Influenced by Eva Robinson (love story books to read .TXT) 📕

Twenty-Two

Hannah’s stomach tightened as she watched Rowan smile down at Daniel, a dark curl falling in her eyes. She was barefoot now, and the red strap of her dress had fallen down over her shoulder. She cocked her head, eyes locked on Daniel, and Hannah felt like she’d suddenly blended into the shadows.

“Daniel,” said Rowan. “You have to help me brush up on my French. I’m forgetting everything.”

He flashed her a lopsided smile. “But did you ever really learn it? I don’t remember that.”

She sauntered over to him and lowered herself into his lap, one arm around his shoulders. “Isn’t he the most beautiful man in Cambridge? Shame about the smoking, really.”

“I’m trying to quit. I don’t know what to replace it with.”

“Women,” said Rowan. “Women and more art.”

Hannah’s mouth opened and closed. And here it was—the point where she was forgotten because someone more interesting had entered the picture.

She glanced out toward Fresh Pond, tuning out Daniel and Rowan.

Suddenly the weight of her fatigue was pressing down on her. Maybe it was the champagne, maybe it was the three hours of sleep a night, but her thoughts were growing muddled, words fragmenting in her mind.

And when she closed her eyes, she felt herself floating back in time.

I’d rather die…

Senior year of high school, she’d followed Thomas Holbrook out to the bridge over the Charles. Tom had perfect cheekbones, a shaved head, and a tattoo of a crow on his bicep. He was one of the only people who was nice to her. She told him of her plans to take trains all over the world. In her mind, she’d kind of thought they were dating, despite never having kissed.

They were meant to be together. She knew that more clearly than she knew anything else she’d learned in school. She’d been in love with Tom. He was the one who’d introduced her to Herman Hesse and Kafka, and that had seemed so important at the time.

Then Rowan had shown up. She had the kind of beauty you could just stare at. And as a high school girl, what else was there? Everyone thinks high school girls are silly and dumb. If they’re pretty, then at least they have a bit of a purpose. It means they’re destined for great things.

When Hannah looked back at her own high school pictures, she cringed. Big sweaters, pimples, glasses her dad got for free from a teachers’ union.

It should not have been shocking when Tom asked Rowan to the autumn formal at the Charles Hotel instead of Hannah. Nor should it have been a shock when Rowan dumped him a few months later, and he’d wandered brokenhearted and drunk out onto that bridge, swaying over the frozen river. Girls like Rowan were made to break hearts.

And given that dumpy high school girls are not interesting to anyone, was it really so surprising what happened next? She remembered that night, the sound of ringing in her ears, like a high-pitched screaming that was driving her insane. Banshees in her mind, heralding death.

When Thomas had stood on the edge of that bridge looking lost, and Hannah told him she loved him—

“Hannah?” said Daniel. “You look lost in another world. We were talking about Walden Pond. Do you think Thoreau’s shack is still there?”

“Thoreau was a fraud,” she snapped. “He wasn’t out in the wilderness. He lived on a friend’s property close to the town center, and his mom made him sandwiches and did his laundry every day. And he thought ordinary working people were stupid, I guess because they didn’t have the good sense to have their moms looking after them.” Slowly, the ringing subsided, replaced now by silence.

Daniel and Rowan were both staring at her, and a terrible silence slowly unfolded.

Hannah felt herself snap back into the present, and it took her a few moments to orient herself. She’d broken out into a cold sweat, and her blood was pumping hard.

Time had been so strange for her lately—moments sometimes stretching on for eternities, and other times everything seemed to be sped up, as if hours had passed in just a few minutes. Right now, it seemed only moments ago that she’d been at her house, smashing ants on the floor. Truly a life of quiet desperation, as Thoreau would say. He was right about that, at least.

She kicked off her shoes and pressed her bare feet against the ground, trying to root herself in the solidity of the earth. This was what she did when she needed to get in control again. And they weren’t in high school anymore, were they? The old rules didn’t apply.

“Sorry, I haven’t been sleeping enough,” Hannah added, mentally blocking out the fact that Rowan was still in his lap. “And you know what? His writing is still fantastic, and he was absolutely right about the natural beauty of the pond. ‘The moon traveling over the ribbed bottom, which was strewed with the wrecks of the forest.’ Perfect place for an evening picnic, I think. Maybe the peacefulness of the place would help my mind go quieter.”

“I think it would. I need that, too. I get insomnia,” said Daniel. “I stay up late listening to music.”

“So it would be good for both of us, then.”

He pulled out his phone. “How do I find you online?”

Hannah’s cheeks were warming. “HannahBookAddict on Instagram.”

“Oh, lovely. I will—”

His words were cut off by Rowan resting the side of her head against his, nuzzling him. “It’s so nice to have old friends around.”

Now Daniel’s gaze was on Rowan again, and their faces were so close… His attention was back on Rowan now.

“I was sorry to hear about your friend,” he said. “Arabella. I think I met her once here, no? With her husband?”

Rowan let out a dramatic sigh. “It’s so tragic. I really admired her. She was so clever…”

Both Rowan’s arms were around his neck now, her face close enough to kiss him. Hannah was staring to get the impression that