Free Amelia Anne Is Dead and Gone by Kat Rosenfield Page A

detour into New York and you don’t even ask what’s up? You’re a million miles away. It’s weird.”
    “I was . . .” She had already said, enjoying the ride. “I just wasn’t concerned.”
    “You weren’t concerned, or you weren’t paying attention?”
    She smiled at him, reached for his hand. He’d always been an antsy driver, had always been prone to picking fights in the car. She had found it infuriating at times, but today, she seemed to have a limitless well of patience and understanding for Luke’s little idiosyncrasies. He let her intertwine her fingers with his.
    “How much attention should I be paying? We’re not in a hurry to get anywhere. I like driving around with you. I like being with you, period.”
    He smiled at that.
    “So I’m just relaxing,” she said. “I trust you to get us where we’re going, wherever it is.”
    Up ahead, the light flashed green and the cars inched forward. Luke maneuvered around another pedestrian, an angry-looking woman who had stepped off the curb and close to the car as though daring someone to run over her foot.
    “That woman has a death wish,” he muttered.
    “Or some really amazing self-confidence,” Amelia said.
    “She won’t be feeling so confident when someone crushes her toes with a tire.”
    “Ouch.”
    Behind them, the woman darted between two standing cars and vanished.
    Luke made a quick right-hand turn and the car cruised up a narrow side street.
    “Okay, I’ll bite. Where are we going?” Amelia said.
    “I have to stop at home.”
    “Ooooh, so we’re headed for the Upper East Side palace,” she said. “Are your parents there?”
    “I’m not sure,” he said. He looked sidelong at her. “Got something in mind?”
    She grinned. “Dunno.”
    He stroked her arm, deliberately trailing his fingers along the sensitive, blue-veined skin on her inner wrist. She felt her pulse quicken. His touch was exciting, almost unfamiliar—she tried, and failed, to recall the last time they’d slept together. Ten days, maybe twenty? In the final weeks of the semester, as she tried to prepare, pack, tie up each and every loose end, things had cooled between her and Luke. The love was still there, she thought, but circumstances were making things difficult. He was busy and frustrated, staying up late to study, coming out for parties or dinners only when she begged—and then, when he did, standing sullen and resentful in a corner.
    He was consumed by the pressing responsibilities of the present. But she felt the future, with all of its untraveled roads and unexplored possibilities, unfurling slowly in front of her. She had even thought the unthinkable,
Maybe college relationships aren’t meant to last,
but had always kissed him good night and then trudged back across campus to her own bed without asking to talk.
    She could bide her time.
    She was on the edge of a precipice, one that she could leap from at her leisure. She was free to go anywhere, to see Japan or Europe or even a cornfield in Iowa—if that was what she wanted.
    Even now, sinking deep into the car seat and feeling the comfort, the safety and stability of his presence, she wasn’t sure whether this trip together might be their last. But the feel of his fingertips, and the memory of nights spent in his arms, was making her breath come faster.
    “You’d better watch the road,” she warned.
    “Okay,” he sighed with mock-regret, “but when we get there, prepare to be ravaged.”
    In spite of herself, she giggled.

CHAPTER
9
     
    T he yard was a minefield of tossed trash: oil cans, car parts, cigarette butts, the carcasses of cars in differing states of decay. We picked our way around the mess. The front door of the house banged and boards groaned heavily as Craig stepped out on the porch.
    “Jeeeeesus,” I said, my voice floating out from clenched teeth.
    James elbowed me.
    “Stop that,” he hissed.
    “But look at him,” I hissed back. “What happened?”
    Craig had once