Free Trip Wire by Charlotte Carter Page A

didn’t want one, so he brought me a club soda. I held it in my lap, not talking anymore. Owen sat next to me on the sofa and laid the inside of his hand gently across my forehead. “You need looking after.”
    “I’ll be all right. You know, I’m loyal to you, too, Owen.”
    He smiled. “Don’t think it goes unnoticed.”
    We were quiet for a while longer. “Is London nice?” I asked.
    “Yes. I liked it a lot.”
    “God, I wish I were there now. I’d rather be anywhere, doing anything other than thinking about Wilt being dead.”
    “We could go to the movies. I’ll see just about anything, except don’t make me see
Bonnie and Clyde
again.”
    I let myself fall against him. “A friend is a miracle. Remember you said that?”
    “Did I? I guess.”
    “I’m scared, Owen.”
    “I know. Why don’t you lie down for a bit?”
    I pressed myself closer to his heart. “You mean with you?”
    He didn’t answer.
    “A few minutes of feeling safe,” I said. “Being close, forgetting. Maybe you need that, too.”
    He didn’t answer.
    I straightened, moved away, too embarrassed to look at him. “I guess that’s not what you meant.”
    “No. But—”
    “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m a total feeb. If you were the least bit attracted to me, you’d have said so long ago.”
    “No, I wouldn’t. I wish I could explain. This is hard to talk about.”
    “You bet it is. I’m sorry. I forgot there for a moment that I’m just goofy little Cassandra with the big legs.”
    “You’re going to be a splendid woman. Maybe you can’t see it just now. But wait a bit.”
    “You mean when I grow up.”
    “Sort of. You’ll grow up, like you say, and be the toast of the town.”
    “What town would that be?”
    “Somebody’s town. Look, you’re already breaking hearts.”
    “I never broke anybody’s heart.”
    “Oh, really? Why don’t you talk to Nat about that. Or did you forget what you just told me ten minutes ago?”
    “Okay. I’m being shitty to him.”
    “And not particularly sorry for it, right?”
    “I’ll take a beer now, if you have it. But as long as we’re on the subject . . . I mean, since I’ve already made a fool of myself, I may as well ask you something else. Once and for all.”
    “What?”
    “Are you gay?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “I don’t mean to insult you. But, are you, Owen? Annabeth thought I’d already slept with you, and when I told her we never did it, she said maybe it’s because you’re—well, gay.”
    “I’m not homosexual. Sometimes I’m not even sure I’m sexual. I kind of decided my uncle Jude was right about the wisdom of keeping to yourself.”
    “What does that mean? He never had sex?”
    “Not as far as anyone knows.”
    “And that’s what you want to be like? Are you nuts?”
    He laughed.
    “Was Uncle Jude a drunk, too?”
    “Yes, of course.”
    “You know what I think? I think you’re full of shit, Owen. I bet if Jane Hayer threw herself at you the way I did, you’d go to bed with her.”
    At the mention of his long-legged, curly-haired colleague, the Romantic Poets lecturer who always managed to seat herself near him at faculty teas, he looked away from me.
    Dead giveaway.
    “Oh, shit,” I said. “How stupid could I be? You fucked her, didn’t you?”
    “Stop that.”
    “Oh, yeah, you did.”
    “Stop it. Listen, Cassandra, maybe you’ve been moving a bit too fast. Your transition from studious country mouse to foul-mouthed hippie chick might have happened just a little too fast.”
    And it isn’t at all becoming, as my aunt Ivy would say. Too fast. I couldn’t deny there was something in what Owen said. Where I had been shy and insular—what seemed like just yesterday—I was now brash and aggressive. And even I had to admit it didn’t always feel right. It didn’t always feel like me proudly rolling joints and setting up the communal bong like a pro, throwing around the four-letter words. The old Cassandra had to go.