The Beginning of After - By Jennifer Castle Page 0,106

mail. Desperate for something to do, I listened to it.

“Laurel, it’s Joe. I’m kind of worried about you, you haven’t answered my texts. Can you please just call me and let me know everything’s okay?”

But there was no way I could call him back, even if I’d wanted to. I couldn’t even think about why I didn’t want to.

Finally, we pulled into our driveway to find a red truck squatting in front of the house.

Joe’s truck. I gasped, then shut myself up.

And Joe, sitting on our doorstep with a takeout cup of coffee in his hands. Wearing a ski hat topped with a pom-pom, and fingerless gloves. He looked up when he saw our car and squinted.

“You have a visitor,” said Nana as she turned off the car. My eyes darted to the rearview mirror to see David glance up and register Joe. He looked confused for a second, then lifted one side of his mouth into a half smile.

Then he quickly got out of the car and said, “I’m taking Masher over to the dog park.”

He walked toward the house, and Joe stood up. I watched Joe watch David warily, like they were crossing paths in a dark alley. Then, a few feet before David reached the front door, Joe started walking over to our car. Where I sat, unable to move.

“Hey, man,” said David, nodding quickly as they passed each other.

“David,” said Joe flatly. Joe opened Nana’s door for her, helped her out.

We heard Masher barking, then David fiddling with his key in the front door, finally getting it open and stepping inside. Nana watched Joe move around to my side of the car, then she turned quickly and went into the house too. It was starting to get dark now, and the temperature had dropped sharply since we’d left the Palisades Oaks.

Joe opened my door, but I climbed out before he could help me. He glanced at the house and back at me, quizzically. “David Kaufman has a key to your house?” was all he asked, his breath visible in the twilight.

“Uh-huh,” I said casually, then closed the car door and glanced up at Joe. He looked cold. And still sick. “What are you doing here?”

“Meg told me about David’s dad, and that you were going out there today.” He paused. “I left you a bunch of messages. . . . I thought you might need someone to talk to after.”

Now the front door opened again. David and Masher. Neither of them looked at me as they climbed into the Jaguar. Joe and I stepped aside as David backed up past us and then, once out of the driveway, sped down the hill.

I felt something catch in my throat, and my eyes get wet. If Joe hadn’t been standing there, I was pretty sure I would have started chasing after the car.

But now that it was gone, I looked back at Joe, at his runny nose and bloodshot eyes, waiting for me to say something.

Someone to talk to.

But I couldn’t think of anything. Where would I even start?

I thought back to that night in the truck outside Yogurtland, and how happy I’d been for those moments Joe had had his skin on mine. Things were best between us when we weren’t talking. At least, not about anything that mattered.

My hesitation must have been obvious, because Joe said, “Or we don’t have to talk. You just look like you could use a distraction. If your grandmother says it’s okay, can we go have dinner? I brought you a Christmas present.”

There was suddenly nothing I wanted more than to get distracted somewhere public and normal with Joe. We could eat and maybe do more sketches together and make jokes about the other diners, then make out somewhere in his truck.

But then I looked down the driveway, and I could almost still hear the Jaguar’s tires screeching.

The only thing I knew for sure at that moment was that David would be back.

If I was gone when that happened, would he leave again? For good?

David, do you know that’s a chance I can’t take?

Now Joe reached out tentatively, slowly, and took my hand. His glove scratchy, his fingertips icy as they laced through mine.

“Let me take you out,” he said, trying to sound confident.

I felt my ears burning and my throat closing and the tears coming.

“Joe,” I sputtered. “Why are you being so nice to me? I completely blew you off today. You sent me all those sweet, concerned messages and