April & Oliver by Tess Callahan

“What time do you get off?”
    “I’m off.”
    “Hungry?”
    “Listen,” he said. “There are some things you should know. First of all, there hasn’t been anyone since my wife.”
    “Second?”
    He leaned back in his chair, observing her. Under fluorescent light, his scars looked more severe, the type children might
     run from. “She cheated on me.”
    April nodded slowly. “So,” she said. “Pizza?”
    “There’s more,” he said. “You won’t like it.” He shifted in his seat. “I’ve been following you.”
    April pursed her lips. “How long?”
    “Long enough to know you work a lot, don’t go out much, and help your little brother shop for clothes.”
    “He’s color-blind.”
    “He’s crazy about you.”
    She leaned back. “So, why me?”
    “I told you,” he said. “You’re a ghost.”
    April got up and stood behind him. She touched his shoulder, sliding her fingers inside his shirt until she felt the waxiness
     of his collarbone, the ancient, indelible scars. “I think I can prove you wrong,” she said.

    “April.”
    She awakens with a jolt, her head thumping the window behind her. T.J. is standing with one hand on the open driver’s door.
     “Get out.”
    “Huh?” She looks around, confused.
    “God help you if someone sees us. What do you think you’re doing?”
    “I—”
    “They served me the goddamn papers, all right? Right here in front of my boss. I’m lucky I still have a job. And now you’re
     here, what, as a ploy to get me locked up?”
    “I took it back.”
    “What?”
    “I went to the police station this morning and rescinded the order. It’s gone.”
    He shifts his jaw from one side of his mouth to the other, staring. “I see. So we’re pals again, is that it?”
    She looks out the window.
    He gets in and slams the door. He rubs his hand over his mouth. “I’ll drop you off,” he says. “Where you headed?”
    “Forget it,” she says. “I’ll walk.”
    “Not from here,” he says. “Not looking like that. My boss gets one look at those red eyes and he’ll only think one thing.
     Rescinding won’t undo that.”
    “Buddy’s dead,” she says.
    He looks at her. She feels uneasiness in her body, a hollow disequilibrium, because now that she has said it, it must be true.
    He waits a moment. “Your brother?”
    She snaps a stray string off her jacket and winds it tightly around her finger.
    “How? When?”
    She waves a hand, signaling that she doesn’t want to say.
    “Why didn’t you tell me?” he says. “Never mind. That was a stupid question.”
    “I’m sorry about the protection order.” She wipes her nose. “I got carried away.”
    He bristles. “Well, maybe I did, too. But if you would’ve just been straight with me . . .”
    “I told you, T.J., there’s nothing to be straight about. I was at a Knicks game with my cousin, we went out for a drink afterward,
     end of story.”
    “Right. You and Mr. Sportswriter. And don’t call him your cousin. You’re not related.”
    “I’m not getting into this again.”
    She starts to open her door, but he reaches across and holds it closed. “Why are you here?”
    “I just want everything back the way it was. I want all this to go away.”
    He looks doubtfully across the empty parking lot. “I know what it’s like to bury someone, April, and it don’t happen that
     way.”
    “Just come home,” she says, “and we’ll figure everything out from there.”
    “It doesn’t change things just because you took back some papers. I’m sorry about Buddy, I really am. But I got to tell you,
     April, I’d still like to tear your heart out. You’ll have to give me some time on that one.”
    Before he can take his next breath, April kisses him, sinking her fingers into his neck and pulling him over to her side of
     the cab. “Go ahead,” she says. “Tear it out.” She smells the familiar scent of his skin, Marlboro and motor oil, like the
     first smoldering of an electrical