Page 23 of Hushed

“What?” Levi asks.

“Our war memorials in Canada are far more…somber. On the other hand, we did enter that war a full two years before you. Not to throw shade, but we probably had a little more to be upset about.”

Levi scans the space and focuses on a patch of grass next to the memorial. He glances back at the Lincoln Memorial. “Were you winning that war? Do tell.”

“And the shade’s been thrown back.”

Levi shrugs and goes to the grass beside the monument. He selects a spot and sits on the ground, and then opens his legs and pats the grass in front of him. “Sit here,” he says.

“Okay. I trust you, but I still have to know what we’re doing eventually.”

“I want to watch the sun set behind the Lincoln Memorial with you. Just like this.”

My breath catches in my chest. I sit on the grass and he wraps one arm around me, pulling me toward him. I lean my head against his shoulder and shut my eyes. Children are playing in the fountain, shrieking with glee as a park ranger tries to order them out of the pool. I laugh at the way they play. Someone is playing guitar out on the tree-covered pathways that line either side of the reflecting pool.

“Do you like it?” Levi asks me.

“C’est beau, ça,” I say before I realize that I’ve said it in French. “It’s wonderful,” I amend.

“Good.” He kisses me on the side of the neck as the sky begins to turn. I close my eyes and let the distant music wash over me.

Levi’s phone buzzes. He takes it out and glances at it and makes a noise.

“What’s wrong?”

“My best friend Kevin and I were supposed to do a hike at Rock Creek Park. I was kind of looking forward to it, because I wanted to have some trees and quiet around me.”

“I’ll go with you,” I say.

“Seriously? It’s pretty rocky terrain and heavily forested, but it really helps me feel calm to be around something…green.”

I smile. “In that case, I’m surprised you didn’t suggest it first. I’d love it.”

He squeezes me. “Yes, you will.” He takes a deep, contented breath, and I am absorbed by his affection.

“Tell me something about you that I don’t know,” I say.

“Hmmm. There’s a lot.” He ponders over it. “I read The Divine Comedy when I was seventeen.”

I laugh. “That tracks.”

“Really? That surprises almost everybody else.”

“It’s a brilliant psychological examination of love. Love of God, of country, of a person. The gates of Hell are built out of love. And frankly, you’re a bit of a romantic.”

He looks indignant. “Am not!”

I gesture toward the sunset. “Really, Levi? Really?”

Levi glances at the sky and grunts. “Fine. Maybe it’s you, bringing out something in me I didn’t have the chance to be before.”

I watch as the sun starts to dip behind the Memorial. “Thank you,” I tell him. I lean back against him and watch the colors change, the fiery oranges, reds, and purples from the undersides of clouds. “You have given me two perfect days, and there is not a single minute I will not be reliving in my head.”

“Only two? I had three.”

I twist. “It’s Friday.”

“But I met you shortly before noon on Wednesday. That means the balance of that day belongs to me. That’s three days. Plus we haven’t talked about our excessive canoodling.”