My Heart for Yours

4. Delia

4

Delia

One year ago I wouldn't have been able to manage a flat sidewalk in these shoes. Not anymore. Even the gravel doesn't slow me down, but I do worry what it'll do to the leather. I can't believe Mom didn't give me any more than a wave when I asked if I could go with Tobin. He's not exactly high on her list, or maybe she has more going on than I think she does. Or maybe she doesn't hate Tobin the same way that Dad does.

Tobin and I walk in slow silence to his car. Why am I doing this? Why did he ask? Why did I say yes? I'd decided when I left that it would be better if he hated me, easier for both of us.

Going somewhere with Tobin does not work with that plan. At all. As usual, I'm weak and can't follow through.

I catch his eyes again, and it's like the first night I really noticed him, only there's so much between us now that it's way scarier to let him look in my eyes. Will he see what a complete fake I've become? Will he suddenly know I lied to protect him, so he'd be angry instead of hurt?

The night he first actually noticed me, we were at Nelson's bonfire party—one of many. I wasn't quite a junior, and he was going to be a senior that year.

Tobin was with...I don't remember. Some girl with huge boobs, which is probably why he was there with her.

 Every girl knew who the LeJeune boys were. Every girl also knew to stay away from them. Except for the line of girls waiting for their turn. And the LeJeune boys were ready to give them all a turn. Eamon especially.

I watched Tobin all night. I know he watched me, but I was careful. I didn't really think anything would actually happen between us. It's hard to wrap my mind around how wrong I was.

He opens the door of the same old Ford pick-up truck that he was always working on and perfecting.

"She looks good." I touch the door before climbing in.

"Uh...thanks." He rubs a hand over his blond hair, leaving it ruffed up in all the right places.

This is so awkward. His eyes are the same. His voice is the same. It's the sameness, and the newness and the differences and all the stuff between us—the good, the bad, the horrible and the selfish. The last two were mostly me. Then came the anger part—that was mostly him. And now? Now I'm just a girl here probably messing with his head in a way he doesn't deserve. The thing is that I don't even know what I want from him. Is there any chance of us even being friends?

Being away from home allowed me to not think about Tobin. About how in the end it was almost like we tried to destroy each other.

It still amazes me late at night when I let myself think about it. Like grandma said all the time—you make love with the same passion that you make war—or something like that. At any rate, that was definitely true for Tobin and me.

Every building in this town looks like the trees want to swallow them up. There's a tint of rust on everything metal, and it's all smaller and more worn than I remember. Even though it's dark out, we don't pass a single vehicle where the driver doesn't pause to wave. And because it's just what you do here, we both give a small wave back without even thinking about it.  The truck bumps along on the beat up road. The roots from the magnolia trees that have been here since the beginning of time have waged a war with the asphalt of the road and left it full of craters and lumps.  No pretenses here. What you see is what you get. That's one part of Crawford I've really missed.

Crawford passes by fast, even though Tobin's driving slow. His thumb taps the steering wheel to the local station quietly playing in the background. I glance around at the vinyl interior. There are too many memories in this truck.