A Song For Julia Part 20

She nodded. "Yes, I've dated."

"Any long term?"

She took a deep breath. "I was with a guy for two years. We broke up last spring."

"Why?" I asked.

"He asked me to marry him."

I swallowed and looked out at the snow. "I don't get it."

"He asked me to marry him. I thought we were ... not that serious. Honestly, I really didn't like him that much. I feel awful, but when he asked me to marry him, I broke up with him."

"Jesus, Julia. Why did you stay with him so long if you weren't serious?"

She looked down at the ground. It was hard to figure out her expression. "Because he didn't scare me. There wasn't so much ... messy emotion. We'd go out, have fun. I didn't expect anything more."

"What the h.e.l.l happened to you that you're so afraid of feeling something?"

She pulled away from me. "I don't discuss that. Ever."

"All right."

She took a few steps away from me. "That night in Washington-why did you leave?"

"I told you then."

"Tell me now."

I leaned my head back, looked up at the falling snow. It was starting to come down harder.

"I left because I was hoping for something more. I sleep with girls all the time, and what's the frickin' point? They're gone in the morning, and it was all fun and games, but maybe I'm ... maybe I need something that means something."

She shook her head, looking baffled. "Can we get out of this snow? I hate snow."

"Um ... sure. Come on."

We got back in the car, and I cranked it up to let the heater run. "We've got a couple of options," I said.

"Take me home."

I just kept talking. "We got Bill Ash's, which is my number one choice. It's all Revere locals, not a tourist spot. You'll like it."

"I said, take me home."

"Or we could head back to Roxbury, and play some piano together."

"Last chance: Take. Me. Home." Her voice was firm and angry.

"Home, it is," I answered, as smooth as I could.

I'd crashed and burned. Hard. I put the car in gear and banged a u-ey headed south on Revere Beach Boulevard. It would take almost half an hour to get to Harvard. And it looked like that was going to be one uncomfortable as h.e.l.l half-hour. I was finding that I felt sad ... disappointed. I'm not used to rejection. But even if I was, usually it just didn't matter. This was different. It was very different. Everything I'd seen of Julia fascinated me. She was kind, and compa.s.sionate, and smart as h.e.l.l, and she was also one moody b.i.t.c.h. Call me crazy, but that combination was one h.e.l.l of a turn-on. I wanted to break her out of that sh.e.l.l and find out what she was like underneath. I think I got a glimpse of it when we were playing piano together, when she had that secret half-smile.

I wanted to see her smile again.

I sighed. Route 1 was coming up and not long after that we'd be in Cambridge.

"I've made you angry," I said, trying to sound very reasonable.

"You p.i.s.s me the f.u.c.k off!" she shouted, her voice high and strained.

I actually flinched. The snow was coming down harder now, and I had to slow down, which meant this was going to be an even longer drive. I was as tense and self-conscious as I've ever been. Talking to her right now was like walking through a minefield.

"Why can't you just leave well enough alone?" she asked. In a mocking tone, she said, "Hi, I'm Crank, and I'm irresistible. Let me take you to the beach and see if we can get s.e.xy."

I spoke before I thought. Which is normal. "Maybe I took you to the beach so I could find out why you're such a b.i.t.c.h."

I'm glad it was dark, and I was watching the road closely, because I couldn't see her expression. Her voice alone nearly took my skin off.

"I'm a b.i.t.c.h because love doesn't mean anything. Attraction and l.u.s.t don't mean anything. All they do is screw up your life."

"You don't really believe that," I said.

"You don't know me," she replied. "Besides, look at your own parents. I've never seen such a screwed up couple in my life."

"Lay off my parents, college girl. You don't know what the h.e.l.l you're talking about."

"I know that I will never get involved with someone over l.u.s.t and attraction. I will never lose control of myself that way again."

I squeezed the steering wheel hard. "If you're so d.a.m.n sure, why the h.e.l.l won't you go out with me, then?"

"Because I want you! So bad I can taste it! Because you remind me of him!"

Silence fell in the car. That's not what I wanted to hear. Seriously, who does? I reminded her of the guy who molested her when she was fourteen? What the h.e.l.l? That didn't even make any sense. Okay, I'll admit, I can be an a.s.shole. I've spent most of the last few years avoiding relationships and s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g anything in a skirt. But one thing I never did was force anything, or play stupid power games. You don't want me? Fine. There are plenty other girls in the crowd.

So what made Julia different?

Part of it was me. I was tired. Tired of waking up with strange girls in my bed. Tired of tense and uncomfortable scenes in the morning. Tired of living like I was still a bug, smoking pot in the Pit at Harvard Square, not giving a s.h.i.t what came tomorrow. I wanted to have a life that meant something. Call me crazy, but I wanted to be like my dad. I wanted to make a difference. No, I wasn't a cop. I didn't protect people, or put my life on the line for others. But I felt like I could make a difference with my music. Like I could say something real about the world. And maybe lately, I'd been feeling like I wanted to share that with someone.

Julia struck me the same way. She cared about people; she cared about making a difference. She went out of her way to be kind to my brother, to be a friend to him, when she didn't have to. She didn't need me ... she didn't need anyone. She was going to make her own choices in life. And that was d.a.m.n attractive.

I swallowed, trying to find words that made sense, trying to say something to calm her down, to persuade her, to make her understand that I wasn't the kind of guy that would do to her what that guy did. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized: this wasn't about me at all. It wasn't about that guy, whoever the h.e.l.l he was. It was about her. It was about her feeling like she'd lost who she was, feeling like she'd lost her ident.i.ty, her family, and her self worth.

