She stared at the doe, half thinking the truck would reappear, and realized she was on the very road she’d traveled with Jonah when he took her to the pond.
* * *
—
AFTER THE NIGHT WITH DANIEL, Evangeline had sworn off the park. But by the next afternoon, she was stomping around the mobile home, slamming its one hollow door. None of this was terribly rewarding as she was the only person who heard. The whole thing was ridiculous anyway—why should she be the one banished?—and she headed to the park in the early evening. Though the sky had softened to a cottony blue, it did nothing to soothe her mood. By then, she was angling for a run-in with Daniel. She would stare him right in the eyes. She would make him blink first.
But when the trees of the park came into view, jagged and dark against the setting sun, her pace slowed and her stomach began to churn. She was about to turn back when a navy pickup cruised through the lot, a lone driver at the wheel. It had to be Jonah. He’d probably talked to Daniel and figured he deserved a stab at her too—his whole shy-boy act phony as hell. He made a loop, and as he was coming around again, she stepped into view. He pulled up beside her.
“You looking for me?” she said.
She must have sounded angry, because alarm lit his face. “No. I just—” He stopped, took a breath like he’d been running.
“Just what?” she snapped, because to hell with whether she sounded angry, to hell with all of them.
When his eyes caught hers, they shot away, but he kept flicking glances at her. He gulped and said, “I just liked talking with you the other day is all.” He released a breath, pleased with himself for spitting it out there.
She let her eyes linger on him, knowing it was a torture. He couldn’t manage his gaze, kept shifting in his seat, and the power of making a boy squirm like that aroused her a little. She smiled and leaned against the driver’s-side door.
“Yeah? That why you’re here? To talk?” Now that she was close, she smelled something musky and deliberate, like aftershave. The awkwardness of it made it touching rather than sleazy, and again she felt she knew him, believed him a species altogether different from Daniel.
“I brought you something,” he said. “But I don’t want to piss you off.”
“Why would you bring something to piss me off?”
“I wouldn’t, but you seem kind of pissed off already.”
She laughed. “Maybe I am. But not at you. Look, why don’t you park that thing.”
He pulled into a spot, hopped out, and stood stiffly before her. “Sorry I didn’t bring any beer.”
She frowned at him. “What makes you think I expect beer?”
He stared down at his scuffed leather boots. Some of the stitching was missing on one, the sole a little floppy. He must have seen Evangeline noticing, because he re-angled his feet in a strange way, as if to hide it. She was hardly one to care about such things—her flip-flops and shorts had seen better days—but she wondered if he understood how odd he looked wearing those work boots in summer with baggy knee-length shorts and an old-man work shirt. On a different boy, it might have had a don’t-give-a-fuck edge, but on Jonah it just looked poor.
“I’m not good at this,” he said under his breath.
She touched his arm, and his entire body jerked, a violent spasm as if waking from a dream of falling. “Sorry,” he said again.
The poor boy looked so miserable, she said, “Come on,” and started toward the cliff.
“Wait.” He reached back into the truck and lifted out a plastic shopping bag with something heavy inside. He followed a few steps behind her, cradling the thing as if to keep it level. When they arrived at her spot, Jonah lowered it to the table, his expression anxious and excited.
“Come here first, okay?” she said, motioning to the edge. He went with her, and they leaned against a metal rail that kept them from tumbling. The sun was setting, turning the Sound into its own sky of reflected light. The breeze carried the scent of the sea and pine and blackberries even as it lifted away their own summer ripeness. The day had been warm and, as usual, she wasn’t prepared for how quickly the evening cooled now that fall was approaching. She leaned into Jonah, and while he didn’t resist, while she thought she might have heard a small moan of pleasure, his hands remained stiff on the rail. She straightened. “Can I see it now?”
Even in the pink light of the evening, she could tell how fiercely he blushed. “It’s kinda stupid,” he said, but he nearly ran to the table. He slid the thing out with such tender care he could have been a doctor delivering a baby.
He held it before her, a large glass jar with something inside.
She leaned toward it. “What’s in there?”
He lifted it to the last glimmers of sun. Holes had been punched in the lid, and now she could see gravel and moss, water and twigs, the quivering of a large leaf.
“It’s a frog,” he said. “A tiny little guy. Hardly an inch.”
“A frog?”
“The other night you kept pointing out the different birds, the way the squirrels here are so small and black. You said you loved the way the frogs are always singing along the trails and wondered where they live. This one’s being quiet now, but he can really croak for a little guy.” His hand twitched upward as if he wanted to reach out, touch her. “I know you want a dog, but maybe he could be a kind of pet.”
Had she really said all those things? It sounded like her; beer often turned her sentimental. She kissed his cheek like she had the other night, wrapped her arm through his, and said, “You got a flashlight? I’d like to get a better look.”
Back in the truck, Jonah pulled a fleece throw from behind the seat and settled it around her, then dug a flashlight from his glove box and focused it on the jar. A translucent flash of green dove under a leaf. With only darkness outside the windows, the frog’s home became the most real thing in the world, a fairyland of delicate green tendrils and water-smoothed pebbles, a shelter of broken leaves, a minuscule pond from which tiny nostrils and bulging eyes peeked. The creature jumped, and Jonah almost dropped the jar. The frog landed on the largest twig, its spatulate toes gripping and releasing.
Evangeline studied it a long while, breathing in the boyish silliness of Jonah’s scent, then turned her gaze to him. He kept his eyes on the frog, too shy to meet her eyes at this close range. Thin-chested and pale, he had lush dark eyelashes and a rash of razor acne on his chin.
“I like your present,” she said. “It’s magical. I mean, did you see those freaky feet?” She held the jar up, her face close, while Jonah angled the light so as not to hurt her eyes. “I love it,” she said, setting it in her lap. “I do. But how would you feel if we took it back home, its home, and let it go?”
He let out a breath as if he’d been holding it. “I’m so glad you said that!” He was nearly laughing. “I’ve been feeling terrible ever since I put him in there.”
He drove her to a little pond off a gravel road, about a mile from the park. Together they tromped through the tall grasses toward the water’s edge. There was a moment, wading through that dark undergrowth, Jonah leading the way, when her heart started pounding, a darkness closing in. She was about to wheel and run when Jonah jolted to a stop and turned to her. “You okay? Do you want to go back?” It was as if her fear had risen in him.