Part 26 (2/2)

He stopped, not knowing if he could continue. Jane gave him an understanding squeeze. ”S'okay,” she said, meaning you don't have to talk about this right now. ”Just so you know, I had a pretty great time, too.” She nodded, gravely serious. It cracked the tension, brought a smile to his face.

”Much better,” she said. ”You know, you're kinda cute when you're embarra.s.sed.” She reached around and grabbed his a.s.s ”Even Gram thinks so.”

”Oh, G.o.d,” he groaned. ”She told you.”

Jane shrugged. ”She tells me everything.”

”Oh, G.o.d,” he repeated, mortified.

”Don't worry about it,” Jane added. ”Gram's seen naked men before.”

He winced, tried to change the subject. ”So,” he said, ”is it just you and her here?”

”Yep,” Jane nodded. ”I came here after my folks died.” She said it plainly, and it made Syd aware of exactly how little he knew about her, how much he wanted to know more.

”I'm sorry,” he said. ”How . . .” he stopped, unsure of whether he should ask.

”Hunting accident,” she replied. ”We were up in the Poconos, and they got shot by a bunch of drunken a.s.sholes.” She shook her head sadly. ”People can be so f.u.c.king stupid.”

”I'm so sorry. I had no idea . . .”

”Yeah, well,” she sighed. ”It's not something I usually talk about.”

She grew quiet, and Syd sensed that they were in delicate territory. He said nothing, but drew her a little closer; she responded, leaning into him as they walked.

Just ahead the trail ended and the trees opened up, revealing a spectacular view of the valley below. She took his hand, led him over to a rock ledge next to a big gnarly oak. As they sat Syd scooted up until his back was against the tree, then Jane hopped up and leaned into him.

”This is my favorite spot,” she said. ”You can see practically the whole valley.”

Syd looked out, saw that, indeed, the whole town was visible on the middle horizon: nestled in the folds of the green earth, its grim industrial decay rendered picturesque by distance. The huddled houses and squat buildings became magical, pristine; the mill works' gray smokestacks thrust skyward, still and silent; sunlight gleamed diamond-like off a thousand empty windows. The river snaked below them like a fat golden ribbon, s.h.i.+mmering and alive.

They sat there for a time in silence, watching nature unfold. The day was perfect, the scenery breathtaking. The sky was a pure cobalt blue, the clouds casting fat shadows on the floor of the valley, the coming moon a faint ghost overhead. A hawk swooped and soared not a mile away, riding the thermal currents coming off the mountainside. It was hundreds of feet above the valley floor but level with the two of them, hanging effortlessly in the sky.

”It's so beautiful,” Syd sighed. ”Hard to believe it's so ugly up close.”

”That's why I like it here,” Jane said. ”You can't see all the bulls.h.i.+t.” She nodded to herself. ”I think everything looks better from a distance.”

Syd grew quiet, torn between enjoying her presence and trying to ignore the voice in his head. You have to tell her, it said. You have to do it now. He leaned forward, tried to hide in the solace of her smell. She was so beautiful.

This felt so good. This was a mistake. It was unspeakably selfish of him to hide the truth, unthinkable to reveal it. She would think he was joking, or think him deranged. She would hate him.

Then she would fear him. . . .

In the sky above, the hawk banked and dove, descending on some unsuspecting prey. Syd wondered if its intended victim could feel it coming.

”h.e.l.l-o?” Jane's singsong sliced through his silence, brought him back. ”Anybody home?”

”What? Oh. Sorry.”

”If you're gonna keep going away like that,” she told him, ”the least you could do is rub my shoulders.” He could hear her smiling.

”No problem,” he replied, and Jane tilted her head forward as he brought his hands up and under her hair, then settled back as he began to knead the soft skin there. She gave out a little growl of pleasure, and Syd felt a horrible rush of sadness well up in his soul. You can't have this. He wanted her so badly. You can't ever have this. . . .

”Tell me what you're thinking,” Jane said.

Her tone was earnest, softly insistent. It invited the truth.

”I don't know . . . I guess I was thinking about why s.h.i.+t happens . . .” he said. As poetic replies went, it fell way short of the mark. ”. . . wondering why life goes the way it goes.” He stopped, overwhelmed by his own inability to articulate his feelings. ”I guess maybe I was wondering why we never got together before.”

”I never would have gone out with you before,” she said. Her candor threw him a little.

”I was always attracted to you,” he confessed.

”I always noticed you,” she acknowledged. ”But I still wouldn't have gone out with you.”

Syd paused, letting her words sink in. It begged the obvious question. ”So why are you with me now?”

”Like I said,” she told him. ”You've changed.”

She thought about it a little more, elaborated. ”The whole time I was growing up, my folks never stayed in one place more than a couple of months. We were always either just leaving someplace or just arriving someplace else. Kind of a hippie-nomad thing, I guess. G.o.d knows we weren't exactly the normal American family unit. . . .” Jane picked at a blade of gra.s.s, stared into the distance. ”Anyway, I never got a chance to get close to anyone but them. When they died, I was alone. . . .”

”So why'd you come here?”

Jane gave an offhand little shrug. ”Guess I got tired of being alone,” she said.

Maybe it was the way they were touching: the intimacy of physical contact softening the pain of opening up. Or perhaps it was the presence of the scenery, providing them with a mitigating focal point, allowing for a heightened sense of perspective. Or even just that it was a continuation of his healing process, the next step in unburdening himself of years of brittle ego-armor.

For whatever reasons, it was his turn. Syd took a deep breath, fumbled for the words.

”I've really f.u.c.ked up my life,” he said. Jane went very still in his arms, listening. ”It's like there's this thing inside me that knows that there's more to life than what everyone tells you,” he said. ”More than just being a good little robot and playing by the rules and doing what you're told. I've always known it. Only I never knew what to do about it.

”I mean, I tried to find it when I was a kid, and I just got into trouble. Like people don't want you to know about it, and they punish you for trying to let it out.”

Quit weaseling, the voice warned. Tell her.

Jane nodded, listening.

”I tried to bury it, just do what everyone told me was the right thing: get a job, get married, have a normal life. . . .” He laughed, putting bitter emphasis on the word. ”Then,” he said, ”when you least expect it, someone comes along and shows you what it is you've been denying all along.”

”Nora,” she said, her voice flat, very small.

”Yeah,” he nodded. ”Nora.” It was the first time he'd spoken her name in ages. It felt strange on his tongue.

”So what is it she showed you?”

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