The Day I Wore Purple

3.2 The Vaccine

The club was dead by 2 AM. Chris was passed out in the corner booth, his cheek pressed against a napkin filled with new slogan ideas. Sam crashed on the armrest of the couch and Jon used his outer thigh as a pillow. Hannah smiled at the scene, took a picture with her phone, then cuddled deeper into the leather lounge.

Gavin helped Aimee dry the dishes and organize the liquor.

"Thanks for the help tonight, bebé," she said.

"Anytime, Aim."

Across the room, Hannah peeled herself from the chair, ran a hand through her midnight hair, and tottered to the couch to kiss Jon on the forehead. She noticed Gavin and Aimee watching and raised her hand goodbye.

"Think she's okay to drive?" Gav asked.

"Wouldn't count on it," Aimee replied.

Hannah was sitting in her Civic and staring at the steering wheel when Gavin found her. He tapped the window and she rolled it down.

"Feeling okay?" he asked.

"I dunno if I should drive."

"That means you shouldn't." He pulled a handful of change from the pocket of his blazer and dropped four quarters into the meter. "Wanna walk it off?"

* * *

The night was alive everywhere but the beach. Skyline windows sparkled gold and silver like confetti for the T4 celebration.

Hannah's navy halter billowed in the breeze as the deep V and open back flaunted patches of fresh goosebumps. Gavin offered his blazer. She accepted, drawing it over her shoulders like a 40's Hollywood starlet. She checked her phone for the hundredth time.

"I'm sure your dad is fine, hon," Gavin said.

She nodded, then stowed her phone in her purse. Her gaze returned to the helicopters. "I've been taking care of him for the last year. I make sure he eats right. I take him to the doctor for checkups. I crush his meds and hide them in his food. Now it's going to be... different."

"This happens to everyone at our age. You love your family and you want to take care of them, but at the same time you need to break away and start your own life."

Hannah's path wavered along the Lake Michigan shore. "You're right. And I feel horrible for leeching off him."

"You're an artist. If you don't leech, you die." Gavin stopped to remove his shoes and socks, then wiggled his toes in the cool sand. (If Gavin was Jon, Hannah may have removed her shoes too. They may have dashed side by side along the shore, dodging waves and splashing each other.)

Hannah unsnapped her purse and tore a sheet from her notebook. She creased the page along the short edge, ran her tongue along the fold, then gently tore it apart to form a perfect square. Her next sentence came out of nowhere and stopped Gavin's heart. "You stole my phone."

He couldn't respond.

"At Aimee's. You stole my phone."

She could see everything. "How... how'd you know?"

"I didn't... 'til now." She grinned. "But I had my suspicions when you ran to the bathroom."

"I'm sorry, Hannah."

"You saw the email?"

"I'm so sorry—"

"Quit apologizing. I forgive you."

Gavin tried to form a cohesive explanation for his sin, but Hannah's forgiveness was swift and he lost the impulse to make excuses.

"So," she said, "you know about my decision."