Eleanor got out of the truck, and Park wandered into the cornfield to pee. (Which was embarrassing, but less embarrassing than pissing his pants.)
When he came back, she was sitting on the hood of the truck. She looked beautiful, fierce, leaning forward like a figurehead.
He climbed up and sat next to her. ‘Hey,’ he said.
‘Hey.’
He pushed his shoulder up against hers and nearly wept with relief when she laid her head against him. Weeping again today seemed wholly inevitable.
‘Do you really believe that?’ she asked. ‘What?’
‘That … we’ll have other chances? That we have any chance at all?’ ‘Yes.’
‘No matter what happens,’ she said forcefully, ‘I’m not coming home.’ ‘I know.’
She was quiet.
‘No matter what happens,’ Park said, ‘I love you.’
She put her arms around his waist, and he hugged her shoulders.
‘I just can’t believe that life would give us to each other,’ he said, ‘and then take it back.’
‘I can,’ she said. ‘Life’s a bastard.’
He held her tighter, and pushed his face into her neck.
‘But it’s up to us …’ he said softly. ‘It’s up to us not to lose this.’
Eleanor
She sat right next to him for the rest of the trip – even though there wasn’t a seat belt, and she had to sit with the stick shift between her legs. She figured
it was still lots safer than riding in the back of Richie’s Isuzu.
They stopped at another truck stop and Park bought her Cherry Coke and beef jerky. He called his parents collect – she still couldn’t believe they were okay with this.
‘My dad’s okay,’ he said. ‘I think my mom’s freaking out.’ ‘Have they heard from my mom or … anybody?’
‘No. Or, at least, they didn’t mention it.’
Park asked her if she wanted to call her uncle. She didn’t.
‘I smell like Steve’s garage,’ she said. ‘My uncle’s going to think I’m a drug dealer.’
Park laughed. ‘I think you spilled beer on your shirt. Maybe he’ll just think you’re an alcoholic.’
She looked down at her shirt. There was a smear of blood from when she’d cut her hand on her bed – and something crusty on the shoulder, probably snot from all that crying.
‘Here,’ Park said. He was taking off his sweatshirt. Then his T-shirt. He handed the T-shirt to her. It was green and said ‘Prefab Sprout.’
‘I can’t take this,’ she said, watching him pull his sweatshirt back on over his bare chest. ‘It’s new.’ Plus it probably wouldn’t fit.
‘You can give it back later.’ ‘Close your eyes,’ she said.
‘Of course,’ Park said softly. He looked away.
There was no one else in the parking lot. Eleanor slouched down and put Park’s T-shirt on underneath her own, then pulled the dirty shirt off. That’s how she changed in gym class. His shirt was about as tight as her gymsuit … but it smelled clean, like Park.
‘Okay,’ she said.
He looked back at her, and his smile changed. ‘Keep it.’
When they got to Minneapolis, Park stopped at another gas station to ask for directions.
‘Is it easy?’ she asked him when he got back in the truck. ‘Like Sunday morning,’ he said. ‘We’re really close.’
