Amelia
At the fall of dusk, I hop into the passenger seat of Wes’s car and we head downtown for dinner.
With Rory stopping by to see Imogen, we figured we’d give them some space before returning with armfuls of takeout.
Part of me is even curious to explore Blair awhile and walk its quaint streets.
I can’t help but wonder what’s changed since I lived here.
It makes me happy to see Imogen dating again.
She hasn’t put herself on the market in years—not really.
Last year, I tried setting her up with a colleague of mine—another teacher.
I was so certain he’d be her match. He likes wine, has that Byronic air my sister gravitates toward.
At the same time, he felt like someone who could ground her.
He’s responsible, makes affable conversation with me in the hall, is admired by his young pupils.
I all but dragged her to a work party to make the introduction.
She deemed him pompous, too theatrically literary for someone who spends his weekdays grading spelling tests.
However rude, I suppose she had a point. In turn, he called her passive.
“She’s just nervous,” I tried to explain, but she’d already disappeared onto the fire escape, a bottle of wine balanced on the railing, a book in her lap. She didn’t talk to anyone the rest of the party.
“Who’s this guy coming over?” Wes asks, buckling his seat belt.
I chuckle at the silliness of it all. Imogen Has a Boy Over. Like the latest rom-com playing out in real life. “He’s just a neighbor. He and Imogen were sort of a thing in high school. His family’s nice.”
“I think I might have seen him the other morning when I left,” Wes says, eyes narrowing as he remembers. “Dark, longish hair?” His hand shakes beneath his ear, as if to suggest length.
I bite my cheek, thinking. “I wouldn’t say long. It’s more… medium-short. But yeah, it’s dark.”
“Huh,” he mutters, turning his car key. “It was kind of strange. He was coming up the driveway and then… he turned around when he saw me. We made direct eye contact.”
I shrug. “Maybe he was coming to see Imogen.”
Wes hums, not entirely convinced, but not concerned enough to say anything else, and the car rolls forward, down the winding drive. “Weird energy, though. Thin guy?”
“It had to have been Rory…” I say, but I’m not sure. The description doesn’t completely fit. Though, who else could it be? “You’ll meet him later. You can feel him out then.” I exhale, opening Google. “Food?”
The day’s heat still clings to my skin, reminding me why takeout feels like the only suitable option. Normally, I’d insist on a shower, a dress, and letting Wes take me somewhere nice. But exhaustion outweighs propriety today.
Wes is lost in thought when I peer over. “Babe? What sounds good?”
He comes to, shaking his head. “Uh… Whatever. I’m open.” He shrugs with a smile. But I see his eyes darting forward, scanning the street like he’s looking for someone. Rory, maybe.
“Imogen and I had talked about Thai,” I suggest, trying to get his attention.
“Thai sounds great,” Wes says, looking at me finally. Then, almost immediately, he slams on the brakes before the stop sign.
My eyes fly to the road, wondering what caused the sudden brake, when Wes’s hand snaps across my chest in an act of protection.
On the road in front of us, a car quickly careens left onto our street.
“You okay?” I ask, unsure what happened. My heart races a bit.
“Yeah… I didn’t see that car there. So focused on all the food we’re gonna eat,” he says. But there’s a nervous air to it. Perhaps just relief that he didn’t T-bone the driver.
As the car passes on our left, I take quick note of the motorist, who looks right at me. A black pristine ’90s Land Rover zips past us, and I’m perplexed when I see who it is. It’s the guy from across the lake. The man Imogen calls Tim.
What’s he doing over here? I wonder.
He’s alone, driving up the winding rural street that leads to Mom’s house. There are a handful of homes scattered along this road, giving him few reasons to be here.
I glance back at Wes, who’s hyper-focused on the road. I twist my head to see if Tim will stop at one of the first houses, waiting for some kind of confirmation—but the car glides past. From my vantage point, Mom’s house is still out of view, tucked behind the road’s final bends.
I shake my head, scoffing lightly through my nostrils.
Am I letting Imogen’s worries infect me? Probably. Rory will be at the house soon anyway. Imogen isn’t truly alone. Tim must have a friend on our street. He lives here, after all.