or who just generally doesn’t let herself believe anything ever again.
For all these reasons I say, “Okay.”
* * *
—
We head north on Main Road. The truck is bouncing and shaking over the ruts created by the rain and the July heat. I can hear my teeth chattering from the impact, but he is being quiet. The kind of quiet where he is far away. I look at him to make sure he’s still there, one hand on the wheel, the other on his leg.
I don’t talk and neither does he, and this isn’t companionable silence. This is me being so deep in my head that I can’t get out. This is him being somewhere else completely. I stare out the window and concentrate on the trees.
A few minutes later he pulls the truck over on the narrow, grassy shoulder of Main Road, leaving just enough space for another vehicle to pass. He gets out, walks around to my side, and leans in the window.
“Why are we stopping?”
“Can’t I just make out with you?” He’s grinning at me, but not really at me because he’s still somewhere else, like he’s phoning it in.
“You can, but why are we stopping?” Because I know he’s up to something.
“It’s time for you to learn to ride a bike.”
“Here?” I stare at the road stretching out ahead.
“Here.”
“But I’m wearing a dress. And flip-flops. I can’t learn to ride a bike in a dress and flip-flops. And, I don’t know, it might rain.” I squint up at the sky, which is nothing but blue and sun. “And I don’t think I’m cut out to ride a bike. And really, it’s fine. I mean, if I never learn to ride one, I’ll be okay.” This is true, but I’m also feeling cut off from him and irritated and like, Why am I even here?
All the while, he’s rummaging around in the truck bed. He comes back with a bright red helmet and says, “Captain, you’re going to learn to ride this bike so that tonight at low tide, we can ride on the beach under the stars.” He hands me the helmet.
And then he opens my door, and I’m standing on the side of Main Road in my sundress and flip-flops, and he’s ducking behind a giant oak tree and wheeling out this old blue bicycle.
“Isn’t there a better place to learn? The road is too rough and someone could come along.”
He says, “It’s not rough anymore.”
And I look past him, and that’s when I see that the road is completely flat and even.
“I raked out the washboard so you could have a level surface to learn on.”
It must have taken him hours. And maybe some part of him is still here and not far away after all, which is why I strap on the helmet and walk over to the bike and throw a leg over the seat and stand there waiting. I don’t want to look like an idiot. I don’t want to fall or break myself in two, and I don’t want to let him down. But he came out here and flattened the road so that I could learn to ride on it, which might be the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me, so the least I can do is try.
He moves to the front of the bike so he’s facing me.
I say, “What if I can’t do it?”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure you can do anything you set your extremely stubborn mind to.”
“I’m not stubborn.”
He laughs, and it sounds more like him than anything I’ve heard him say so far today. Then he places one hand on the seat and the other on the left handlebar. “Okay, a few things to remember. Pedal hard. Pedal fast. And keep your chin up and eyes forward. The bike’s going to go where your eyes go. The trick is to pedal. The faster you go, the easier it is. And don’t overthink it.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“On three. One…two…”
“Wait. Kiss me.”
He moves closer, bracing the bike with his legs. Then he puts his hands on either side of my face and pulls me to him. And kisses me long and deep, as if I’m a soldier going off to war. I drink it in because his hands on my face and his mouth on mine make me feel like he’s actually here after all, and even more than that, they make me feel like I’m here too.
He counts down again, and