Page 41 of Fragments of the Lost
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Valentine’s Day. Caleb wanted to take me to the beach. He said restaurants were overrated, and besides, everyone else would be doing that. Everything, according to Caleb, would be crowded and expensive and lame. And anyway, we could trace our beginning to the beach. That first picture on his wall. The moment he knew.
It counted for more, he said. It had meaning.
It fell on a weekend, and he picked me up at three, and we drove out to the beach, which was vast and abandoned—a cold beige, a deep blue. For as far as we could see, it was empty, and it was ours.
The wind whipped up off the water, and he took my hand, wrapped an arm around me on second thought.
But here’s the thing about the beach in winter: the sand scratches at your ankles in the wind, and it’s somehow more intimidating. It roars, cold saltwater spray stinging my eyes so tears formed at the corners.
“This is the least romantic thing ever. I was so wrong,” he said, laughing. He pulled me closer, and I buried my face in his chest.
“It’s terrible.”
“The worst.” I heard the words through his chest, alongside the howling wind.
I bent down, my fingers digging into the sand. “Here, have a shell. There was once a living creature inside it, but now it’s probably dead.”
“You shouldn’t have. Truly.” He held it to his face. “I will treasure this always. Just as soon as I get the stench of dead marine life out of it.”
He tipped my head up, and I wrinkled my nose. “I think there’s sand in my shoes.”
He smiled, his eyes shifting to the violent ocean behind us. “I thought candlelit dinners were cliché and lame, but I’m beginning to see the error of my ways.”
“All I want is heat,” I said, clinging to the front of his jacket dramatically.
“That can be arranged.”
“Not at your house.”
“Not at my house,” he agreed.
“And not at my house,” I said.
He seemed to think for a moment, two, and then said,“Okay.”
Ten minutes later we pulled up in front of the county library. “Um,” I said.
“Just trust me,” he said. He took my hand in the nearly empty parking lot, and made a big show of pressing the automatic door button, gesturing for me to enter.
The hallway outside the library entrance was quiet and lined with posters made by children. There was a display of flowers, and hearts from the children’s craft hour in alternating bursts of pink and red. Through the double doors of the library itself, a woman briefly looked up and smiled, then went back to her book.
“It’s empty,” I whispered.
“It is Valentine’s Day,” he said.
We walked the stacks, his arm around me, taking in the warmth and the quiet, like we were strolling the beach. He led me through the fiction aisles, to the row of computers, hidden away in cubbies. “Come on,” he said, tugging my hand and leading us toward the periodical desk. It was empty, and there were a few single cubbies for working scattered around the perimeter.
“My favorite desk,” he whispered, leading me toward the cubby pressed against the window. He quickly looked over his shoulder before opening the bottom cabinet. Inside was the computer tower, humming. But there was a shelf above it, with a separate drawer. Caleb opened the drawer, reaching deep into the dark, and pulled out a handful of candy, the wrappers echoing in the silence.
“This is yours?” I asked.
He smiled. “They give me a hard time about bringing food in. But you know how I am about food. So I keep some reserves on hand, just in case.” He patted the top of the desk, and I hopped onto the surface. He unwrapped a candy, offered it to me.
“They never find it?” I asked.
“Nope,” he said. “I’ve been using this desk for a year. Nobody checks the drawers.” I peered inside the open drawer. There was also a pen inside, and what looked like his math homework, half-completed. “Promise you won’t tell,” he whispered.
