The Beginning of After

looks pretty crowded at the moment.”
    He glanced at the bright yellow and pink lights of Yogurtland, which wasn’t really crowded at all, then took his hand off the ignition and looked earnestly at me.
    “Do you want to listen to some music? I just burned a new CD I think you’d like,” he said. I nodded, and he grabbed a leather CD case, flipping through the sleeves until he found what he was looking for. “It’s a mix,” he said, and slid it into the player.
    I didn’t recognize the first song but liked it immediately.
    “I like to drive dance to this one,” said Joe. He grabbed the steering wheel and started moving his head and shoulders in a hopeless white-guy attempt at grooving out. I started laughing.
    “What?” he asked. “You can’t tell me you don’t have a drive dance!”
    “Of course I do,” I said. “But mine has rhythm.”
    He reached out his hand and swatted me playfully on the head. Then he kept his hand there, hovering above me. Like now it had crossed into my territory and wasn’t sure whether to head home or forge on.
    It forged on. Slowly, Joe lowered his hand to my head, his fingers warm on my scalp. He ran them along a chunk of my hair that had escaped the headband, then tucked it behind my ear.
    It was still cold enough in the truck that I could see my breath, and I looked over to see Joe’s breath too. It was coming out of us at the same time, the same pace, and meeting in the space between us. I could see the molecules twirl around each other. So now I fixed my eyes squarely on Joe, who looked terrified.
    “I really want this, Laurel,” he said, then audibly gulped. “You want this too, right?”
    I nodded, but stayed still, determined that he should make the first move this time.
    Joe leaned all the way toward me but kept his hands to himself now, offering just his face. I wasn’t sure what he was doing until I felt his forehead on mine. We stayed that way for a few moments.
    Finally, he kissed me, his lips warm and hesitant. Then I could feel him relaxing and giving himself over. I tried to do the same, coaching myself. You do want this! Now it’s happening! Enjoy it!
    I wasn’t getting those fireworks I remembered from prom night, but we were touching again, and that was enough.
    Joe twisted his body a bit, to get into a better position, then stopped and said, “This truck was not made for . . . this. The seats are too far apart.”
    “That’s a design flaw you should write the company about.”
    He laughed, then reached for my seat belt and released it. “Can you come over here . . . with me?” he asked.
    In three seconds I’d climbed over to his side and was sitting in his lap.
    “So much better,” he murmured. I felt Joe’s arms completely around me now, cradling.
    Yes. That’s what I had in mind.
    I almost sobbed from relief, but choked it down.
    Joe blinked quickly, as if not sure I was really there, and said, “I would like to start doing this more often, if it’s okay with you.”
    “It’s okay with me.”
    He smiled. A pure, joy-filled smile, like a little boy opening a gift and discovering it was the one he desperately wanted.
    “You’re amazing, Laurel.”
    Something in the way he said this made me uneasy. I shook my head.
    “I’m really not.”
    “Yes. You dazzle me. With everything that you’ve been through, you . . . you just keep . . .” Stuck again. He reset himself with a deep breath. “I should have done a painting of you .”
    The uneasiness grew. To make it go away, I kissed him, and we started again, his hands moving gently over my back. After a minute, there was Joe’s tongue on my lower lip. The tickle of it took me by surprise. I giggled and he stopped.
    “Are you all right?” he asked, a pleading edge to it.
    “Nothing will happen this time, I promise.” Then I added, “There’s no swimming pool in sight.”
    Joe smiled. “Or David Kaufman.” He leaned in again.
    But I jerked away. “What?”
    The sound of David’s name, here in Joe’s truck above the sound of the heater and the engine. With Joe’s arms wrapped around me. David’s name, like some kind of Molotov cocktail thrown through the moonroof.
    What did Joe know? How?
    Instinctively I crawled out of his lap and back over to my seat, staring out the windshield. When I finally had the courage to glance at Joe, he looked stricken with panic.
    “David Kaufman . . . you know, I just meant, prom night,” he said. He smacked himself on