right. With two beeps, they opened the doors and slid into their seats. Before he could close his door, the call of his name took his attention.
Julie stood on the red carpet.
“Not now, Julz.” Wyatt gripped the wheel, turned to Stuart. “Ready?”
“I’m with you, man.”
Julie stood at the end of the path, turning her head as Wyatt backed out of the spot.
Where did she go?
“Home?” Stuart said out loud.
“Can you read minds, man?” Wyatt turned a one-eighty to put wheels on the road.
“Nah, just figured, if something were wrong with me, that’s where I’d go.”
“Why’d she call them?” Wyatt pushed the car to sixty-five on roads meant for half.
“Dunno, man.”
What have I done? Tires squealed as Wyatt sped up Turner Point. The headlights did little to light his way beyond the curve. Stuart’s knuckles turned white as he held on to the door. Wyatt’s breath grew ragged.
Left then right, right then left-no care for the possibility of a car in the other direction-he sped.
The house loomed with a few lights.
Wyatt jumped from the car, which shook as Stuart yanked the parking brake in place. Smooth-soled shoes slipped against the concrete before Wyatt ran to the front door.
He rang the bell, pounded his fist. “Mira! Mira, it’s Wyatt!”
Stuart caught up to him as the door opened.
“What happened? Why did she leave? Where is she?” Wyatt tried to walk around Jack, who held his position in the frame, arms folded across his chest.
“She can’t see you right now.”
“Why?” Wyatt’s words burst forth. “Why not?” Fury coated his words.
“She just can’t.” Jack’s voice held an unemotional calm. “And she’ll be gone tomorrow. I’m sorry, man.”
“That’s shit!” Wyatt stormed away and back. “I want to see her now!” Fists at his sides, Wyatt raised himself to his full height and still didn’t reach Jack’s nose.
He didn’t budge, but behind him, Leena peeked out.
“Leena… where is she?” His resolve lost in the face of a friend, he softened and moved toward her.
She snuck out from underneath Jack’s arms-still in her dress, feet bare. A walk to Wyatt, a hug and squeeze undid him. “I’m going with her tomorrow.” Leena pulled back, addressing both of them. “Like me, she just didn’t know how to say goodbye.” She dropped her eyes. “Sometimes…” She nodded and leaned in. “Sometimes things are just best left unsaid.” A red-painted toe dug at the tile.
“But she told me she loved me.” Wyatt’s arms fell as desperation took hold.
“And that makes it all the harder.” Leena drew one hand to his cheek. “She always will, too.” She placed a soft kiss where her hand had lain.
“But I love her!” Wyatt’s anger fired rocket-like as he punched the air. “And I have this.” He pulled a small box from within his coat, held it out to Leena. “Will you-”
“Keep it, Wyatt.” Leena pulled herself up to his shoulders. “And listen to me very carefully, okay?”
He nodded, shocked at her abrupt change in temperament, her eyes seething hurt and fury.
“Now is not the time.” She poked him in the chest with her index finger. “You will never see Mira again. But do not-and I repeat this-do not give this to anyone else. Ever.” She dropped her head. “Unless you are more than a hundred percent sure she is the right one. Got that?” her glare added to the pain her finger offered while she dug into his chest.
He nodded. How would I know? It didn’t matter. He’d toss the box in a drawer and forget about it. Wyatt nodded at her with more conviction than ran through him.
Leena pursed her lips. “Good then. Take care, Wyatt.” She squeezed his shoulders and walked to Stuart, offering him a simple hug before she slipped in behind Jack and left them in silence.
Wyatt considered a gang attack, but he didn’t think he and Stuart would fare well against the monster at the door. He dropped his head, turned on his heel and started his walk back to the car.
He kicked small pebbles that ground into his shoes. They rattled against his car when they hit. He didn’t care. The dents would help ease the pain in his chest.
“Fuck.” Wyatt slammed his fists into the hood.
Vest undone, jacket over his arm, Wyatt trudged into his house. One o’clock in the morning would roll through in seconds. He entered to silence and the smell of bread baked not long before.
“Wyatt?” His mom asked from the top of the stairs. “That you?”
“Yeah, Mom.”
“No Stuart?”
“Nah.”
“Someone dropped something off for you, honey. It’s in the kitchen.”
“Thanks, Mom. I’ll get it tomorrow.”
“They asked me to tell you to open it tonight. That’s why I stayed up. I’m going on to bed now, okay?”
“Yeah, Mom.”
In the dark, he followed the well-worn path from foyer to kitchen. The walk took far less time than in Mira’s house. On the island where he’d had pancakes and waffles, lunch and dinner, and had completed and forgotten his homework, lay a package wrapped in brown paper. Light from the moon-the same one he’d wanted to stand under as he gave her his second gift-streamed through the bay window, bouncing shadow and light against reflective surfaces.
That’s what the light had done to her eyes, he thought. Those damn balls! I shouldn’t have let go! With his Mom upstairs, Wyatt couldn’t let loose. The scream he held in burned the back of his throat.
He crossed to the countertop, eased the package to its side.
To: Wyatt, written in her script.
So it was dropped off and not shipped. Consolation prize? He’d dump it in the trash. But I’ll look first.
Wyatt pulled pieces of tape off one at a time and stuck them back onto the paper. As the back revealed itself, he found a card attached.
Happy Birthday, without signature. The handwriting he recognized well.
He ripped the rest of the paper in one violent strip and turned what he knew would be art in his direction. Silhouettes of two bodies twisted around each other like a strand of DNA. Obscure, no distinct features were visible, just the idea of form.
He knew.
One body laid back, the other pressed forward, arms of whispery white connected the two.
He and Mira had been in that position hours before.
Wyatt’s heart pounded; his chest constricted. His eye caught a spot of white, lighter than the rest against the black of the canvas.
Tucked into the lower corner, it read: For Wyatt. Love, Charley.