Heartsick by Caitlin Sinead Page A

pull us over, I’m making a run for it,” I say. He laughs his lumberjack laugh.
    I sift through the delicate pink wrapping. “Where did you get this, the Girls’ Shop for Women and All Things Feminine and Ladylike?”
    He emits another hearty laugh. “Pretty much. I don’t know, I just saw it and thought, what the hell.”
    Nestled inside the paper is a palette pendant on a delicate chain. The palette isn’t just silver either, it has bulbous colors for each of the paints. It’s basically hideous. Though mercifully small.
    I don’t lie. Not even a tad. I look at him warmly. He shifts his eyes back and forth from the road to me via the rearview mirror. He’s holding his breath.
    “That was really sweet of you,” I say. See, no lies. “I’m going to wear it right now.” Also not a lie. I unclasp it, moving my hair aside, and clasp it again, removing my other necklace that my mom got me from Tiffany’s. Tiffany will have to wait. And I guess if Luke and I ever have breakfast, it would be outside the Girls’ Shop for Women and All Things Feminine and Ladylike.
    I pull the palette away from my chest and smile. He breathes out.

Chapter Ten
    We only get lost once during apple picking, when we trail off, my basket swinging by my hand, into the woods. Okay, we weren’t really lost.
    He grabs the basket and plops it down, a few apples bobbing out.
    “Hey,” I say. “They’ll get dirty.”
    He leans over me, one hand on my hip, the other on a tree branch. “They’re already dirty.”
    My hand grasps his shoulder and he squeezes me, gently, into the tree as we kiss. Despite a few more similar distractions, we rustle up two bags of apples and head to his house. And by
his
house, I mean the farmhouse he shares with his sisters.
    It’s sad to see his sister, Ginger, but both Luke and Rachel had given me a heads up about what to expect. Ginger can still walk most days. But it’s slow, strategic. She can do some things for herself, like brushing teeth and eating, but it’s getting worse.
    Despite this being the first time I’ve met her, she makes the effort to give me a hug. A slow one. It seems difficult for her to raise her arms and encircle me, but she manages.
    We sit outside at a picnic table, the night air around us. Ginger bows her head and slowly brings her hands together. Luke and Rachel do the same, so I follow. I may have been raised by agnostics who decided to stop taking me to church when I was six, but they taught me how to be a polite dinner guest.
    “Thank you, God, for this meal. And thank you for our friends,” Ginger says, eyeing me. I tense. I don’t think anyone has ever thanked God for me. Luke squeezes my knee under the table; my muscles relax. Amen.
    Dinner is delicious. The burger is probably one of the best of my life, juicy and with ketchup and these brilliant tomatoes that Ginger grows in their garden. On good days she can still garden. We also have a special pumpkin microbrew that Luke and Rachel got from Charlottesville, which tastes even better with a dash of cinnamon. The smoke from the grill makes my eyes a little itchy, but otherwise it’s just heaven sitting outside. We’re surrounded by the red and brown leaves as their four golden retrievers swarm around us, taking turns pushing their furry foreheads into Luke’s waiting palms. We drink in the pumpkin-y goodness and talk about everything from the quirky woman who runs Allan’s Antiques to the way the mayor always ensures there is a large, hideous fruitcake at the annual Christmas party at the town hall. Then we drift into talking about our fall recital and my senior solo. It’s tomorrow night.
    “Are you nervous?” Ginger asks.
    “Only a little. Rachel’s been a great help,” I say.
    Luke chimes in, cracking his knuckles, “Yeah, she learned everything she knows about modern dance from me.”
    “I’m sure,” I say.
    Rachel buries her laughs in her hand.
    “What?” Luke asks. “Is there something about me