I tried to imagine what she was like at fourteen, and I couldn't. She was all woman. Proud, and angry, and isolated, and in some ways, scary as h.e.l.l, but this was no innocent girl. She'd been through the wringer.

"Tell me about the snow," I said.

"What?"

"You don't like snow."

"It's cold and wet. What the h.e.l.l kind of a question is that?"

I glanced over at her. She was leaning against the door, glaring at me.

"Tell me," I said.

She looked at me dismissively. "Why don't you put on some music? Loud."

We have to stop meeting like this (Julia) Crank was right. I was being a complete b.i.t.c.h. It was self-defense, really. Because the more time I spent around him, the more I felt my defenses falling to pieces. It wasn't that he was hot. I mean-I've been around hot guys. They're nice to look at, but they don't make me feel like this. It was his smile, his charm, his sense of humor. Inside that hard-a.s.s exterior, he was compa.s.sionate. Insanely protective of his brother. I wanted to laugh at his smart aleck comments, and I wanted to touch the dimple in the corner of his mouth. I wanted to hug him and heal the hurt that had damaged him.

I wanted to run away as quickly as I could. Because it was all I could do to keep a grip on who I was.

He did as I asked and turned on the stereo. Nine Inch Nails' "Closer" suddenly blasted out. Jesus. I almost broke out into a sweat. How did he do that? The driving ba.s.s blasted through the car, one of the s.e.xiest, angriest songs I've ever heard. I closed my eyes, still leaning against the door, and bobbed my head along with the music. It was l.u.s.t and rage and hunger all wrapped up in a bow. So very much not what I needed to be listening to right now. But so much how I felt.

A big part of me wanted to just say, screw it. Screw my reservations. Screw my walls. Give in. Give in to him. Not just for a date, but tell him to pull the d.a.m.n car over right now and climb on top of him and slowly unb.u.t.ton his shirt while I chewed on his ear. This music was not helping at all.

I was jarred back to reality when Crank cursed suddenly and slapped the radio off. I opened my eyes and realized the car was sliding, and I nearly screamed. I reached out, grabbing the dashboard with both hands, bracing as we slid toward a tree. But a second later, he got it under control.

"Sorry," he said. "I think the temperature must have dropped. A lot. Patch of ice."

We were coming up Ma.s.s Ave now, close to campus. This definitely looked like a Nor'easter, dumping snow and ice very fast now. It was two or three inches deep already and getting deeper by the minute. Crank was wrestling with the wheel, overcompensating, which was making the car slide way too much for comfort.

"I thought Boston drivers were supposed to be all that," I said.

He looked over at me with a fierce grin on his face. "I've been taking the T all my life. Practically just got my license."

"Please don't get me killed."

He laughed. "I'll try not to. We're almost to the campus, which way?"

I peered ahead. The snow was coming down thick enough it was hard to see very far. "Past the campus. Keep going, it's about five blocks up, then take a left."

He nodded, concentrating on driving, both hands on the wheel and leaning forward to see.

"Slow down," I said, as we got closer.

He glanced at me, simultaneously looking amused and annoyed I was being bossy. Screw him. I wanted to live. A moment later, he slowly turned off of Ma.s.sachusetts Ave just as a city bus went racing past, splattering Crank's car with snow and slush. Yuck.

"That's just wrong," he muttered as the bus blasted past.

"See the lot up there on the left?" I asked, pointing.

"Yeah."

"Park in there."

"If I park, I'm not getting out of there again."

"You can't drive any more in this ... especially not all the way to Roxbury."

"Is this a private lot?"

"I've got a guest pa.s.s in my car."

He nodded. "All right."

Very slowly, he turned into the lot. I could feel the car sliding again as he took the turn, but the wheels got a grip again, and we surged forward, into another slide.

"c.r.a.p," he muttered.

"Stop," I said.

"Trying!" he said, his voice raised.

"Stop!" I yelled.

The car just kept going, sliding forward, the tail end of my car looming in front of us, bigger and bigger, a slow-motion slide.

He yanked the wheel over to the side, trying to divert us, but it was too late. With a sickening crash that lurched us both forward against our seatbelts, he crashed into the rear end of my car.

We stopped.

I slumped back in my seat and closed my eyes. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be.

"I can't look," I said.

"It's bad," he replied.

"We're still alive," I said hopefully.

I opened one eye. The back of my car and the front of Crank's were hopelessly crumpled. Steam was rising in a great cloud from the front of his car. Radiator must have ruptured.

"Oh, G.o.d," I said.

"You know," he said, just a little bit of mischief in his voice. "We have to stop meeting like this."

I broke into laughter. Hysterical laughter, actually. With tears running down my cheeks. He grinned, apparently happy that I wasn't screaming at him.

We both opened our doors at the same time, and a blast of cold air hit me, freezing the tears onto my cheeks instantly. The temperature had dropped a lot since we'd left the beach. My laughter evaporated, and my heart sank, as I looked at the extent of the damage. The entire back end of my car was ... crushed. The front of Crank's was only marginally better.

"That's not good," he said.

"I guess I deserve it for wrecking your other car."

He snickered.

"Stop laughing, it's not funny," I said. But his face was so bemused, that I couldn't help but laugh myself. "Oh, G.o.d," I said, groaning. "My parents are going to kill me."