Hanna Martine - Long Shot

Jen almost stumbled on the ragged asphalt of the driveway. That had been so long ago, when they’d been kids. And he was sort of smiling at her now. Sort of. Maybe he’d forgotten the crappy way she’d ended it. Maybe it didn’t matter anymore. They were both adults.

“Hey, you,” she said, throwing on a smile of her own.

His brown hair had gotten lighter at the ends. A bonus—at least from her point of view—from working outside. It curled around his neck and ears in a way that might have looked like an overdue haircut on any other guy.

He stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket. “So you’re really here.”

She stopped, the heel of one shoe clacking loudly. “You don’t look all that surprised.”

He glanced over her shoulder, down Maple where it dipped and curved around in front of the elementary school. “Small town.” His eyes drifted back. She’d forgotten how intense they were. How he always looked people in the eye. It was that personal attention, that charm, she remembered, that drew people to him. “I was surprised. Yesterday.”

“Ah. Yeah.” She nodded at the sidewalk. “It was a crazy day. To be fair, I had no idea you still lived here until I got into town. And then I was pulled in a million different directions.”

He just looked at her. How did he manage to stand so quietly when such violent tremors were rocketing through her body? She’d always been a fidgety person. Always had to move, to think about her next step—where to go, what to do, what to say. Standing there under this scrutiny, wearing this strange uncertainty, she had no idea where to channel her energy.

Leith was as still as his image on that poster. She knew what he was thinking: You never asked Aimee about me? But then, she also knew that he’d never once asked Aimee about her, so really, weren’t they even?

All kinds of awkward floated in the air, mixing with the midday June heat and the fine mist coming from the sprinkler in the yard of the small brick house next to 738.

He ambled to the back end of the truck, closer to her, his fingers trailing over a taillight. “So you’re here to save the games?”

Of course he would know why she was here.

“Small town,” they said at the same time. It cracked some of the tension, but didn’t break through completely. Her purse strap dug into her shoulder.

“I’m going to try to,” she told him. “Aimee called me, what, only three days ago? She begged. I had an opening in my schedule. Here I am.”

“An opening in your schedule,” he said, his voice flat as a board, as though he didn’t quite understand. “So this is what you do now? Plan . . . things?”

“Yes. All kinds of . . . things.” She smiled, proud. “I’m pretty good at it, too.”

He drew a deep breath, nodding. It seemed to relax him some. “Then I’m happy for you, that you got what you wanted. I really am.”

She looked at his truck, the one he couldn’t stop touching. Not much was bigger than him, but that white thing on wheels was a beast . “And you’re a landscaper? Like what you did in high school?”

The moment it came out of her mouth she knew she’d gotten it wrong, that she’d sounded dumb. She winced.

One corner of his mouth twitched. “I’m a landscape architect.”

“Of course. Right.” Who was this stupid, nervous woman who’d taken over her mouth? And why did he seem so calm?

She peered around Leith’s body to the open garage door of 738, where she could see all sorts of lawn equipment inside. Shovels and ride-on mowers. One of those small diggers. Piles of topsoil and mulch bags. A drafting table turned on its side.

“When I rented this place,” she said, “the owner said a local was using the garage.”

“I guess I’m that local.”

“Why here? In a garage?”

He sat on the bumper. It was so high that even with his height—six-three, as she recalled; an inch taller in those thick boots—he barely had to bend to park his ass on the edge. The truck sank. “I’m closing down my business in Gleann. Going somewhere else. Had to find short-term storage.”

“I saw that Hemmertex closed. It makes sense for you to move then. Follow the clients.”

He eyed her for a moment and she focused on not squirming. “Exactly.”

The next seconds were interminable. With him perched on the bumper, and her still in her four-inch sandals, they were eye to eye. Somehow, at some time, she’d edged closer. They were now maybe four feet apart.

She tried to seem as at ease as he did, but this was, perhaps, the most awkward conversation ever. “So we’re all caught up now?”

He pressed his lips together, like he was trying to stifle a smile. “Guess so.”

“Who needs Facebook, right?”

He just stared.

“Okay,” she said. “I can’t stand it anymore. Would it be weird to hug you?”

His answer came fast. “I wouldn’t.”

Hers came even faster. “Right. Sorry.”

“I mean, I’m pretty disgusting. And you look . . .” At last he dropped his eyes, shaking his head. The first hint he was somewhat affected by her reappearance. When he looked up beneath his lashes, she saw a very old pain, resurrected. “Wow, you look really great, Jen.”

The breath she drew refused to come easily. “So do you.”

“I’m in love with you, Jen. Don’t go to Texas. If you do, I know I’ll never see you again.”

She buried her face in her hands. “You just think you’re in love with me. And who says we’ll never see each other again?”

He never answered that. He just said, “I do love you. And I know that you love me, too.”

“God, Leith. That’s such a big word. Why would you say this, put me in this position, the night before I leave?”

He pushed to his feet, towering over where she sat on the blanket in the middle of the fairgrounds. “ Because it’s the night before you leave,” he said. “And I don’t want to be without you.”

Leith kicked his legs out farther, his weight jouncing the truck. He cracked his neck, and more memories came back to her. How he used to do that when he was nervous.

She stretched for something neutral to say, because it was clear their past had been shoved off the table.

“So what do you know about this Mr. Lindsay?” she blurted out. “I don’t remember him from before.”

Leith loosely crossed his arms over his middle. “Not much. I think he, uh, lives on the other side of you, in that blue house. Why?”

She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I think he’s a bit of a pervert.” She reached into her purse and handed Leith the piece of paper she’d found taped to her front door that morning.

Leith took it after a strange pause. “Dear Ms. Haverhurst,” he read out loud, breaking into an immediate smile. “Would you kindly remember to close your drapes in the evening?”

She snatched it back. “It’s not funny. Should I be worried?”

He laughed. “Were you walking around naked or something?”

“No. Never mind.”

The glint in his eye was so much like the old Leith, the one who’d been hers.

“What are you doing now?” he asked. “Going upstairs to tease an old man again?”

“ No .” She could always talk about work in a steady voice. “I need to get over to the fairgrounds and check out the space and the equipment they have in storage.”

He gave her a long, slow look from her face down to her feet. She couldn’t help but feel exposed. She couldn’t help but like it.

“Got any better shoes?” he asked.

“Yeah, some flat ones upstairs. I hope they’re dry.”

“Dry? Were you fly-fishing in them?”