Page 75 of How to Walk Away

He shrugged. “Nowhere else is hiring.”

“Maybe in some other city?” I suggested, hating the idea even as I said it.

“I haven’t wanted to look in other cities. But I might have to start.”

Suddenly, I became aware that my shoulder was leaning against his shoulder. I leaned away—but that felt abrupt. Partly to cover, I said, “So you weren’t always so grouchy.”

A faint smile. “No.”

“Did you used to joke around?”

“Of course.”

“And listen to oldies rock?”

“That’s a job requirement.”

“I’ve decided it’s good that you’ve been mean to me.”

“I haven’t been nearly as mean as I intended to be.”

I looked over. “Why not?”

He looked away. “Something about your eyes, I think.”

I had to ask. “What about them?”

“Let’s just say being mean to Myles makes me feel better. Being mean to you made me feel worse.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just let the wind blow.

“Thank you for telling me about your troubles,” I said after a while.

“It wasn’t very professional of me.”

“Professional is overrated.”

He turned to take in the sight of me, as if I’d just said something so true, it surprised him. Then he said, “We should get back.”

I shook my head.

But he nodded. “It’s late. You need rest.”

I suddenly felt tears in my eyes. I wiped them on his sweatshirt. “I don’t want to go back.”

Ian helped me get up on my knees so I could climb onto his back. “I’d offer you a cookie, but we ate them all.”

“Promise me we’ll come here again,” I said, as I climbed on.

“I promise.”

“Soon.”

“Soon,” he said, and as he stood us both up, the view—and the breeze, and the feel of his back against my chest, and the endlessness of the sky above us—made me so dizzy, I had to close my eyes.

Seventeen

I WENT THROUGHa period of—shall we say—disillusionment after Chip’s confession. Once I returned from the roof to my inpatient cell, I had nothing to distract me from the realities of my life—every awful one of them—and I kind of lost sight of the meaning of everything.

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