"I can," she said. "Life's a bastard."
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She put her arms around his waist, and he hugged her shoulders.
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She was quiet.
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"Yes."
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"Hey." He pushed his shoulder up against hers and nearly wept with relief when she laid her head against him. Weeping again today seemed wholly inevitable.
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"I know."
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"That… we'll have other chances? That we have any chance at all?"
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# Park #
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"No matter what happens," she said forcefully, "I'm not coming home."
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Eleanor got out of the truck, and Park wandered into the cornfield to pee. (Which was embarrassing, but less embarrassing than pissing his pants.)
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"I just can't believe that life would give us to each other," he said, "and then take it back."
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"No matter what happens," Park said, "I love you."
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"What?"
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He climbed up and sat next to her. "Hey," he said.
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"Do you really believe that?" she asked.
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When he came back, she was sitting on the hood of the truck. She looked beautiful, fierce, leaning forward like a figurehead.
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He held her tighter, and pushed his face into her neck.
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# Eleanor #
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"Have they heard from my mom or… anybody?"
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"I smell like Steve's garage," she said. "My uncle's going to think I'm a drug dealer."
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"My dad's okay," he said. "I think my mom's freaking out."
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"But it's up to us…" he said softly. "It's up to us not to lose this."
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They stopped at another truck stop and Park bought her Cherry Coke and beef jerky. He called his parents collect -- she still couldn't believe they were okay with this.
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Park asked her if she wanted to call her uncle. She didn't.
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"No. Or, at least, they didn't mention it."
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She sat right next to him for the rest of the trip -- even though there wasn't a seat belt, and she had to sit with the stick shift between her legs. She figured it was still lots safer than riding in the back of Richie's Isuzu.
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She looked down at her shirt. There was a smear of blood from when she'd cut her hand on her bed -- and something crusty on the shoulder, probably snot from all that crying.
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Park laughed. "I think you spilled beer on your shirt. Maybe he'll just think you're an alcoholic."
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"Of course," Park said softly. He looked away.
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"Here," Park said. He was taking off his sweatshirt. Then his T-shirt. He handed the T-shirt to her. It was green and said "Prefab Sprout."
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"Is it easy?" she asked him when he got back in the truck.
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When they got to Minneapolis, Park stopped at another gas station to ask for directions.
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"Okay," she said.
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"Like Sunday morning," he said. "We're really close."
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"Close your eyes," she said.
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"You can give it back later."
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"I can't take this," she said, watching him pull his sweatshirt back on over his bare chest. "It's new." Plus it probably wouldn't fit.
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He looked back at her, and his smile changed. "Keep it."
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There was no one else in the parking lot. Eleanor slouched down and put Park's T-shirt on underneath her own, then pulled the dirty shirt off. That's how she changed in gym class. His shirt was about as tight as her gymsuit… but it smelled clean, like Park.
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