You, With a View(81)

“Want to come with me?” I tease.

Storm clouds enter his eyes, chasing away the light. “Uh, I don’t think that’s possible. I’ll be deep in shit next week.”

I tug on the hem of his T-shirt. “No kidding. I’m just daydreaming. I know I can’t ask you to escape real life so soon after getting back to it. They’re probably going to superglue you to your desk.”

“I—” A muscle tics in his jaw as the elevator dings; we’ve arrived at our floor. He looks over his shoulder, and says, faintly, “Yeah.”

The change in his mood is so abrupt that I grab his wrist as we exit the elevator. “Hey, wait.”

“I’m good,” he says, anticipating my next question. “I just . . .” He runs an agitated hand through his hair, looking at me. “I guess I’m not quite ready to think about being done here.”

My chest goes tight. “I’m feeling it, too.”

“We’ve got close to an eight-hour drive, though, and I don’t want you getting home too late. Let’s get packed up and go.”

“Okay,” I say, but he’s already walking away.



* * *





Paul gives us a letter as we settle into the van.

“Remember,” he says. “The story’s not over. We have time.”

Theo hasn’t fully rebounded from our weird elevator conversation earlier. Still, I get a small grin as he leans on his armrest, ready to read the letter with me.

But I’m not sure I’m ready. The date of this letter was just days before the one Paul gave us when we started this trip two weeks ago. I sense the end approaching, and I don’t want it to, as surely as I don’t want to drive home today.

Theo’s hand covers mine, his thumb tracing a line over my knuckles. A touch of reassurance.

With an exhale, I read.

    May 6, 1957

Dear Paul,

I don’t want to worry you, but I spoke with my father today and he wants me to meet a friend of Robert’s who lives here. The expectation was clear: he wants me to go on a date with him. It seems they’re tired of waiting for me to find someone myself. I told him it wasn’t possible, that I’m too busy with school and I’ll find someone when the time is right. My father didn’t have much to say after that, but my brother asked all sorts of questions about who I’ve met since last winter. Since you.

I think they’re suspicious.

I have a wild idea. I’ve been thinking about it for quite a while, but I’ve been too scared to say it out loud. I have no idea what you’ll think, or if you’ll even want it.

What if we elope?

We could get married when school ends, keep it a secret until it’s done. Maybe my parents will accept you once you’re my husband. And if they don’t, there’s nothing they’ll be able to do anyway.

It’s a risk. They would be very angry. But I think eventually they’d forgive me.

I wish

I love you.

Kat



I trace the crossed-out I wish, rubbing at the ache in my chest. The anxiety in Gram’s letter transfers to my already unsettled stomach. She cut herself off before she could complete the thought, but she let Paul see her worry, her hope and despair in those crossed-out words.

“The elopement was her idea?” I ask.

Behind me, Paul says, “It was, but I’d thought about it, too. When she brought me the letter, I was relieved. It seemed we had the perfect solution to an imperfect situation.”

A tangle of emotions wrap around me. I look over at Theo, his face reflecting what I’m feeling: curiosity, concern, a hint of sadness. I know only some of it is related to Gram and Paul’s story.

If I hear the rest now, it’ll be my last game of Tell Me a Secret with Gram. It makes me want to bend over in my seat and cry. But I also want to know. I need that closure before I get the closure from this trip.

And maybe I need the reassurance that after things end, life goes on. Sometimes even beautifully.

I turn back to Paul. His eyebrows raise, his age-worn hands folded in his lap.

“Can you tell me the rest?”

Paul’s expression softens. “Of course.”

Theo squeezes my hand and starts the car while Paul begins.

We wind through Palm Springs as he tells us he suspects Robert’s friend tipped Gram’s parents off about their relationship.

“There’s little other explanation for why her parents rushed down to LA and pulled her from school,” Paul says, settling into his seat as we merge onto the freeway. “I have to assume she sounded different after their call. I’d overheard enough conversations with them to know it was a possibility. She thought she kept our secret well, but I worried they’d hear it in her voice—the anxiety, the extended pauses before she answered questions. Secrets get harder the longer you keep them.”

In my periphery, Theo shifts in his seat. I look over at him, questioning, but he only shakes his head.

“Robert’s friend was local, and her brother was terribly overprotective of her. Robert never admitted it to Kat, but I believe he had his friend follow us after that call,” Paul says. “Unfortunately, I believe the day he chose was the day we got our marriage license.”

The van jerks as Theo repeats, incredulous, “Marriage license?”