Read While He Was Away for Free Online Page B

think he needed to get something from the store? I mean, he went through his duffel again yesterday, right?” I scrub furiously. Did Justine do this? Did she clean when she got scared?
    “I checked the list again this morning.” Bonnie is pacing the kitchen. “He’s got everything. I don’t know why he took off. But he promised he’d be right back, Penna. ‘Soon,’ he said. So why don’t you just wait for him? Sit down. I’ll make you a cup of coffee. I’d love to talk for a minute.” Her voice falters, and then she continues. “I think—I don’t know for sure, but I think…do you think David is having any last-minute regrets? I’m concerned.”
    I sweep a pile of crumbs into my palm. Once, when he called me from OSUT, something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. He was barely holding back tears, I could tell. I wonder if Bonnie ever got a call like that.
    “Why, Penna!” Bonnie exclaims.
    I look up from the solidified splotch of lasagna sauce, dreading what’s next. Bonnie must have just realized what nobody else has. She must have realized what I haven’t let myself think about too much, or even say. She must have realized that something has happened—is happening—to David, something I don’t understand.
    But then I see Bonnie’s sweet, crooked smile—an expression that David has claimed for his own. Her expression is amused and puzzled. She has grabbed on to some kind of distraction.
    “Did you streak your hair blue?”
    I touch my hair and the stiff blue paint there. I have to smile too, remembering the best part of last night.
    It hits me then. The viaduct.
    I fold the rag and drape it over the kitchen faucet.
    “I’ll be back,” I tell Bonnie and tear from the house.
    •••
     
    Luckily the O’Dells live near the center of town too. I zip right over to the viaduct.
    But David’s not there. Nobody’s there but our painted selves, the six-foot-tall killdeer, and, of all people, Ravi, who’s practicing tricks on his skateboard. He’s wearing that same gray sweatshirt. Maybe this is how he winds down after the night shift. When he sees me, he jumps off his board and propels it into his hands. If Ravi thinks I’m staying, I realize, he will hightail it out of here before I’m able to ask what I need to ask. So I keep my distance, circling on my bike at the viaduct’s opening.
    “Seen David?” My words come in a rush.
    Ravi shakes his head.
    “He wasn’t here earlier?”
    “No.”
    “You’re sure?”
    A stormy expression flickers across Ravi’s face—he has dramatic features: high cheekbones and forehead, a strong jaw. “Do you want to ask me again? I could lie.”
    Ravi’s voice is deeper than David’s, and he speaks more deliberately, like he’s putting together a puzzle. He talks the way I’ve heard other people talk when English isn’t their first language. There’s a kind of music in his voice that comes with this, a kind of care.
    But I want to hear David’s voice. I want to hear David say my name.
    “I’m not asking you to lie. I’m just—”
    I’m just what? Just who ? I hardly recognize myself, the way I feel, so panicked.
    “He’s leaving for Iraq today.”
    The words burst from me, fierce and defensive. Ravi looks surprised, and his expression holds something else too—fear? guilt?—but before he can respond, I turn my bike and head off. Ravi’s skateboard clatters as it hits the ground again. The board’s wheels grind against the concrete, and then there’s a gap in the sound as Ravi gets some air. He lands again. I’ve put nearly a block between us. Now I glance back. Ravi’s banking up the side of the viaduct and swooping back down. Kind of like David liked– likes, will like —to do. The way David did only a few hours ago, running up that wall and flipping off it, always a daredevil. Always, always lucky.
    I fly down Main Street. There, finally, I spot David’s motorcycle, parked in front of a cinder-block building. Tattoo You,