Chapter 13 Past
We made it back to the diner. Paul turned off the radio, like he was about to say something—but didn’t.
Neither of us moved.
We both knew we weren’t ready for the day to end.
The sun was low, not quite below the treetops yet, casting everything in that soft, golden light that seems to freeze everything in time.
I let out a slow sigh and found myself fiddling with the door handle. I wasn’t sure what I was waiting for—maybe for him to speak, maybe to stay just a little longer.
I guess we were both thinking the same thing, because we spoke at the same time.
“Wanna walk to the strawberry fields?”
We laughed, lightening the mood.
With a smile still on his face, Paul made it to my side of the car, opened the door, and offered his hand again—this time, he didn’t let go.
It was kind of amazing how perfectly my hand fit into his, like it belonged.
We walked hand in hand all the way to the strawberry patch.
His steps slowed as we reached a softer patch of grass just on the edge of the field.
We sat down and watched the sky grow darker.
Fireflies began to shimmer like stars; tree frogs started singing their same familiar song—a summer storm rumbled in the distance.
The temperature had shifted, the way it always does before a storm—but I wasn’t sure if it was the weather or just being this close to him.
He pulled me in and rested his head against mine. I felt him breathe me in.
“Ah, honeysuckles,” he whispered.
My heart nearly stopped. I could live in this moment forever.
I felt him shift. As I turned my face toward his, he let go of my hand as he began to slide his along my jaw, guiding me—slowly. He tilted my head just slightly and leaned in. I closed my eyes, steadied my breath, ready to finally satisfy the one thing I’d been craving all day...
Just as I felt his lips brush mine, suddenly—I heard a familiar voice.
“Bristol Anne Thompson!”
I quickly pulled back, both worry and an ache in my eyes. My heart was in my throat.
“Crap! It’s my mom. I have to go. I am so dead.”
Paul blinked, clearly startled, then gave a breathy laugh as I scrambled to my feet.
“Well… that was perfectly timed,” he said, still sitting on the ground, one hand reaching for mine.
“Meet me at the diner for lunch?” he called after me.
I managed to give him a smile, in hopes it was enough to give him my answer.
My heart was racing, my feet flying—nearly tripping over my own shadow. The golden sunlight had turned into a dark blue with a very little hint of what remained of the sun before completely disappearing. Stars were beginning to paint the sky. Everything around me blurred—but I couldn’t stop smiling.
By the time I made it to the porch, Mom was standing there. Her arms were placed firmly on her hips, and her mouth pressed into a tight line. Her long brown hair was tied in a messy knot on top of her head.
“Young lady, where have you been?” she snapped.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I lost track of time.” It wasn’t a lie; I just left out the part of what kept my attention from the time in the first place.
She looked at me for a long second before letting out a breath and shaking her head. “Get inside. You had me worried sick.”
I didn’t argue. I walked past her and into the house, the screen door slapping shut behind me.
She followed, but already I could see it—the distant look in her eyes, the way her shoulders started to slump. The little yellow pills were doing what they do best.
Within minutes, she was on the couch, barely upright, mumbling something like, “Be careful, honey… watch out for snakes,” before drifting off completely.
As I made it up the stairs, the guilt tried to creep in. I hated I made her worry, but I was still buzzing from everything that had just happened. My cheeks hurt from all the smiling.
…
I was lying in bed, replaying the entire day, absentmindedly tracing my finger across my lips.
We didn’t kiss, not really—but the light brush of his breath, the closeness, still lingered like a spark waiting to catch.
I was too wired to sleep, too caught up in thinking about tomorrow.
Maybe we could pick up right where we left off…
I’d make sure to tell Mom where I’d be—well… sort of.
My thoughts paused the second I heard the front door open, then close with a soft, practiced push. Heavy footsteps followed, trying to be quiet as they crept up the stairs.
Dad. Late again.
My door was cracked just enough that I could see him. He slowed near my room, peered in slightly, and our eyes met.
And shame filled his.
He didn’t say a word—just dropped his head and kept walking.
He knew I was the keeper of his secret.
But how long was I willing to carry that for him?
I remembered that night all too well. It wasn’t long ago.
Mom had already passed out in bed, and he came stumbling in through the back door, thinking no one would notice.
I found him in the hallway bathroom, frantically scrubbing his white button-down shirt.
Bright pink lipstick smeared across the collar—her lipstick.
The same shade his secretary always wore.
He begged me not to tell Mom.
And I didn’t.
I didn’t have the heart to break hers, so I kept it locked away. Buried.