Barefoot: A Novel

she thought. After al she’d been through. Seven times her hopes had been dashed at the sight of her own blood. Seven times she had failed; success had come unbidden, when she no longer wanted it.

She made it to the rotary, where she found a cab waiting. Thank God! She climbed in and said, “Airport, please.”

It was Sunday at five o’clock, and every plane back to New York was booked and overbooked. When it was Melanie’s turn in line, she pushed her ticket across the counter, her spirits temporarily buoyed by the business of getting home—until the woman working the US Airways desk pushed the ticket right back.

“We have nothing tonight,” she said. “And nothing tomorrow until three o’clock. I’m sorry.”

“I’m happy to pay the change fee,” Melanie said. “Or go standby, in case someone doesn’t show.”

The woman held up a piece of paper crowded with names. “This is the waiting list. You’d be number one sixty- seven.”

Melanie stuffed her ticket into her purse and dragged her suitcase to a bench. The predictable thing would be for her to cry. She was about to start down that hackneyed road when she noticed someone walking toward her. A kid in a fluorescent orange vest. The one who had offered her first aid when she fel down the stairs. She smiled at him. He came right over.

“Hi,” he said. He grinned. “Did you have a nice trip?”

“Very nice,” Melanie said.

“That was a joke,” he said. “‘Trip,’ you know? Because you fel down.”

Melanie felt her cheeks burning. “Right,” she said. “Wel , as it turned out, that wasn’t the stupidest thing I did this weekend.”

The kid tugged at his vest and scuffed at the floor with his sneaker. “I didn’t mean you were stupid,” he said. “I was just trying to . . .”

“It’s okay,” Melanie said. She touched her elbow. It was stil tender, and yet with al that had happened, she had forgotten about it. “I’m Melanie, by the way.”

“Josh Flynn,” he said. He looked at her suitcase. “Are you leaving tonight? You just got here.”

“I was supposed to stay longer,” Melanie said. “But I have to get home.”

“That’s too bad,” Josh said. “Where do you live?”

“Connecticut,” she said. “But, as it turns out, I can’t get a plane tonight. They’re al sold out. I was just gathering my wits before I grabbed a taxi back to the place I’m staying.”

“You’re in ’Sconset, right?” Josh said. “I can take you home. I just finished my shift.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Melanie said. “I’l take a cab.”

“It’s no problem for me to give you a ride,” Josh said. “I even know which house. I was there yesterday to drop off a briefcase.”

“Right,” Melanie said. She eyed her luggage. She was so devoid of energy, she wasn’t sure if she could even get herself to the curb. “I hate to impose.”

“It’s on my way home,” Josh said. He picked up her suitcase. “Please. I insist.”

Melanie fol owed him out to the parking lot, where he threw her luggage in the back of his Jeep. The Jeep had an inch of sand on the floor, and the passenger side was strewn with CDs. Melanie slid into the seat, stacking the CDs in her lap. Dispatch, Offspring, Afroman. She had never even heard of these bands. She felt old enough to be his mother.

“Sorry the car is such a mess,” Josh said. “I didn’t know I’d have female companionship.”

Melanie blushed and straightened the edges of the CDs so that they made a perfect cube. Female companionship? She felt like a hooker. Then she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her straw hat made her look like the Farmer in the Del ; it made her look like Minnie Pearl or some other character from Hee Haw. She took off the hat and set it in her lap as Josh buckled himself in, swiped at the dust on the dashboard, and turned down the radio. He stretched his arm over to Melanie’s seat as he craned his neck to check behind him before backing out. His hand was resting an inch or so above her head. She could smel him. He was very handsome— hot, someone younger would have said—but he was just a child. How old?

she wondered.

“Do you live here?” she asked.

“Born and raised,” he said. “But I go to col ege. Middlebury, in Vermont.”

“Good school,” Melanie said.

“I’l be a senior,” he said.

So that made him around twenty-one, Melanie thought. Maybe twenty-two. Which was how old she’d been when she’d met Peter.

They pul ed onto the major road. Josh’s window was unzipped and air rushed in as they sped toward ’Sconset. Melanie rested her head against the seat and closed her eyes. There was something therapeutic about this ride. I feel okay, Melanie thought. Right this second I feel okay. How can that be?

She turned to face the wind. Josh’s brown hair ruffled up like a rooster’s comb. In her lap, the brim of her hat flapped.

“How do you like your job?” she asked.

“I hate it,” he said.