I laugh and press my cheek to the cool car window to get a better look at the angel’s blank, expressionless face. “I don’t know, I kind of like it. It’s hopeful, right? When old businesses or jobs or industries or whatever fade, there’s always something new to take its place.” I dare a sideways glance at Jack. “I’d think you of all people would appreciate that they made art from it, instead of just some other practical thing like extra buses.”
“Yeah, well, you’ve never experienced public transit in this area,” he replies with a smirk. But underneath that, there’s something else, I think. A twist to his lips and a reluctance to meet my eye.
He does like the statue. He does like this city, his hometown. He just needed to get away, for personal reasons, so he’s trying to find excuses why he could never come back.
I understand that all too well. I love Lancaster—I love the Renaissance Festival we hold every summer, which I used to work for in high school, where we’d all dress up and fake terrible British accents and sell mugs to out of town tourists. I love the Corn Ball we hold ever fall, the bonfires and the Halloween haunted houses that I’m missing right about now, October in the middle of nowhere, Pennsylvania.
But I can’t go back. Not when I’ve come this far.
I press my palm to the glass and watch it sweat beneath my body heat. “Do you visit often?” I ask. I’m not sure why. I can already guess at the answer. Maybe I just want to hear him open up and admit it.
“Not lately,” is all he says at first. The Angel of the North fades from view behind us, and more and more buildings pop up alongside us—townhouses, red-roofed buildings that were clearly all built at the same time to look just the same. In between them I glimpse church steeples and some other monument high up on a hill in the distance, or maybe just a ruin, it’s hard to tell from here.
Just when I think he’s forgotten my question altogether, he clears his throat softly. “It’s hard to be reminded of what you left behind, sometimes. Even though you’re happy somewhere new and you know you’d be unhappy if you returned. Change is hard. Leaving is hard.”
I slide a hand over his where he’s gripping the clutch, and tighten my grip just enough so he feels it. “Trust me, I know the feeling.”
“Better than I do, probably.” He flashes me a quick look. “Speaking of which. Did you see the information about the grant that I left the other day?”
“I did. Thank you for that.” I squeeze his hand a little tighter. “I’ve got to think about it some more.”
“It’s good for any school, you know. Anywhere.” The way he says it, it sounds like he’s worried I misunderstood. Like I thought he was trying to tell me what to do.
“I read the fine print, yeah,” I reply with a small laugh. “I’ve got to do some research on schools.” I adjust myself in the seat again—it’s still uncomfortable, especially on a drive this long. But I think, judging by the way the neighborhoods around us look more and more city-like, that we’re almost there. “But, to be honest, I did a lot of research before I applied to come here. Merton is where I really want to be.”
Jack nods. “It’s a great school, especially for poetry. My obvious bias aside.” He wiggles an eyebrow at me, and I laugh again. He, on the other hand, sobers up pretty quickly. “I just want to be sure you’re doing what’s best for you, Harper. Not for anyone else.”
Something about the way he says it nags at me. Doesn’t he trust me to do that already? Does he really think I’d just uproot my whole life for a guy, even one that I am falling hard for?
But it doesn’t seem the right time or place to tell him off—I mean, he’s not in a good mindset right now, all the smiling aside. He can’t be. His father just died. So instead of starting a fight, I just nod back. “Of course. I always do.”
Don’t I?
Jack
The wake doesn’t start until this evening. I drove up early to get us checked into the hotel (after declining Mum’s twenty offers for us to stay with her, and another twenty curious phone calls from Kat about why I told her I’d be bringing someone), but also to give myself a little breathing room first.
I’m not ready to break the denial that I know I’m experiencing. Not quite yet.
So we check into our hotel in downtown Newcastle, twenty minutes on the bus from where we need to be later tonight, and I spend the afternoon showing Harper where I grew up. First we stroll across the Millennium Bridge, which I remember visiting the weekend it opened with my parents and Kat. From the peak of the bridge, we count the few boats out on the Tyne, and I point out the few buildings I remember the names of.