And my head. It's starting to throb again. For the first time since we've left Dairy Queen, Jake removes the key from the ignition and pockets it. I forgot we were still idling. Sometimes you don't notice sound until it's gone. "What's the rush all of a sudden? It's not even midnight."

"What?"

"It's not that late. And with the snow. We're already out here. It's kinda nice and private. Let's just wait for a bit."

I don't want to get into an argument. Not now, not here. Not when I've made my decision about Jake, about us. I turn away again and look out my window. How did I end up in this situation? I laugh out loud.

"What?" he asks.

"Nothing, it's just . . ."

"Just what?"

"Really, it's nothing. I was thinking about something funny that happened at work."

He looks at me like he can't believe I could tell such an obvious lie.

"What did you think of the farm? Of my parents?"

Now he asks me? After all this time? I hesitate. "It was fun to see where you grew up. I told you that."

"Did you think it would be like that? Was it how you pictured it?"

"I don't know what I thought. I haven't spent much time in the country, or on a farm. I didn't really have an idea of what it would be like. It was about what I thought, I guess, sure."

"Did it surprise you?"

I shift in my seat, to the left, toward Jake. Strange questions. Out of character for Jake. Of course it was not really what I thought it would be like. "Why would you think it surprised me? Why?"

"I'm just curious what you thought. Did it seem like a nice place to grow up?"

"Your parents were sweet. It was kind of them to invite me. I liked your dad's gla.s.ses string. He has an old-timey appeal to him. He invited us to stay over."

"He did?"

"Yeah. He said he'd make coffee."

"Did they seem happy to you?"

"Your folks?"

"Yeah, I'm curious. I've been wondering about them lately. How happy they are. They've been under stress. I worry about them."

"They seemed fine. Your mom is having a tough time, but your dad is supportive."

Were they happy? I'm not sure. His parents didn't seem explicitly unhappy. There was that argument, the stuff I overheard. The vague bickering after dinner. It's hard to say what happy is. Something did seem a little off. Maybe it had to do with Jake's brother. I don't know. As he said, they seemed to be under stress.

A hand touches my leg. "I'm glad you came."

"Me, too," I say.

"Really, it means a lot. I've been wanting you to see that place for a long time."

He leans in and kisses my neck. I'm not expecting it. I feel my body tense and brace against the seat. He moves closer, pulling me in. His hand is up my shirt, over my bra, back down. It moves over my bare stomach, my side, my lower back.

His left hand strokes my face, my cheek. His hand is around to the back of my head, brushing hair behind my ear. My head falls against the headrest. He kisses my earlobe, behind my ear.

"Jake," I say.

Jake pushes my coat aside and pulls my shirt up. We pause as the shirt blocks us. He rips it the rest of the way over my head and lets the shirt drop at my feet. He feels good. His hands. His face. I shouldn't do this. Not when I'm thinking of ending things. But he feels good right now. He does.

He's kissing near my bare shoulder, where my neck and shoulder meet.

Maybe it's too soon to know. It doesn't matter. G.o.d. I just want him to keep doing what he's doing. I want to kiss him.

"Steph," he whispers.

I stop. "What?"

He moans, kissing my neck.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing."

Did he call me Steph? Did he? I lean my head back as he starts kissing my chest. I close my eyes.

"What the f.u.c.k!" he says.

Jake tenses, recoils, and then leans over me again, shielding me. A shudder runs through me. He rubs his hand on the window, clearing some condensation away.

"What the f.u.c.k!" he says again, louder.

"What?" I'm reaching now for my shirt on the floor. "What's wrong?"

"s.h.i.t," he says, still leaning across me. "Like I said, there's someone in the school. Sit up. Quick. Put your shirt on. Hurry up."

"What?"

"I don't want to startle you. Just sit up. He can see us. He was looking."

"Jake? What are you talking about?"

"He was staring at us."

I feel unease, a pit in my stomach.

"I can't find my shirt. It's down here on the floor somewhere."

"When I looked up, over your shoulder. I saw someone. It was a man."

"A man?"

"A man. He was standing at that window, there, and he wasn't moving or anything, just staring, right at the car, at us. He could see us."

"This is creeping me out, Jake. I don't like this. Why was he looking at us?"

"I don't know, but it's not right."

