Chapter 27 Noah
Chapter twenty-seven
Noah
The corner stools I snagged at the bar are arguably the best seats in the house.
The main floor isn’t busy tonight, yet being tucked away over here allows us a sweeping view of the entire establishment, and the darker lighting and the distance from other patrons make this a decent place for private conversation.
It’s strange, how quiet it is. Our typical meetups on Thursday nights at Mae’s are usually accompanied by a soundtrack of chaos. I arrived first and ordered two beers. Mercer hasn’t even touched his bottle yet.
“I don’t understand what changed.” I smooth over the moist edge of the Molson label, wearing it further with my nervous rubbing.
“It’s the boy. Tremblay. He’s toying with her emotions. Messing with her head.”
I sigh, weighing his assessment against the facts. By nature, Mercer is intense. He fixates. He’s always had an obsessive streak, and it’s unclear how much impact that has on his perspective of the situation.
“She’s been open and honest with us since the start,” I reason. With a small sip of my beer, I mull over the best way to proceed. “What if we invite her out to the orchard and have a conversation, like adults?”
Mercer glares and lifts the bottle to his lips. “I don’t think we could even get her to come out there.”
I frown. That’s not true. Now he’s being purposely difficult.
“I know you’re upset, but could the way you pulled her out of class in front of all the students have contributed to her reaction? If we invite her over, tell her we just want to talk—”
Mercer sets his bottle down with too much force.
“You’re not getting it. That boy is insidious.
He’s inserting himself where he doesn’t belong and interfering with our lives.
She won’t come over because he won’t allow it.
Or because she won’t allow herself because of the fear he’s instilled in her. ”
The only way to test his theory is to try, but he won’t want to hear that right now. “I’ll get her alone the next time she’s out with the class,” I offer. “Do you know the schedule this week?”
Mercer huffs. “That part of the project is over. If she’s at the orchard, it’ll be with the students to prepare for the event.”
“Okay,” I reason. “So next time she’s out with the students, I’ll pull her aside and ask if we can talk. That’s what I did on Thursday.”
He straightens, his eyes widening. “You saw her on Thursday?”
“Yeah. We weren’t able to talk much, but we had a few moments alone.”
“What was she like? How did she act?”
I heave out a tired sigh. “She was—I don’t know.” I lift my cap and run my hand through my hair as I replay our brief encounter in the barn. “She was busy,” I recall. “Distracted. But she was still her, Merce. I think you’re worrying too much.”
He opens and closes his fist, his focus fixed on the movement. “Did she let you touch her?”
“She—” I purse my lips, assessing him. “I mean we—we hugged.”
That’s the truth.
I held her.
She held back.
But for the briefest of moments, I had her in my arms.
“Just hugged?” he presses, one brow lifted. “Because that’s what you wanted, or because that’s all she was willing to give?”
I spin my bottle on the wooden bar, noting the rings the condensation leaves behind. “She was trying to be professional.”
Right?
Now that Mercer has voiced his concerns, I’m starting to question my recollection of the encounter.
My best friend stares at me as if I’m an idiot.
Dread trickles through my insides, collecting low in my gut.
Is he right? Am I reading this all wrong?
Somberly, he hangs his head, his shoulders drooping. “We’re losing her.”
No.
We aren’t.
We can’t.
He slaps the bar top, the sound loud in the relatively quiet space. “We’ve barely fucking had her, and we’re losing her.”
“Hey.” I grasp his shoulder and shake it. “You’re overreacting.”
He straightens, his dark eyes searching mine, sorrow and pity emanating from him.
“I’ve known real loss,” I remind him. “This isn’t it.”
It can’t be.
“Let’s pick up a pizza and go back to the house.” I can’t let him go home alone tonight. “We’ll invite Sawyer over this weekend, then we’ll see what transpires.”
I indicate to Charlie that we’re ready to close out, then quickly take care of the bill.
On our way out, I keep one hand on Mercer’s shoulder, guiding him forward.
It’ll all work out.
It has to.