other times I didn’t feel like recounting.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Me, too,” I said. “Mostly that your dad is gone.”
Suddenly I felt the gentle pressure of Jessie’s slender fingers on my arm and my chest constricted excruciatingly tight.
I glanced down at her hand and next into her eyes. A silent connection had been solidified between us, of something shared and something lost.
I looked up and saw the sign that said, BRIDGEWAY, SIX MILES
.
“Is this the exit, Nate?” Her voice was soft and tender.
“Yeah,” I said, sitting up and clearing my brain of all of those heavy thoughts.
Jessie took the exit ramp and followed the curve until it dumped us on onto a state route I was all too familiar with.
“Where to first?” she asked.
“I know just the place.”
Chapter Nine
Jessie
I’d admit it was way cool getting to know Nate better on our car trip. He had many more layers to him than I had ever given him credit for. I couldn’t believe I shared my favorite memory with him. But it didn’t make me sad like it normally would when I was alone with my thoughts of my dad. Nate’s response had been so organic, so consoling that I knew it had been the right thing to do.
Besides, after seeing that wounded look in Nate’s eyes, I wanted to know him even more. Past the attraction, past the flutters in my stomach, I wanted to ask him what troubled him and then soothe any broken parts inside him. I wondered if he had ever been able to talk to someone—really talk to them. I had that—always had that with my parents. But maybe he hadn’t.
As I drove down the state route, Bridgeway looked like any other Podunk town, with a strip of motels and fast-food places off the exit. But then Nate had me take two right turns and then a left. Gradually the landscape began transforming into this pretty and charming part of town.
The houses were one or two stories with large porches. Given that the fall leaves were just beginning to turn, we’d been given a picturesque backdrop. It could have been a postcard of some coastal town in the eastern part of the United States instead of the ordinary and unremarkable Midwest.
“Is the house you grew up in around here?” I asked.
He hesitated a moment and then said, “Yeah.”
“Will we be passing it?” I wasn’t sure if that was a reasonable question to ask or not. Nate seemed different since we’d gotten off the exit. He was wound tight as a coil of rope—his hands clenched at his sides, even his knee had stopped shaking, as if all of his energy was needed to hold the pieces of himself in place.
It made my heart drop to my stomach because for the first time, I realized that Nate’s decision to come on this trip with me must’ve been huge. But he’d still agreed to do it, for me. I had no idea what memories this town held for him, but I knew they must’ve been heavy. Because that’s how the air in this car felt now—thick and substantial.
I was just about to voice my concerns out loud. To tell him that we could turn around or go a different route but then he said, “Another quarter of a mile, it’ll be coming up on your right.”
The houses were becoming larger, the yards roomier. We passed a few sprawling lawns that were well maintained before his arm flung past my shoulder and he pointed out the driver’s side window. “It’s coming up. Two more driveways. Right . . . there.”
For some reason, my heart was pressing against my chest, swelling and thumping. As if I was experiencing this right along with him. “Do you . . . do you want me to stop?”
“Please,” he said on an intake of breath.
I slowed the truck down and pulled over on the side of the road.
His eyes were bulging as he stared at the light yellow house with the huge wraparound porch and several tall willow trees in the front. It seemed modest in comparison to the way his family lived now—not that I’d seen his family estate, only heard of it—and I wondered
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Me, too,” I said. “Mostly that your dad is gone.”
Suddenly I felt the gentle pressure of Jessie’s slender fingers on my arm and my chest constricted excruciatingly tight.
I glanced down at her hand and next into her eyes. A silent connection had been solidified between us, of something shared and something lost.
I looked up and saw the sign that said, BRIDGEWAY, SIX MILES
.
“Is this the exit, Nate?” Her voice was soft and tender.
“Yeah,” I said, sitting up and clearing my brain of all of those heavy thoughts.
Jessie took the exit ramp and followed the curve until it dumped us on onto a state route I was all too familiar with.
“Where to first?” she asked.
“I know just the place.”
Chapter Nine
Jessie
I’d admit it was way cool getting to know Nate better on our car trip. He had many more layers to him than I had ever given him credit for. I couldn’t believe I shared my favorite memory with him. But it didn’t make me sad like it normally would when I was alone with my thoughts of my dad. Nate’s response had been so organic, so consoling that I knew it had been the right thing to do.
Besides, after seeing that wounded look in Nate’s eyes, I wanted to know him even more. Past the attraction, past the flutters in my stomach, I wanted to ask him what troubled him and then soothe any broken parts inside him. I wondered if he had ever been able to talk to someone—really talk to them. I had that—always had that with my parents. But maybe he hadn’t.
As I drove down the state route, Bridgeway looked like any other Podunk town, with a strip of motels and fast-food places off the exit. But then Nate had me take two right turns and then a left. Gradually the landscape began transforming into this pretty and charming part of town.
The houses were one or two stories with large porches. Given that the fall leaves were just beginning to turn, we’d been given a picturesque backdrop. It could have been a postcard of some coastal town in the eastern part of the United States instead of the ordinary and unremarkable Midwest.
“Is the house you grew up in around here?” I asked.
He hesitated a moment and then said, “Yeah.”
“Will we be passing it?” I wasn’t sure if that was a reasonable question to ask or not. Nate seemed different since we’d gotten off the exit. He was wound tight as a coil of rope—his hands clenched at his sides, even his knee had stopped shaking, as if all of his energy was needed to hold the pieces of himself in place.
It made my heart drop to my stomach because for the first time, I realized that Nate’s decision to come on this trip with me must’ve been huge. But he’d still agreed to do it, for me. I had no idea what memories this town held for him, but I knew they must’ve been heavy. Because that’s how the air in this car felt now—thick and substantial.
I was just about to voice my concerns out loud. To tell him that we could turn around or go a different route but then he said, “Another quarter of a mile, it’ll be coming up on your right.”
The houses were becoming larger, the yards roomier. We passed a few sprawling lawns that were well maintained before his arm flung past my shoulder and he pointed out the driver’s side window. “It’s coming up. Two more driveways. Right . . . there.”
For some reason, my heart was pressing against my chest, swelling and thumping. As if I was experiencing this right along with him. “Do you . . . do you want me to stop?”
“Please,” he said on an intake of breath.
I slowed the truck down and pulled over on the side of the road.
His eyes were bulging as he stared at the light yellow house with the huge wraparound porch and several tall willow trees in the front. It seemed modest in comparison to the way his family lived now—not that I’d seen his family estate, only heard of it—and I wondered
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