I don’t saying anything else and drive in the direction of our spot, a secluded area in the middle of the trees beside the lake. By the time we get there it’s past midnight and Ella’s drifting off to sleep. I park the car not too far away from the water, and then silence the engine but leave the headlights on.

Ella blinks and sits up, quiet for a while as she stares out at the water. Finally she reaches her arm across the console and turns the key back over, so the battery turns on. Then she picks up the iPod from the dashboard and turns on some Spill Canvas, before getting out of the car. She treads up to the shore, stopping just before she arrives at the water, then crosses her arms and looks up at the stars, her hair blowing in the light summer breeze.

I climb out of the car and cautiously walk up to the side of her. The moonlight reflects in her eyes as she bites on her bottom lip, refusing to look at me. I consider saying sorry for kissing her, but it’d be a lie and I hate fucking lying to her.

“My mom had one of her episodes today,” she says quietly, breaking the silence as she hugs herself. “She was looking for a picture of when we all went to the beach, even though we never have. I spent all day looking for it, even though I knew I’d never find it and finally I had to just lie to her and tell her I think I lost the photo, so she’d let it go.” She closes her eyes and breathes in deep. “And I was so glad when she finally fell asleep… so fucking relieved. I’m the worst daughter in the world.”

“No, you’re not.” I sweep her hair off her shoulder and she stiffens when my fingers brush against the back of her neck. “You’re a hell of a lot better than most daughters.”

She shakes her head as she swallows hard. “No, I’m not. I get so tired of it… all of it. Sometimes I just want it to all stop.” She pauses, catching her breath.

I rack my brain for something to say to her that’ll make her feel better, but I’m not sure it’s words I’m looking for. So I back away from her and she doesn’t look at me, her eyes fixed ahead. When I reach the car, I open the door and lean inside to get the iPod. Then I shuffle through the songs until I stumble onto one of the slower, softer classics and then I crank up the volume and hike down toward her again.

She looks over her shoulder at me as the music floods the forest around us. I stick out my hand, letting her know what I want to do, because we’ve done it before and I’m sure we’ll do it again. She stares at my hand undecidedly before she guardedly moves over to me, her expression impartial.

“You’re such an old man with your music sometimes,” she says, stopping just out of my reach, her arms still folded over her chest.

I keep my hand extended to her and force a grin, even though I’m a little nervous. “Hey, ‘Girl from the North Country’ is a classic. And it’s got Johnny Cash and Bob Dylan.”

“It’s old-man music.” Her tone is tinged with humor. “Because inside, you’re an old man.”

“Then that would make you an old lady for hanging out with me.”

She rolls her tongue, restraining a smile. I grab hold of her hand and jerk on her arm, tugging her against me and her laughter slips through. The sound breaks the tension between us and I know I’m off the hook for now.

I twirl her around a few times and she laughs even harder, her hair falling in her face as she stumbles to keep up with me. I continue to twirl her until I know she’s dizzy, like when we were kids and we’d hang out in my backyard, spinning in circles.

“Micha, please stop,” she begs, laughing and stumbling over her feet. “I can’t see straight.”

I stop and she crashes against me. She clutches on to my shoulders, holding on to me for support as I slip my arms around her and rock us to the rhythm, supporting her weight. My palm makes a path down her back, stopping when I near her ass, knowing I can’t push things any further, at least not tonight.

She relaxes her head against my chest and I breathe in the vanilla scent of her hair. “You’re too nice to me sometimes,” she says. “In fact, you spoil me. You should really stop.”

I leave one hand on her back and move the other to her head and hold her against me. “You deserve to be spoiled,” I say, because no one else will except for me. No one’s ever made her feel special, given her birthday presents, taken her to places, and I’m pretty sure neither her mother nor father have told her they love her. That became my job the moment I got her to climb over the fence.

“Feeling better?” I ask her, kissing the top of her head.

“I am,” she says, her hands sliding up my shoulders and hitching around the back of my neck. “But Micha?”

I try to remain calm, but it’s difficult when she’s touching me like this. “Yeah.”

“If you ever kiss me on the lips again without permission,” she says, “I’ll kick you in the balls.”

I snort a laugh. “Okay, sounds fair.”

She pinches the back of my neck and another laugh escapes me. “I’m being serious.”

“I know you are.” And I’m sure she’s telling the truth but I’m just relieved she’s letting it go.

She doesn’t say anything else and I hold on to her until the song finishes. The next song turns on and we keep dancing, not stopping until five more songs have played through. I pull back only when I feel her weight lean heavy against me, like she’s falling asleep. When I look down at her, her eyes are shut and her grip on me is loosening.

“We should probably get you home,” I say, brushing her hair back from her forehead.

She shakes her head with her eyes shut. “I don’t want to go home.”

“Then where do you want to go?” I ask. “Back to my house?”

She yawns. “Can’t we just stay here?”

I stand there while she starts to drift off to sleep in my arms. Finally, I lean her back, slip my arms underneath her legs, and pick her up. She’s too tired to argue with me and instead nestles against me as I carry her back to the car. Then I maneuver the door open and lower us both into the driver’s seat.

“Do you want to get in the backseat?” I ask, sitting her up so I can get my legs in and then shut the door.

She shakes her head. “I just want to sleep right here.”

There’s limited space, but in the end it doesn’t matter how much room there is because she’s in my arms and she wants to be there. So holding onto her, I recline the chair back and lie down. She shifts her weight, so she’s to the side of me, our legs entangled as she rests her head on my chest. As the music continues to play, we drift off to sleep together.

Present day…

Ella

When I open my eyes to daylight, Micha’s already awake, with my mom’s journal on his lap with the photo of her beside his leg. He’s leaning against the headboard with his boxers on and he’s shirtless so I can see his lean muscles and wisps of his hair dangling across his forehead. There’s an intense look on his face as he reads the pages but when I move to sit up, my head and cheek pulsating in protest, he closes the journal, the intensity shifting to ease.

“Anything good in there?” I ask, clutching the blanket over my bare chest.

He shrugs, but by his frown I can tell he hasn’t found anything that’s happy. He tucks the photo into the journal, marking the page before he puts it aside, and then reaches over to stroke my puffy, tender cheekbone. “We should have put some ice on that last night,” he says. “Seriously, Ella, it looks like it hurts like hell.”

I place my hand over his. “It does hurt like hell.”

“Do you want to tell me how it really happened?” he asks, and when I tense he adds, “I know when you’re lying, Ella May, so don’t try to tell me some girl hit you because I could tell last night that you were full of shit.”

“Then why didn’t you call me out on it?”