Page 93 of College Town

At two-thirty, he glances up from the till and sees the most beautiful sight: Dana striding toward him.

She’s wrapped up in layers of brown, turtleneck and skirt and scarf, with boots to match, even with a little taupe beret perched on the back of her golden head, and he thinks no regular person who isn’t dripping in mob finery should be so pretty.

She marches right up to the counter, face shining with worry and love and support, and Lawson leans over halfway to meet her offered hug. They cling to each other. If someone complains, he’ll blame it on his sick/dying/decapitated/whatever aunt.

“Hi, sweetie,” she murmurs.

“Hi.” Her hair is soft and floral-smelling against his face, and he tucks his nose into it, like a child seeking comfort.

“Can you take your break now?”

“Yeah.”

Without being instructed to do so, she finds an out-of-the-way back table nowhere near a window. He brings them each black coffees and chocolate chip cookies, and feels some as-yet-unfelt knot of tension between his shoulders loosen when he sits down across from her.

Rather than reach for the coffee, she offers her empty palm across the table, and he covers it with his own, laces their fingers, and squeezes.

“You okay?”

“The answer to that question is very complicated.” When she continues to look at him, and swipes her thumb over his knuckles, he sighs. “But, yeah, essentially. I’m alive.” He gestures to his torso, whole beneath his freshly-laundered polo which smells like unfamiliar detergent. “Mom and Dad are okay, thanks to you and Leo. Jeez. I owe you guys at least a dozen dinners, and twice as many drinks.”

She shakes her head. “No, the universe owesyoua vacation.” She scowls. “Or maybe Tommy does.”

“No, seriously.” He squeezes her hand again. “Thank you both. I couldn’t have – couldn’t have done it without you.”

Her gaze narrows, a hound keying onto a scent. “Donewhat, exactly? Get kidnapped?”

Lawson checks for eavesdroppers. “I wasn’tkidnapped.” When he turns back to her, she stares at him expectantly. The other day was the first time he’s ever kept anything from her. He was quiet about his relationship with Tommy when they were younger, but after Tommy left, and Lawson shattered, she admitted she’d always known, and he wound up spilling his guts to her. They don’t keep secrets – least of all about stuff as dramatic asthis.

Still, he hesitates.

Rather than snap at him, Dana’s expression grows sad. “You really landed yourself in the shit this time, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. But, I mean, I don’t think it’s so much as ‘landed myself,’ as got swept up in a real shitty circumstance.” He wants to blame Tommy – and he does, on some level – but he reallywasshocked to see Lawson behind the counter here that first day.

Not without sympathy, she says, “You don’t think he planned this?”

Again, Lawson hesitates, allows himself to truly think through the question. A wiser, more cynical person would have (perhaps correctly) labeled Tommy as manipulative, especially after last night. A seducer of the worst kind, playing up his desire as a means to blind Lawson to his true intentions, and buy his cooperation through sex.

But was teenage Tommy a seducer, too? Was that first halting, tear-choked, genuinely sweet time out on McGarry road part of some longform game? No, it wasn’t. And Lawson refuses to believe last night was, either. Tommy has unquestionably complicated his life, endangered it, even, by his presence alone. And the pet names and the tender smiles might be weaponized, but there was nothing fake about Tommy’s need and eagerness last night.

Lawson questions thelovepart. Questions it deeply and to distraction.

But the want was – is – real enough.

“No,” he says, at last, and leaves it at that.

Her head tips to a knowing, but not unsympathetic angle. Quietly, she asks, “Did you sleep with him?”

Lawson nods.

Instead of anoh, Lawson, oroh, sweetie, her lips press together – and then she smiles, slightly. “At least you got to have a little fun, huh?”

He laughs and groans and pushes his cookie plate aside so he can put his forehead down on the back of his free hand. “I’m a weak man.”

“So weak,” she agrees. “It was only the love of your life all grown up and looking like a wet dream.”

Lawson tilts his head to peer up at her with one skeptical eye. “You never call him that. You’re always telling me to move on.”

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