“We’ve never had a date,” Dillon says.
I stop cold in the doorway to look at him. It’s the sweetest, most romantic thing any boy’s ever done for me. Not that a lot of boys have ever done anything for me. It’s all the more special because of that.
Dillon—or Jean, really, but it doesn’t matter—has made roast chicken. Baked potatoes. Dinner rolls with real butter, corn, and Brussels sprouts. Baby carrots so tender, I want to cry when I bite into them. And soda! I haven’t had cola in so long, the bubbles make me cough.
Then there’s dessert. Chocolate cake with chocolate icing and mint chocolate-chip ice cream with hot fudge and whipped cream. Minutes before he brings them out, I’d have said I couldn’t force myself to eat another bite, but I know I will. No regrets, either, as I finish off a full plate and lick the fork, then my fingers.
I sit back with a sigh. “I’ll need bigger jeans.”
“My mom says you could use some extra meat on your bones.” Dillon’s eaten just as much as I have, and he rubs his belly. “She says it about everyone, though.”
“Dillon. Thank you. This was the best date I’ve ever had.” I mean it.
Dillon smiles. “I wanted you to have something, Velvet. You work so hard, keeping everything together. And I know it’s hard for you. I just wanted you to have something nice.”
There aren’t many teenage boys who’d think of such a thing, much less go through the effort of making the gesture, but Dillon’s not a boy, I think. He’s young, but he’s a man. He doesn’t get to be a boy any more than I get to be a girl. We’re both grown-ups, even if we’re not really adults.
It isn’t so hard right now to imagine myself spending the rest of my life with Dillon.
It is hard, though, to imagine spending the rest of the night. Already the sky’s getting dark, and we did promise Opal we’d be back before dark. Dillon helps me wrap up leftovers, and I don’t even protest. I’m proud, but I’m not that proud. Besides, I know Opal and my mom will love the chocolate cake as much as I did.
I’m full and happy and content as Dillon drives me home, and not even the roadblock ahead can ruin it. The soldiers can, though. This time it’s a woman who motions for Dillon to roll down his window.
He shows his throat at once, but she barks out, “What’s your business here?”
“I’m driving my girlfriend home,” Dillon says.
She looks down the road, which has no other traffic this far out of town. “Where does she live?” She waves a hand. “Never mind. Let me see her throat.”
I open my coat.
She stares at me with narrowed eyes. “Say something.”
“What?” Dillon says.
“Not you.” She points. “Her. What’s your name?”
“Velvet Ellis.” My voice sounds raspy.
This seems to satisfy her, though. She nods sharply, but doesn’t step aside right away. “You know you’re almost breaking curfew, don’t you?”
“It’s only—” I begin, but Dillon answers.
“I thought it was at eight!”
She shakes her head. Her face softens a little. “New curfew in effect. Nightfall. We’ve had some reports of incidents in Lancaster.”
That’s twenty-five miles from here. Yet still close enough, I guess, to worry about. I have to ask. “What kind of incidents?”
“The usual.” Her eyes narrow again. “Nothing for you to worry about. Just move along. And get off the streets.”
As she says this, an ambulance, followed by a police car, both with lights flashing and sirens wailing, speed past us. They don’t stop for the soldiers, who merely wave them past. She looks back at us.
“Remember, curfew starts at nightfall.”
She waves us on.
TWENTY-FOUR
WE’RE QUIET ON THE WAY HOME. WE DON’T pass any other cars on the road, which hasn’t been unusual for months but seems especially chilling now. I’m angry that our date, our first and only one, has been ruined by all of this.
By the time Dillon pulls near my driveway, I’m clenching and unclenching my fists because I can’t do anything else. I resist when he pulls me into his arms, but only for a second or two. Then I’m melting against him.
This isn’t like the times with Tony, when we stayed in his car as long as we could before my mom started to flick the light switch on and off to let us know it was time for me to come in. It’s not even dark now, but it doesn’t matter since there’s nobody to catch us kissing.
“It’s going to be okay, Velvet. It’s all going to be okay.”
I don’t believe him, but it’s nice to hear him say it. “All of this stuff, Dillon. It’s all so…”
“I know.” His fingers twirl around a lock of my hair, not pulling. “You’re going to make it through this, you know. And it’s all going to blow over.”
“The way it did the last time? Look how well that turned out.” I look out the window at my house. There aren’t any lights on inside because I haven’t turned on the generator. “You’d better go. It’s getting dark. You’ll be out after curfew.”
There’s really been no information about what happens to you if you get caught out after curfew, but it would be trouble I don’t want Dillon to get into. He’s done enough for me. For us. It’s not fair to expect him to do more.
“Yeah.” He doesn’t move.
I smile. “Now, Dillon. You don’t want those soldiers stopping you again.”
“They’ll stop me, anyway. It’s a roadblock.”
Both of us fall silent at this, at how it’s awful and yet has become so natural—soldiers on the streets, curfews, power outages, and lately, food shortages. I kiss him again. We haven’t been together long, but it feels more normal than anything else.
A light flashes.
“Gotta go,” I say automatically. “My mom—” I stop and stare at the front door of the house. The porch light’s not on, of course, but there’s definitely a light flashing. On, off. On, off. Just the way my mom used to do it. We both get out of the truck. I reach the door before he does, though Dillon’s right behind me. My mom’s standing inside the storm door, pointing a flashlight out at the driveway. On, off. On, off.
She lowers it when she sees me. She opens the door and holds it for me. I look over my shoulder at Dillon, who’s just staring. He looks amazed and a little sad, and I know he’s thinking about his dad.
“Sorry, Mom.”
She makes a noise that might’ve been a word, but wasn’t quite. It’s enough, though. There were times before all this happened that my mom could yell at me with only her eyes, and she’s doing it now. I giggle, not because it’s funny but because with everything else going on in the world, for my mom to be scolding me for kissing a boy seems just so… normal.
“Night, Mrs. Ellis,” Dillon says politely.
She blinks the light in his face. Then she closes the door on it. She shuffles away into the family room, which is tidier than it was when I left. I hear the clink of metal on wood when she puts down the flashlight.
“Where’d you go?” Opal says. She’s curled up in the armchair, reading a book in the last fading light coming in through the window.
“To Dillon’s house, that’s all. I met his dad. He’s like Mom.”
Opal nods. “Oh. Mama made me some grilled cheese.”
“She did? How? What about the beans?”
Opal points to the fireplace. I see a stoneware bowl with a lid settled in the ashes. “She baked them in that?”
“Sure. They were good, too. I love grilled cheese. Can you get some more cheese the next time you go to the store?”
“We’ll see.” The shortages are mostly with junk food and high-priced stuff like steak and seafood. Luxuries. Stuff I can’t really afford, anyway. “Did you do your homework?”