Page 18 of Fruitbat

“Have you not been writing lately?” I ask, turning toward him. His brow is furrowed and his eyes are downcast.

“Honestly . . . it’s been years.”

“How come?” I tuck my thumbs behind the knot at my waist.

He lifts his shoulders, looking at something across the street. “I think I shut down for a bit.”

“Years . . . is longer than a bit.” I comment, staring at his thick bicep, peppered with goosebumps, challenging the taut sleeve of his thin t-shirt. “Do you want your sweatshirt back?”

“No, I run hot.”

Yes you do.“Okay.” I snicker.

Red and blue lights flash from around the bend, painting the side of brick buildings with violet hues up ahead. The surface of the river is lit up, reflecting the scene across the bridge, under a dark sky, illuminated by the pulsing strobes from three police cruisers and an ambulance.

We pause on the corner. The tiptoes of my sneakers hang off the edge of the sidewalk and a shiver snakes up my back, wraps my shoulders and sprouts a rash of goosebumps down the backs of my arms. I cross them over my chest and strokemy skin for warmth, before remembering the sweatshirt and slipping it on.

Danny’s dimple rouses me as he gnaws his lip.

“That intersection is so dangerous!” I zip up the hoodie. It softly slouches on my body and reeks of heavenly spice. I’d bury my face and inhale, if he weren’t looking at me. “I nearly got run over, when I crossed the street there earlier.”

I shake my head and gaze back over the bridge.

The cruisers and rescue wagon are crowded around the scene. Half a dozen uniformed officers are talking with a slender man in running shorts, while a trio of EMTs are loading a stretcher into the back of their rig.

“That doesn’t look good.” Danny’s eyes hollow as he notes the dark glossy body-length plastic bag on the cart. “Accidents happen there, too often,” he says, glancing at me, “Let’s head this way.”

With a static poke at my arm, he brushes past me and leads onto a different direction.

I skip two steps forward to match his stride and peer back at the emergency crew for a brief moment.

“The mayor needs to do something about that.”I’ll get my mother on the case.

Our new path follows parallel with the river.

I recognize a tattoo studio, as we stroll by, where Mallory got her dainty daisy shoulder piece while I watched. It looks abandoned, but I can’t tell if it’s just closed for the night, or for good.

“Why are you blocked? Isn’t that what it’s called?Writer’s block? I shove my hands in the hoodie pockets, pinching and rolling a piece of lint my fingertips find.

“I shut down after my mother died. She used to keep me going, even though publishers kept turning me down.” He stares at the ground as we walk.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know it was a decade ago now. I still jot down new ideas, I just haven’t drafted anything since before her funeral.”

“What happened to her?” I ask, then quickly add. “You don’t have to talk about it, of course.” I backstep my overreach.

“Cancer,” he answers

“Oh. Yeah . . . Nanny Grace too. I never got to see her, after she started to get sick, and couldn’t work for my parents anymore.”

“Oh, man. I’m really sorry.”

Danny’s arm drops to his side and sparks against my elbow.

I shoot my shot, pulling my hand from the pocket and grabbing hold of his wrist, slipping my palm around his thumb.

His eyes widen and drop, staring at my fingers weaving with his.

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