Page 77 of The Cadence
“Is your throat bothering you, too? You should have taken some of the syrup.”
“No.” Now I watched him swallow. “Let’s get out.”
Ok, sure, I thought, and we exited the car. It was cold and also a little dismal. High schools were usually filled with people and energy, but not today. “What are we doing?”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about the last day at our high school. My last day,” he corrected himself. “I’ve been remembering what you said after my graduation ceremony. I thought we could come back here and it would remind you, too.”
I looked around this chilly, empty parking lot and recalled the May sun and the crowds of people smiling, carrying flowers, and taking pictures. I also remembered crying out, “I love you!” and the expression on his face when he’d heard those words, the mask of surprise and uneasiness he had worn. “I didn’t need the reminder,” I said now. “That’s a very vivid memory.”
“It was brave of you to tell me that.”
“It was embarrassing,” I corrected him. “There was me, the skinny, stupid child, and there was you, the smart, gorgeous, strong, athletic—”
“There was me, the kid who was afraid every day that people would find out that I wasn’t as awesome as they all believed,” Will said. “There was me, the guy who didn’t really have friends I could count on and whose girlfriend was only interested in what she thought my bank account would hold in the future. I wasn’t all that much. You were too young for me back then, and I was too afraid that I would hurt you. I thought that I would turn out just like my father.”
“You haven’t!” I said. “You’re not him, not at all!”
“In a way, I’ve been acting like him. He never could admit the truth about anything—no, he was a straight-up liar. I spent so long trying to read his cadence and dig out what was real, but I want to be honest all the time. I feel like…” He stopped and his fists clenched. “I’ve been working on that. I’ve been trying to figure out how I feel and what my emotions actually are. You told me that a feeling isn’t an action. It’s something like happy or sad, or yearning,” he continued. “Or love.”
I waited, mostly because I was afraid to speak and break his rhythm. I waited to hear the words I hoped would come next, promises of love and commitment, just like I’d fantasized about in another parking lot seven years before. I waited, and then he spoke.
“I made a list of my goals.”
I stared.“What?”
“I actually revised the list of what I want,” he explained. “Here it is, the honest truth about my emotions.” He stepped close to me, looping one arm around my waist, and showed me his phone. Under the heading “Future,” there was only one word.
“It just says my name. It just says ‘Calla,’” I said.
“That’s it. You’re it,” Will told me. “You’re all that I want. I’ll keep working on myself so that I’m good enough for you, and I’ll try every day to be the man who deserves—”
“Just stop that,” I ordered. “Will Bodine! Are you telling me what I think you’re telling me?”
“I love you, Calla.”
“Holy Moses,” I breathed. “Well, I still love you. I love you even more now than I ever did then.”
His face, which I could now see so well, lit up as he smiled down at me. “Thank God for that.”
And then something happened which I’d been dreaming about for so many years. I’d pictured it and planned it, I’d imagined all the feelings and sensations, and I’d built it up to be the most monumental event of my life. It was the moment that Will Bodine kissed me. He leaned down and gently caressed his lips across mine, like he was testing things. Then he pulled me flush to his body and I wrapped my arms around his neck and he kissed me for real.
It was better than anything I could have ever dreamed of. His mouth, his tongue, his roving hands—
“Let’s go home,” he said. “You drive, because you’re faster.”
I got us there in record time as he called out the directions, and we didn’t bother to make sure that the cars were lined up in the garage. We went inside and when we were in his bedroom, he slowed.
“Is this all new to you?” he asked me.
“Sex? Yes,” I answered, and pulled at his coat. “Take this off and your t-shirt, too.” I started to work on the button of his jeans, and was reminded of Kirsten. She had gone about things the right way, just diving in. I followed her example.
“Calla,” he moaned.
“Holy…that is a lot!” I said, my hand now inside his boxer briefs. No, I didn’t have personal experience, but this evoked a mental image of a small tree. “Will, really?”
“I’m a big guy,” he stated. “All of me. You take your clothes off, too.” He helped me with that, tugging away my sweater and jeans, and then the shirt I wore. “Is this the one I gave you?”
“Yes. I love it,” I said. I was trying not to feel self-conscious about wearing only my bra and underwear. “It’s not the t-shirt, it’s because it was from you.” Then he kissed me more, both on my mouth and also on my neck, which he accomplished by lifting me off the ground so he could reach lower. He accomplished the lift by holding my butt, which felt so good that I wrapped my legs around him to pull myself in tighter.
