he saw her inside of school, she was either playing volleyball or engaged in some similarly wholesome activity. She was studying in the library between classes, a tiny frown of concentration on her pretty forehead. Or selling tickets to a school dance. Or volunteering at a bake saleâcroissants onlyâto raise money for the French club.
He wanted to see more of herâhe really didâbut since he wasnât about to join the French club, and Daisy, apparently, wasnât about to get detention, he figured their paths would never cross. And, except for those volleyball games, they never did.
Then volleyball season ended, and Will thought about Daisy less. When he graduated that spring and started working full-time at the garage, he thought about her even less. Until today. Today, when she walked into the service bay, and walked back into his life, bringing with her all the memories of those autumn afternoons five years ago.
And here was the amazing thing. It was still there . That irresistible pull heâd felt toward her then. Only this time it was stronger, because now she was real. He thought now about the way sheâd been that morning. Flustered, impatient, funny, though the funny part, of course, was largely unintentional. Still, sheâd been adorable in an innocent, tomboyish way, and as sexy as hell . . .
âDamn, Will, what do I have to do to get your attention?â
Will jumped a little. Jason was standing right next to him.
âWhat?â Will asked, a little embarrassed. Heâd been completely lost in thought.
âI said, âCan you service Mrs. Elliotâs Camry tomorrow?ââ
âYeah, okay,â Will said, going back to work.
But Jason didnât move. âYouâre thinking about that girl, arenât you? Daisy?â
âNo, Iâm not,â Will said, irritated that Jason, for the first time in his life, was being perceptive.
âYes, you are,â Jason said, grinning. âToo bad youâre not going to see her again anytime soon. Because if youâre as good a mechanic as you say you are, that fan belt could hold out for a long time.â
âOh, Iâll see her again,â Will said nonchalantly. âSheâll be back. If not today, then tomorrow.â
Jason raised an amused eyebrow. âYouâre pretty sure of yourself, arenât you?â
Will shrugged.
âWhat, you think sheâs not going to be able to resist those big brown eyes of yours?â
âNo, I think sheâs going to want her cell phone back,â Will said, gesturing at the shiny silver rectangular object Daisy had left lying on a nearby worktable, right next to a pile of greasy rags.
W hen Jack drove out to the lake that afternoon, he missed the turnoff to Waylandâs cabin. But about fifty yards down the road from it, he was struck by a sudden sense of familiarity, and he braked, threw the truck in reverse, and backed up to an overgrown dirt track that looked as if nature was trying, hard, to reclaim it. It was Waylandâs driveway, though, he decided, squinting down it. Heâd driven down it a hundred times before. He turned into it and started to drive down it again now, but he stopped when he saw a mailbox, smashed in on one side and lying on the ground. Were kids still doing that? he wondered, getting out of the truck. Still leaning out of the windows of speeding cars and knocking over mailboxes with baseball bats? Heâd done this himself before, during a rural adolescence spent on the edge of juvenile delinquency.
Still, he thought, grabbing the mailbox, it seemed wrong to have done it to Wayland, especially when you considered all the bad luck heâd run into at the end of his life. Jack stood the mailbox up and tried to plant the post back into the ground. But when he let go of it, it tipped right over. The whole thing was rotted right through. He picked it up and tossed it into the woods. He
Jack Norris, Virginia Messina