Not with pity.
With recognition.
That frightened me more.
“I need you to know something,” he said.
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Then shook his head.
“No. Not like this.”
I laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
“Not like what?”
“Not after one good night.”
The exact phrase hit me.
One good night.
My mother’s phrase.
But I had not told him that.
Before I could ask, he stepped back.
“Goodnight, Mara.”
“That’s it?”
He tried to smile.
It failed.
“I hope someday you don’t hate me.”
Then he turned and walked into the darkness.
I stood on the sidewalk until he disappeared.
When I went inside, my mother was sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of tea she had not touched. She looked up and tried to read my face.
“Well?”
I leaned against the door.
The house was quiet around us.
“I danced,” I said.
Her hand went to her mouth.
“With someone?”
“With Caleb Turner.”
Her face changed.
Only slightly.
But I saw it.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“Mom.”
She stood too quickly, taking the mug to the sink.
“I’m glad you had fun.”
