Page 39 of True Ruin

Iris–Goo Goo Dolls

We’ve gottenit out of our system.

Dallas powered through the mix of anger and anguish that rose every time her statement floated through his mind. He hadn’t gotten shit out of his system. At his desk in theDispatchoffice, he wrotefriends, stared at it, then struck through the word until the paper gave way. The stink of burnt coffee was overpowering today, doing nothing to erase the scent of floral promise that still seemed to cling to his skin.

Like his tattoos, Gabi Wilder was inked deep, but this time on his soul.

He doodled in the margins of a piece on the county council meeting, due in an hour, while Justin, Ransom, and Campbell argued with Lloyd Halpern about a special section they wanted to run on businesses committed to space in the mill. Of the four men involved in the conversation, not one of them agreed on anything. Justin wanted photographs. Ransom wanted numbers. Campbell wanted heart. Halpern wanted adcommitments before he devoted eight pages to “pottery and scones.”

Dallas snuck a quick look over his shoulder, inching the pad underneath his article out and adding a line. Then, with a frown, another.

For the record, I’m trying very hard not to think about you in my shirt.

I miss the cabin. I miss your laugh. I miss the way you looked at me before?—

Fuck, Dallas thought, throwing down his pen. He’d written so many notes to her in the past week, he’d had to get a box for them, which he hid under his bed like nudie magazines and stale joints. High school all over again, only somehow more embarrassing.

Friends didn’t write love notes.

Friends didn’t lose sleep over each other.

Friends didn’t kiss or make love or watch movies together under a ratty blanket, legs entangled, fingertips slick from buttered popcorn. The cabin had a VHS tape ofE.T.,which Gabi couldn’t believe he’d never seen. And,yes, he’d cried. How could a person watch that goodbye scene and not bawl like a baby?

God, he missed her.

He’d only seen her once, when she came to pick up Sam at the library on Tuesday and found him there, too, pulling research for a freelance storyThe Washington Posthad contacted him about. He’d stayed near the checkout desk, glasses hiding his stricken expression, he hoped, careful not to come any closer than fucking friendship allowed.

Dallas sketched idle boxes on the page, considering their options.

He could make it home three times a year. He had leave, something he’d rarely used before but guessed everyone would be damn glad if he used this time. But it would be the extremeexample of a long-distance relationship. Email was possible in Cairo, if he had access to a decent line, which he might not. In the field, phones failed, faxes jammed, and satellite calls were expensive enough to make every word feel rationed. There was no thought of her coming along. Maybe if they were younger, if there were no kids.

But that wasn’t her, or him.

Anyway, maybe the relationship was unbalanced. He’d chased enough of his dreams that he might be getting tired, ready to take a breath andlive. Love someone. Gabi hadn’t even dated since her divorce. She hadn’t had time to have fun, to be careless, to take something without immediately calculating the cost. Or Wilder Grounds could be all she had room for right now.

Had he turned up at the worst possible time, yet called it fate?

Dallas knew he was in deep—lovesick,heartsick. He’d just spent the most amazing weekend with a woman he couldn’t keep his hands off, but now had to because he’d agreed to befriends. A woman he liked more with every trivial thing he learned about her. Someone he’d had a crush on, let’s be honest, since he was fifteen and only now had any real chance of getting.

He’d found a pair of her panties mixed with the clothes in his backpack, and he’d kept them. Washed, because he wasn’t that depraved, but tucked in the drawer with his boxer briefs. Every time Dallas looked at them, which was too often, he remembered her lips closing around him. Her moans, this ragged one she let loose when she was almost there, keeping him up at night. Her laughter at his stupid jokes, her tears during the movie. The remembrances were killing him and having her underwear by his bed didn’t help.

Pieces, so many pieces of her scattered through his life now.

But it’s not like he could return a lacy black thong to that wicker box or stuff them in her mailbox. Not like he could return memories.

And—

He sighed and circled the sloppy heart he’d drawn. He’d had a nightmare, something he didn’t talk about with anyone. He couldn’t remember it, really, only her comforting him afterward, a categorically calming presence.

Then he’d slept like a baby.

Rare enough a thing to additionally scare the hell out of him.

TheDispatch’sphone rang, jarring him from his tender spiral. Halpern swiveled in his chair and grabbed it off the hook, spoke a few words, then gestured to him.

Dallas shoved away from the desk and crossed the room, avoiding the prying gazes of his brothers and cousin. The conversation was brief, the request plain. It was Fontana, Campbell’s wife, on the line from the Children’s Center. Sam wasn’t feeling well, nothing urgent, but he couldn’t stay in case he was contagious. His parents couldn’t be located, so could Dallas come get him?

He hung up and went for his jean jacket, working his arms into the sleeves before anyone could ask.