The Beginning of After

sorry.”
    “You should be!”
    His scolding, indignant tone made me instantly furious. What was I thinking? He would never completely understand.
    “You would have done the same thing,” I said, trying to make my voice match the pitch of his. “Think about it, David. Just think about someone besides yourself for a change and imagine what it’s like for me.”
    David opened his mouth to say something in response, but froze.
    We were caught like that, staring each other down in a minuscule chapel, when Nana found us. The look on her face told me she had an idea of what had happened.
    “Laurel and David,” she said sternly. “I’d like to leave now before traffic picks up.”
    David forced a smile at her and nodded, then followed her out. I took one more look at the stained glass and then turned, trailing behind them.

Chapter Thirty-seven

    N eedless to say, the car ride home was more awful than the one that morning. This time, even Nana was too beaten down by the strain of the day to make small talk. It was a very long forty-five minutes of quiet, quiet, quiet with just the hum of the car and static-laced news radio.
    I felt a dull pain behind my eyes from all the crying, but it was a good hurt. Like someone had swept something away back there and suddenly, I could see again. As we crossed back over the Tappan Zee, the water looked clearer than it had that morning.
    My cell phone beeped one more time, now with a voice 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.