Descending Star

MEADOW

"You're late."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," Ben lamented, harried.

"No worries," Zoey said, all business. "Let's just get out of here, before Chief Jacob shows up again."

He came out of the truck, to her side, as she climbed in, and he blocked the door with his body, before she could close it. He had something of vital importance to say, before they got underway, but first she took a long, penetrative look at him.

He had taken a shower. His hair was still wet, so he had rushed with the shampoo, on the way out the door, most likely after the phone call. She scrutinized the bags under his eyes, his haggard face, his dull complexion, and she decided, "You're a mess, Ben. And it's not just the fact we pulled an all-nighter without a minute of actual sleep. What really happened at your house?"

He looked up at her, guiltily.

She winced and accused, "It was her. Wasn't it. She was there."

"What? No!"

"Seriously?"

He nodded emphatically. "Zoey, I mean it. Edythe wasn't there."

She studied his eyes, in search of deceit, and found none. Only then did she breathe.

"But you're warm," he finished.

"Ahh, Christ."

"You're right, Zoey, I'm a mess. But not for the reason you think. I can explain on the way, but first I have to say this: You don't have to do this. This is my pilgrimage, my trial. You don't have to do this with me. These places have more than just sentimental significance. These are shrines that I'm dragging you to. The next, more so than the last. It's not fair to you. I can go alone. I should."

"Ben, I postponed my flight home for you, because we're friends, and you're going through a bad patch. I want to do this with you. This is what friends are for."

He groaned at the sky, where gray battleships gradually broke up and boiled under the fierce August sun, the rents in their hulls shining blue.

"Zoey, can we agree that we have always been more than friends? Can we retire that word and be honest about what this growing thing between us is trying to be?"

"Proviso Seven?" she asked playfully.

"If you insist. A very large part of me wants much more than friendship with you."

"I know that," she said, "and I feel the same way. I wanted much more from you last night than your friendship. I wanted more than my brother. I can admit that. I'm hoping you can, too."

"I can. I did. I still do. But I'm not ready for what comes next."

"I know that, Ben. That's why I'm here for you. For what you need now, today. So, you say this place has even greater significance than that vale, this hiking destination that you have in mind."

"Yes. It does."

"Then stop overthinking it, please. Let's get rolling, and on the way you can tell me about it, and why it matters, and you can also tell me what the hell happened to you at home."

They pulled out and rounded the building, where once again he groaned and had to toot the horn in greeting at Micaela Newton, who was busily setting up the front stoop bargain racks. She watched them pass in the truck with a raised eyebrow, and they both knew that the gossip mill would be freshly infused with fodder by noon.

"'I'll tell you about my morning in a second. First, I'd better call Charlie." He speed-dialed Charlie's office phone and caught him at his desk.

"Hey, kid. Missed you this morning. You get home yet?"