Free Time Between Us by Tamara Ireland Stone

that’s why I was so surprised to see you.”
    “Surprised?” I raise an eyebrow. “Is that what you call that?”
    He drapes his arm over the back of the sofa. “I’m really sorry I made you leave earlier tonight.”
    He’s smiling and leaning, and I find myself doing the same. “That’s okay.”
    “You just kind of…threw me.”
    “I threw you?”
    He looks down, then back up again, and shoots me a bashful grin. “I looked horrible. A beautiful girl shows up at my door, and I’m in sweats, smelly, and looking like I hadn’t slept in a month.” His eyes never leave mine. “I shouldn’t have been so rude.”
    “Don’t worry about it.” I smile.
    “Thanks for not telling Maggie. I don’t want her to worry.”
    “Sure.” He’s still staring at me, and with all the tension in the air, I latch on to the change of subject. “Your grandmother seems nice,” I say. I watch his face light up.
    “Yeah, she’s great.”
    “So, you moved from San Francisco to live with her?”
    “For now. I’m only here for a month, you know, while my parents are in Europe.”
    “Oh,” I say. My head falls forward as my heart sinks. “I didn’t know that.” I guess that explains why he hasn’t bothered to meet anyone.
    “Yeah, well…I feel like I can tell you the truth. Can you keep a secret?” He waits for my nod. “It’s not just that my parents are traveling.”
    “Oh?” I take another bite and chew. I hope he knows that means he should continue talking.
    “I was supposed to go with them, but I made a mistake,” he says. “I blew it pretty big. My parents understand, but let’s just say Evanston is the best place for me to be right now. Taking care of Maggie is much better than spending a month with them—or in reform school.” The huge grin on his face makes me think that’s supposed to be a joke.
    “And?” I ask.
    “And what?”
    “And you aren’t going to tell me what you did to deserve this frozen version of hell?”
    He shakes his head and gives me a dismissive little laugh. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”
    “Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad. You didn’t kill anyone.” I stop in mid-dunk and look at him. “Did you?”
    He swirls the coffee in his mug, looking into it for answers, as if there were tea leaves inside. “No, I didn’t kill anyone. But someone…disappeared. And it was my fault.”
    I picture him on that frozen park bench, rocking back and forth and mumbling about needing to find someone. I start to tell him what I heard and to ask him what it means, but I look at his face and something tells me not to. When the silence continues, I press him for more information. “That doesn’t give me much of a secret. Is that really all you’re going to tell me?”
    “For now.” His face brightens as he asks, “So, how long have you lived in Evanston?”
    I stare at him. “We’re going there now?” I ask.
    “We’re going there now,” he says.
    I decide to let him off the hook for the time being but give him a look that signals that he has more explaining to do. I sigh. “All my life. Same house my dad grew up in. Same house my grandfather grew up in.”
    “Wow.” He looks at me with what I think at first are soft, understanding eyes; then I realize what’s really behind his expression: sympathy. Like I’m a hobbit who’s never left the Shire.
    “Yeah.” I feel small. “Wow.”
    He leans in even closer, filling what’s left of the space between us, looking like he’s genuinely interested in my pathetically simple life. “Do you ever feel…trapped?”
    I want to tell him about my map and my plans to travel the world, but as the words start to form in my head I realize they sound as pitiful as his stare. Yes, I’m trapped for now, but I won’t be forever. Still, deep down, I can feel the reality I live to ignore percolating to the surface: I can dream all I want. It’s more likely that I’ll be here when I’m old and gray, rocking and knitting on