The Half Life Read Free Page A

tomatoes and sweet corn, and curl up with her book, she’d decided that the only way to get through her weekends would be to spend as much time as possible
out
of the house. She’d waited in line for the shower, rinsed her hair and washed the salt and sand off her body as fast as she could, then pulled on a loose cotton skirt and a tank top, twisted her wet hair into a bun, and carried her flip-flops, her copy of
Pride and Prejudice
, and a can of Off! down to the beach. She was sitting on the dune, her legs tucked underneath her, marveling at the girls prancing around in string bikinis and wondering if there was enough light from the bonfire to read by, when the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen plopped down beside her.
    â€œI hear we’re sleeping together,” he said.
    Piper stared at him, feeling every bit of moisture disappear from her mouth, along with every word she’d ever known. His skin was as smooth and brown as polished sandalwood; his hair, black and glossy, was gathered into a short ponytail at the nape of his neck. Almond-shaped eyes glittered, curving enticingly upward as he looked at her. His hands, wrapped around his knees, were strong, the fingers long, the nails short and curved, neatly clipped. As Piper tried not to stare, he reached out one warm, square-shaped hand. After a moment, remembering what was expected, she took it, sliding her palm against his warm one, feeling, for the first time, those strong fingers against her skin.
    â€œHello, roomie,” said Tosh DeWitt, whose father was African-American and whose mother was Japanese, who’d majored in fine arts at NYU and who would, two weeks later, take Piper’s virginity on an old comforter that they spread ontop of the warm sand, underneath the stars. She surrendered it joyfully, in love for the first time in her life, intoxicated by everything about her boyfriend—his chest, bulging firmly into her hands when she slid them underneath his shirt, the way his hair was so glossy that it always looked wet, his brilliantly white teeth against his full lips. Tosh wasn’t just handsome, he wasn’t even merely gorgeous or any of the words that typically applied to men. Tosh was beautiful, beautiful in body and face and spirit too, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen or imagined, and somehow, through some miracle, he loved her too, loved skinny, freckled, slightly-bucktoothed-in-spite-of-the-braces Piper Garroway, who knew, even at twenty-two, that there was nothing exotic or alluring about her with the possible exception of her first name.
    â€œMa’am?” A woman in a blue suit was patting her shoulder. Piper sat up, cotton-mouthed, foggy-eyed, blinking.
    â€œI’m so sorry,” the woman said, “but your flight has been canceled.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThere was a volcanic eruption in Iceland.” Piper stared. Was this a joke? Were there even volcanoes in Iceland?
    â€œThe ash from the volcano has been spreading across Europe. No planes are landing in Paris right now.”
    â€œTomorrow?” asked Piper. Her heart was sinking. She’d have to go home, to her empty bed; she’d have to face Tosh’s absence, to tell her mother and Nola the truth.
    The woman shrugged. “We just don’t know yet. We’ll keep you posted, of course.” She handed her a piece of paper with a toll-free number and an email address. Piper stood, lifting her bag, wondering about her luggage, already checked through to Paris. In the chair beside her, a man in a gray suit was getting to his feet.
    â€œYou too?” he asked.
    She nodded, picking up her purse and computer bag, already thinking about whether there was coffee at home and how she’d get her suitcase back when the man said, “The Four Seasons has rooms.”
    She looked at him. “If you need a place to stay tonight,” he added. He was a good-looking guy, with a thick mop of brown hair