Sitting on the porch of the washeteria, Emily surveyed the bleak, bladeless yard of the L-shaped building before her. At the bend of the old motel, Jake's barbeque grill stood out like a black beetle in the otherwise pale and vacant lot. She began remembering their last conversation, the one that had driven him away, and solemnly wondered what apology she could make.

Jake's lanky frame had been at the low-lying remains of what had once been a dresser cabinet. He had swept his long hair, still damp, into a ponytail before the trouble began. There had been two grocery bags on the dresser, next to the hash box and litter of other paraphernalia. Neither one of them knew exactly why their pent-up tension had raised its ugly head. She guessed that it was the same for him as it was for her: This was a strange relationship they had, where frustrations, unvoiced, had lead to anger in both of them over the years. This frustration over their relationship had become a source of contention that had never quite disappeared, even as his role as a surrogate-brother had become easier for them to stand.

It was always awkward being in his room. She didn't venture there much for this reason. That day, though, Jake had told her to come over to talk about, among other things, the uncle. He was already thinking of the possibility of Bryan stepping in to lend a hand. Plus, he had bought them some food.

After they had eaten, Emily decided she wanted him to sit by her on the pull-out sofa-bed. She didn't quite know what possessed her to make the innuendos that spilled out of her mouth. She began by making a joke about her being in his bed. Her words were just devious enough to make him uncomfortable. Jake pretended to ignore her. Her answer was to persist in teasing him, edging up the ante by making the sexual connotation more obvious. Flustered, he tried to busy himself with putting the leftovers in the dilapidated corner refrigerator.

At this, Emily pinched roughly at the bridge of her nose, her fingers going into the inner edge of the sockets. A startling anger pulsated inside, and its unleashing seemed imminent. Her head began to tremble as she looked at Jake, his back to her, dismissing her.

'Go ahead and ignore me. You know, you could just say, 'Don't kid me about that' instead of just pissing me off,'� she said quietly but fiercely.

For an instant Jake's chest seemed devoid of air as he stood there turned away from her. He consciously slowed himself as he swiveled around to face her. Long ago he had learned how to stifle those urges for her. He'd been lonely; he'd been isolated; and yes, they shared an unusual connection. He was going to be damned, however, if he desecrated a teenage girl. Not literally, of course'but he sure as hell didn't want it on his conscience.

'Okay then,'� he said, 'Don't kid me about you and me being like that.'�
'Fuck you,'� Emily said. She jumped up so fast that she knocked over the pile of splotchy, dark-green sofa cushions.
'A lot of good it would have done to mess with you like that! I've had my share of a shitty time with this whole decision but I know it was the right one.'�
'You admit it, then? You admit that--that you felt something for me?'� she stammered.
'Yeah, I do.'�
'Do you know how much that hurts me?'�
'I think I do. You let me know how much when you'�--he faltered, barely able to took at her--'let that creep take it from you.'�
Emily's whole body was quaking even before she answered:
'But you rejected me!'� she shrieked.
'And that was your answer? To give yourself away like that, in anger?'�
Emily looked at him, hot-headed and dumbfounded.
'You did get me back in your little trite way. Except'when you did that, I made up my mind for damn sure to never lay a hand on you.'�

Choking with rage and hurt, Emily had stood there for one red-faced, startled moment before she fled. Jake had left her a note the next morning, explaining that a brief trip would give them both some needed space.

. . .

She shuddered and became aware of her surroundings again. The Corona at her side was growing warm. The odd humidity was still present. It was not yet 9 a.m.
She was beginning to deal with the strangeness of finally waking up, out of her long night and from the short-lived fog of the alcohol. She was thankful she had stopped herself from drinking into an early morning oblivion. She felt ill, but somehow with a new clarity.

Across the barren yard a motorcycle suddenly rattled into view. For a split second Jake was unaware of her, intent as he was on getting to his door. As he dismounted and began to loosen his pack, Emily started, drawing his intense eyes to her. He practically broke out into a run.

Defensively, she doubled over, her nose at her knees, clasping her small hands together at her forehead. It looked as if she expected some sort of impact but in reality she did this out of embarrassment. She heard the scuffle of gravel next to her feet and felt his large hand rest warmly on the back of her neck. 'Baby girl,'� he said. She could not help but to look at him.

Jake crouched next to her, his face very close to hers. He moved his right hand down around her waist. Gently, continuing to hold onto her, he pulled her to her feet.
They were quiet as they made their way across the yard, scratching up small whiffs of dust as they went.

His fingers had dug firmly into her waist only one other time. In fact, with only one sinewy arm he had propelled her right off of the ground. At fourteen, he'd caught her drunk. Roaring her away from the drowsy kids on the creek bank, he had fumed as much as Ava had at her incessant giggling. Now he was looking down at her in somewhat the same way'but without a trace of anger and with more respect.

She took in his familiar face and realized the time apart from her had returned her to his good graces. Relieved, but shaking, she let him guide her to his apartment. The ragged curtain was open just enough to offer a sliver of the apartment inside. She turned her head sharply away from the window and realized that the sky was not yet unbearably bright. In fact, small clusters of clouds with bruised underbellies were coming together over their heads. Jake made no motion to open the door.

'Do you want to get some breakfast?'� he asked.

He was looking at the dark smear of shadows under her eyes. He needed to tell her that he was sorry for his lapse in maturity---for snapping at her and running off. He needed to assure her that he would continue to do what he thought best for her: He had convinced the uncle to come out and help them sort out the mess. Emily stood clumsily by him, trying not to think of the fateful sofa-bed looming a walls width away. She felt vividly that she must ask for his forgiveness---even though she could see it in his face.

'Breakfast, then?'� He offered again, trying to read her. She nodded silently, still unable to speak.

Jake took a moment to unload his pack from the cycle and with a singular motion unlocked and pushed open the door, tossing the pack inside. As the door to the apartment swung closed, Emily allowed herself to see that the sofa-bed was open, its warped, somber-looking cushions tossed to the floor.

'Come on Emily,'� Jake said over her shoulder.

She turned to his extended arm, outstretched from his seat on the bike. A distinctive feeling formed in her throat, an apparition of grief and resignation, knowing that he had intentionally kept her out of his room. Ruefully she slid in behind him on the cracked seat of the cycle. Her eyes went down to the dusty lot, shadowed now in blotchy patches by the low-lying clouds. She took in a breath and turned her mind away from bitterness.

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