“You could probably do something like this,” Kim said. Franklin had been gesturing a little wildly, and she was still looking at his hands, at his long tan fingers and the swirls of blond hairs on his wrists. “You could be an artist like this guy. I could see that.”
“But I’m not mechanical. You have to be a craftsman to do this stuff.”
“I don’t think you have any idea if you’re mechanical or not. Anyway, being mechanical isn’t the rare talent. The rare talent is having a weird soul and also not being lazy and also being able to concentrate. That’s the combination.”
“It’s not polite to call people weird. It’s not polite to talk about people’s souls like that.”
“These days it’s not polite to call people normal, either. They get just as offended.”
Franklin looked at her appreciatively, ticking his head to the side like a dog. “I like you. I guess you already know that. I don’t like many people and I like you a lot. Not that everyone’s wishing I would like them or anything. And it’s not just because you’re pretty. I saw a study that said that good-looking people are 30 percent more liked by others, or 30 percent more people like them. But that’s not why. That’s not what made me want to plan this day.”
He kept looking at her, pleased, like someone surprised not to be disappointed. The wind gathered steam, bringing a dull roar up from the trees in the hollow. Kim wanted to say she liked Franklin too, because it was true, but she stayed quiet. She felt the sun, soft but heavy, tightening the nape of her neck, but deep inside her there was another warmth, unwelcome: the sneaking perk of desire. She didn’t want it, but there it was, tiny and unmistakable, shameless in its way, sure of itself. Kim’s hands were clasped behind her back, her fingers all squeezing each other. She felt ridiculous. Franklin hadn’t even been flirting with her — not really — he’d just made an honest declaration of affection. He hadn’t made a move to touch her. This nonsense was all on her side. It was her problem. It really was ridiculous. Was she this unhappy? Was this all it took? He was a teenager. He was a gawky kid. She could hear the correct and responsible words in her head. They had to go back home now. That’s what she needed to say. She wouldn’t even have to give an explanation. She could just say they needed to start heading back and Franklin would have to do what she wanted. But she knew she wasn’t going to say it.
He kept gazing at her, his arms crossed, his honey-colored stubble shimmering in the light, until he saw that she wasn’t going to say anything. He gave one inscrutable nod and started walking back toward the dumpy split-level, weaving without hurry through the glinting sheds, reaching out as he passed each one to graze the baking tin with his fingertips.
***
This time they got onto a straight two-lane country road and worked up some speed, the townships petering into homely grain country, pockets of darkly shaded woods here and there. Kim watched Franklin guide the car, navigating through the minutes of his life. His existence was luxurious and vexing, and he was probably doing fine with it. The clock on the radio of the Audi was broken, reading 9:13. More clouds had piled up, ragged and low like rocky hills, the sky like something you could march up into if you had the energy.
Franklin took his foot off the gas and let the car coast. There wasn’t a park or even a kept glade in sight; the land had grown less tended. There were no cross streets, no signs. At a wide spot in the road, Franklin veered over and stopped the car. He seemed relieved.
“Thought I forgot where it was for a minute,” he said. “My memory is terrible these days. My teachers say it’s early-onset senioritis.”
“I’ve always wished my memory could be spottier,” Kim answered.
Franklin waited a moment, but Kim didn’t elaborate. He opened his door and stepped out. Kim turned in her seat and watched him pull a blanket out of the trunk, the bin of fruit from the back seat. He stepped around and opened her door, proffering his hand.
She followed him down an overgrown trail that seemed to materialize in front of him as he went. The Audi disappeared behind them. There was only the dry leaning grass, hip-high to Kim, and the faded, half-cloudy sky. Franklin kept sweeping swaths of grass back out of the way with his free arm, holding them bent as Kim kept up with him in her flip-flops. They were heading toward a giant tree with very dark leaves, and when they reached its shade there was a break of clear ground. It was cool under the boughs. Franklin spread the blanket and set the bin down. He took off his shoes and socks and reclined flat on his back. Kim joined him, also on her back, on the other edge of the blanket but still in arm’s reach. She kicked her flip-flops off and stretched her legs out, aware of the flattering arch of her torso.
Franklin was the first to speak. He asked Kim if she’d ever been engaged, his voice sounding a little grave. Kim brushed her hair out of her eyes. She told him she’d been engaged for a while, and that now she wasn’t. She was looking straight up, but could sense Franklin nodding, contemplating what she’d said.
“I got proposed to last summer,” he told her.
“Proposed to for marriage?” Kim said. She had no idea whether to take him seriously. It didn’t seem like he was being cute, looking for a laugh.
“What happened was we went to a cornbread festival in Tennessee and we drove down in her Volkswagen Bug. At the festival, she entered a raffle and the prize was a scooter. She was the type that enters any raffle she comes across. And this time she wins. They call her name while we’re standing there eating free samples of honey. We get back over to the raffle place and they’re like, ‘Here’s your scooter, miss.’ Just like that. She signed some paper and they’re like, ‘Y’all enjoy the parade.’ One problem, though. We get out to the parking lot and the scooter wouldn’t fit in the car, in the Volkswagen, so I offered to drive it back to Chicago. I said we could take the back roads. I’d just follow behind the car.”
“That was a sweet offer to make,” said Kim.
“She was of the same opinion. She thought that was a pretty touching gesture. Right on the spot she bought me a ring from a booth at the festival, with a big orange stone, and asked me to marry her. I couldn’t believe it. We ran around the whole night kissing each other’s hands, and then we managed to get some wine and we watched movies all night right in her car and slept in there. We were still holding hands while we were sleeping. We just drove down off the road by a little stream. Well, as you could probably guess, the next day we thought better of the whole thing. We were both embarrassed. It felt like a stunt or something. It made us feel like silly young people who wish they were older. It was her fault, really. She’s the one who asked. We fizzled out after that trip. We saw each other maybe one more time.”
Kim rested her hands on her stomach. She had an image of the orange engagement ring in her mind. “So you didn’t end up driving the scooter back or you did?”
“No, I did. I meant the offer when I made it. It was fun, too. The weather was gorgeous, pretty much like today.”
Franklin turned toward her, propping himself on his elbow. He pulled the bin of fruit in between them. Kim stayed on her back but she found the bin with her hand and ate one strawberry and then another. She tossed the stems behind her, into the weeds, and it was like throwing something overboard. The juice was staining her fingertips. She had a feeling like she didn’t want to be let back into the fold. She didn’t know where she wanted to be, but the fold had nothing to offer her. She could feel conviction in herself, or perhaps the complete lack of it.