Read Listed: Volume II for Free Online Page B

before.
    “Not
anymore.” He stood very stiffly with his head lowered, but he didn’t jerk away
this time.
    She
followed the line of another scar, brushing it with her fingertips. Then found
another one, lower, near his waistband, that looked deeper and more jagged than
the rest. His skin was warm and firm, even at the scars. She had no idea why
she felt compelled to touch them—just wished her touch had the power to heal.
“Oh, Paul,” she murmured, “I’m so sorry.”
    She
heard his breath hitch strangely, and he muttered, “Emily, please don’t.” He
took a couple of awkward steps away from her. He opened the refrigerator again
and stared inside, as if he remembered he’d never gotten his bottle of water.
    Emily
gazed at him, bewildered and disoriented. He’d sounded almost bad-tempered with
her, and it hurt her feelings. She made herself think through it rationally,
though, and she realized she’d pushed too hard, forced an emotional intimacy on
him that he wasn’t comfortable with.
    Just
because stroking his scars made her feel like she was somehow helping him
didn’t mean that was what Paul himself would want. She’d gone way beyond the
bounds of their relationship. They didn't pour their hearts out to each other.
They respected each other's privacy, and they didn't make each other
uncomfortable.
    She
had no idea what she was thinking in trying to do all three just now.
    “Sorry,”
she mumbled, “I didn’t mean to pry.”
    He
shook his head, a little jerkily, still staring into the refrigerator. Only his
head and shoulders were visible above the door, so she could no longer see most
of his scars. “Don’t worry about it.”
    “Can
I have a bottle of water?” she asked, since that was her purpose in coming out
here at all.
    He
handed her one without comment. Then told her goodnight. And he was still
standing there staring into the refrigerator when Emily hurried into her room
to hide.
    *
* *
    Things returned to
normal in the morning.
    When
Emily woke up, she lay in bed for a few minutes and reoriented herself.
    Last
night had been a stumble, but it was recoverable. She'd slipped into acting
like she had a normal friendship with Paul, but that just wasn't the case.
There were forced limits on her relationship with him. Those limits were set by
her impending death.
    Their
friendship didn't have a future, so it had to be about keeping each other
company in the present. That didn't mean she couldn’t care about him—she did, a
lot more than she would have imagined she could—but there was no sense in
pushing it deeper. That would be hard, for both of them, and there wasn't any
point to it.
    She
was self-aware enough to know that, if she hadn't been dying, she would have
been in danger of falling head-over-heels in love with Paul. It wasn't just
that he was an incredibly attractive man. He was also funny and intelligent and
generous and more considerate than she'd known him to be. But Emily's life now
was all about moments—experiencing moments, enjoying moments, living moment by
moment. And the nature of love assumed a future.
    She
had no future.
    So,
after assessing her emotional condition, she determined that things were going well
with Paul. She was enjoying his company, and she thought he must be enjoying
hers too, at least to a certain extent. They cared about each other, and the
sacrifices Paul was making for her would be rewarded with the knowledge that
he'd done something incredibly good, something worthwhile.
    That
would matter to him.
    Hopefully,
after she was gone, he could think back on her sometimes as a fond memory of a
girl to whom he'd once given an incredible gift.
    She
emerged from her bedroom, fully dressed and ready to be cheerful and natural.
She wasn't surprised that Paul was already up and dressed himself. They had a
quick, pleasant breakfast in the room, with no hint of the awkwardness of the
previous night, before they went to visit the Empire State Building.
    Paul
had