Page 79 of Follows with Intent

Jadon laughed. “But?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want to do something else?”

“No.”

Jadon glanced over at him.

“I don’t want to do something else,” Nico said. “I’m excited. I’m officially excited.”

For some reason, that made Jadon laugh again.

They parked and hurried across the landscaped grounds. The breeze off the water was stiff and chilly, and even with the sun, Nico was glad to follow the ramp down below the Arch and enter the museum. For a while, they wandered around, looking at exhibits, learning about steamboats and Manifest Destiny and the building of the Arch. Not once, Nico noticed, did Jadon point out a historical inaccuracy, or an anachronism, or try to debate (with Nico, of all people) Jeffersonian democracy. He held Nico’s hand, and he let Nico lead, and when Nico pointed something out, he nodded, or he leaned closer to read the text, or he said something simple and usually thoughtful.

When it came time to take the tram to the top of the Arch, they got in line and were loaded into the tiny cars. Poor Jadon was so big that his knees bumped the man across from him, but the guy laughed and waved it off, and the woman next to him smiled at Nico and took out an issue of Country Living like they were going to be there for a few hours.

At the top, they reversed the process, unloading into a stream of people moving onto the observation deck. The windows looking out were small and a little cloudy—either from age or the weather or both—but Nico could see, on one side, the industrial build-up on the Illinois shore, and then the grit of East St. Louis, and miles and miles of farmland quilted together beyond. On the other side of the Arch, he looked down on St. Louis: the Old Courthouse, Busch Stadium, the skyscrapers of downtown. It was disorienting, looking down from that height. Maybe Jadon knew, because he put his hand at the small of Nico’s back. Or maybe he did it because he wanted to touch Nico. Either way, Nico didn’t mind.

And then it hit him, for the first time all morning, that he was going home.

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” he asked.

“Some years, I go back to Iowa. Some years, I stay here.” He shrugged. “This year, I’m staying here. What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”

“Going to Emery’s.”

“If you change your mind—”

“Perfect. I’m coming here.”

Jadon grinned. “Are you visiting your parents for Christmas?”

“God, no. I’m spending it with you. You’ve now been officially informed.”

The grin spread. “I’m supposed to visit my moms.”

“Perfect. They’re going to love me.”

“Yes,” he said, “they will.”

“And that’s it? Are those the only two times I’m going to see you?”

Jadon nudged him toward the other side of the observation deck, where the tram would take them down. “Shocker, I’ve got a lot of PTO I’ve accumulated. I could come down for a long weekend if that’s not cramping your style.”

“We can trade weekends,” Nico said. “My schedule is pretty flexible.”

“Is it?” Jadon said, and he looked annoyingly smug until Nico elbowed him.

As they waited in line for the tram, a family ahead of them looked like they were nearing meltdown. A manic blond boy was zipping back and forth, clearly in need of one of those parental leashes—or a parental straitjacket. A girl who must have been his sister was screaming, her head thrown back as she spun in a circle, windmilling her arms and clearly trying to clobber anyone who got within reach. The dad had a donut of thinning black hair, and a carpet of more black hair on the back of his neck. The mom was a wrung-out dishrag of a woman who was trying to placate both children with candy.

“Do you want kids?” Nico asked.

Jadon laughed—literally—until they got on the tram.

“Don’t forget,” he said as they started down. “You’re supposed to turn in the revised copy of your paper before Thanksgiving, or they won’t consider it for the edited collection.”

Nico turned a startled look on him.

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