All We Know of Love Read online

  They look better on you, she told me.

  “Thanks.” He sits. “What are you reading?” He points to the ridiculously thick book of poems. I must look like a nerd.

  “Oh, I’m not. Someone gave it to me.”

  “She’s depressing,” he tells me, and for a second I think he is talking about my mother.

  “Who?”

  He laughs. “Emily Dickinson.”

  “Oh.” I laugh, too, and nod.

  “Are you meeting someone?” he asks me.

  “Yeah, my dad. My dad is supposed to pick me up. But he can’t get here in the snow.” This boy’s face is so familiar. When he talks, when I hear his voice, I think I almost remember. Then a rush of thoughts and feelings flood my mind. There have been so many faces in these few days, all garbled, and so many stories and connections.

  About love?

  What about it?

  “You don’t remember me, do you?” the boy asks me.

  “Oh.” I am beginning to remember. When he laughs, his eyes narrow into smiling half moons.

  “You came to the newsstand where I work. You were there to catch a bus, remember now?”

  He is wearing a rope necklace, with a single white shell that sits directly in that spot, settling against the skin of his neck. And it all comes back to me.

  “So how was North Dakota?” he asks me.

  “I’m Natalie,” I say, and I break into a wide smile, as the world outside sits under a heavy blanket. Unable to move, it waits.

  “I’m Ethan. You were going to, but you never did buy anything that day,” he says.

  “What do you mean?”

  “To eat. At the newsstand in Stamford. About four days ago, right? You must be hungry.”

  “Oh, yeah, very funny. Right, I remember. I’m sorry. Ethan? Wow, this is really wild, isn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “Your being here. Tonight. In this airport. Now, of all nights. And me being here.”

  “Maybe not,” he says.

  For some reason, I think I know exactly what he means by that, but I don’t say anything. There is no need to hurry.

  One man has decided to take a nap on the luggage conveyor belt. A couple crouched in the corner are resting their heads on each other and using their suitcases as stools. The television set is still broadcasting the local weather report, as if it is world news.

  “So seriously, can I get you something to eat? Or drink?”

  “Sure,” I say. “But I think I have to tell you something first.”

  “Shoot.”

  “I didn’t go North Dakota,” I begin. “I never was.”

  “I knew that,” he says.

  “You did?”

  He nods, still smiling. “You were just messing with me. It’s cool.”

  “Wanna know where I really went?” I say. “It’s a crazy story.”

  I used to think that a person would not know who I was, not really know me, until they heard about my mother. Until they knew that I was a girl whose mother had chosen to leave her, had not wanted her. Whose mother walked out the door one night and never came back.

  Once upon a time, there was a little girl . . .

  “Will this story take a long time?” Ethan asks me.

  “I think it might.”

  “Then, definitely. Yes, tell me,” he says. “I think we have plenty of time. You hungry or something? Do you want a soda, or Snapple?”

  “Yeah, I kinda am,” I say.

  We both get up and start walking together, until we are standing in front of the tall display of cold drinks. And he is reaching for his wallet.

  We have plenty of time. I wonder if he is only referring to the snowstorm, like in one of those movies where mountain travelers are trapped in a cabin with lots of time to talk. Or something else.

  Ethan lets his hand drop to his side, next to mine. But he doesn’t touch me. He isn’t like that. He would be slower than that. He is the kind of guy who would ask first. I can tell. We buy two bottles of water and decide to share some cookies.

  “So will it be a true story this time?” He turns and looks right at me.

  “Definitely,” I answer.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2008 by Nora Raleigh Baskin

  Cover photograph copyright © 2012 by Ocean/Corbis

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.

  First electronic edition 2013

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

  Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 2007022396

  ISBN 978-0-7636-3623-4 (hardcover)

  ISBN 978-0-7636-6650-7 (paperback)

  ISBN 978-0-7636-6686-6 (electronic)

  Candlewick Press

  99 Dover Street

  Somerville, Massachusetts 02144

  visit us at www.candlewick.com