All the Colors of the Dark — Chapter 97

97

Patch and Misty walked back up the hill, and she slipped off her shoes and carried them, complaining her feet hurt till he leaned a little so she could climb onto his back.

When they reached her house they stopped out front and watched Monta Clare; the land fell away so sharply, like the town had fallen from heaven and cratered its place.

She held his hand, her head on his shoulder. “It’s so beautiful.”

“It is. But there’s a big world out there, Mist. At least that’s the way they tell it.”

“Yeah, but sometimes people go out searching for something they’ve already got.”

“Boston. The city, all those smart people. You can walk the Freedom Trail…I mean, you might have to pay someone to carry you the last mile

but still.”

She did not laugh.

“Faneuil Hall, it’s beautiful, right. You can ride the Swan Boats, you seen them? They got the Old North Church, and the water, and Copley Square. And you know in the museum they got the Grainstack. Sammy said it’s a sight. And that’s before you even get to Harvard Square.”

“What are you doing?” she said.

“I saw a book in the library. I wanted to know what it was like…where you’re going.”

She looked down at her corsage. “I’m not going. I already decided.”

“Bullshit.”

She stared up, her eyes quick to blaze. He reached out to touch her cheek, but she turned her head.

“You can’t just throw this away,” he said.

“You sound like my parents.”

“Maybe they’re right.”

She laughed. “You hate my parents.”

He slipped his hands into his pockets. “I don’t, we’re just…we’re so different.”

“What’s wrong with you? Why are you being like this?”

“I just…I don’t know how this is going to work.”

“It’ll work because I love you and you love me.” And then she caught it, like she hadn’t before, like the music and the dancing glossed over it.

He turned, framed by a moon too heavy, by starlight that was not

wanted.

“You can’t compare to her,” he said.

He felt her hand on his shoulder. “You don’t mean that. You’re just

saying it so I’ll go to Harvard.”

He felt a dull pain deep in his chest.

“If you mean it. If you do. Why can’t you look at me then?”

“She needs me. You don’t. Go be your real self in Boston. You won’t

have to play at being dumb anymore.”

“That’s not—”

“I didn’t say it back.” He gritted his teeth. “When you told me you loved me. I never said it back. Because I—”

She shoved him. He stepped forward. She shoved him again and he

turned. And she slapped his face.

“You don’t break up with me.”

Another shove and he fell into the dirt.

“I can’t compete with her because she isn’t real. She’s a fucking ghost.

Everyone knows it. Grace isn’t real.”

His pants were torn at the knee.

“I decide it’s over. Someone like you doesn’t leave someone like me.”

She stopped then, stunned by her words, broken by them.

“Honesty, Mist. Never feel bad for it.”

Her parents came out onto the driveway. Her mother held her daughter tight and tried to lead her toward the house, but Misty looked back at Patch sitting there in the dirt, kicked herself free and rushed toward him.

He stood and she fell into him and grabbed his shirt.

Franklin took her from him.

Patch stood and walked from their lives.

He did not look back.

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