Jake is rattled, upset.

"Are you sure there was someone there? I can't see anyone."

I turn in my seat toward the school. I'm trying to stay calm. I don't want to upset him further. I see the windows he's talking about. But there's no one. Nothing. If someone had been there, they could have seen us, easily.

"I'm positive. I saw him. He was . . . staring at us. He was enjoying watching us. It's sick."

I've found my shirt and slip it on over my head. The car is getting cold with the engine off. I need to put my coat back on.

"Relax; let's just go. Like you said, probably some bored old janitor. He probably hasn't seen anyone out here this late before. That's all."

"Relax? No, this is f.u.c.king bulls.h.i.t. He wasn't concerned. He wasn't wondering if we were okay. He wasn't bored. He was staring at us."

"What do you mean?"

"He was leering. It's f.u.c.ked-up."

I put both hands over my face and close my eyes. "Jake, I don't care. Let's go."

"I care. He's a f.u.c.king pervert. He was doing something. I'm sure of it. The guy's f.u.c.ked up. He liked looking at us."

"How do you know?"

"I saw him. I know him. Or guys like him, I mean. He should be ashamed of himself. There was a wave or a movement of his hand, a wavelike gesture. He knows."

"Calm down. I don't think he was doing anything. How can you know for sure?"

"I can't just ignore it. I can't. I can see him."

"Jake, can we please just go? Listen, I'm asking you. Please."

"I'm going to give him s.h.i.t. He can't do this."

"What? No. Forget it. Let's go. We're going."

I reach over but Jake shoves my hand, not softly. He's shaking his head. He's mad. It's his eyes. His hands are trembling.

"We're not going anywhere until I talk to him. It's not right."

I've never seen Jake like this, not even close to this. He pushes my hand away, violently. I need to calm him down.

"Jake. Come on. Look at me for a second. Jake?"

"We're not leaving until I talk to him."

I watch in disbelief as he opens his door. What's happening? What's he doing? I reach over, grab his right arm.

"Jake? It's a snowstorm! Get back in the car. Forget it. Jake. Let's go, seriously."

"Wait here."

It's a command, not a suggestion. Without looking back at me, he slams the door shut.

"What? So stupid," I say to the empty, quiet car. "G.o.d."

I watch him march around the side of the school until he's out of sight. Almost a minute goes by before I even move. What just happened?

I'm confused. I don't understand. I thought I knew Jake better, thought I could at least predict his moods and reactions. This seems entirely out of character. His voice and language. He doesn't usually swear.

I had no idea he had a temper.

I've heard about people with a short fuse, road rage and things like that. Jake just had one of those moments. There was nothing I could say or do to bring him back to his senses. He left all on his own and wasn't going to listen to me.

I don't get why he needed to talk to this guy, or yell at him, or whatever it is he's going to do. Why not just leave it? The guy saw a car out front and wondered who was in it. That's all. I'd be curious, too.

I guess I didn't realize Jake was capable of such emotion. It's actually what I've wanted, I think. He's never shown any sign of it. He's never shown extreme anything. That's why it's so weird. I should have gone with him. Or at least suggested it. That might have made him realize how stupid it was to go storming in there.

I find my jacket on the floor of the backseat and put it on.

I could have tried to relax him more. I could have made a joke or something. It just, it all happened so fast. I look toward the school, the side where Jake went. Snow still falling. Heavy and windy. We shouldn't even be driving, not when it's like this.

I guess I can understand why it upset him. He did have my shirt off. We were going to have s.e.x. We could have. Jake felt vulnerable. Vulnerability makes us lose our ability to think straight. But I was the one with my shirt off. And I just wanted to leave. Just drive away. That's what we should have done.

Jake saw the guy. If I'd looked up and seen a man staring at us through the school's window when we were like that, in that position, regardless of what the man was doing, maybe I would have lost my temper, too. Especially if this guy was a weird-looking man. I definitely would have been freaked out.

Who is this guy?

A night worker? A janitor, as Jake suggested? That's the only thing that makes sense, but seems outdated somehow.

What a job, night custodian. In there all alone, night after night. And especially this school. Out here in the country, no one around. Maybe he likes it, though, enjoys the solitude. He can clean the school at the pace he wants. He can just do his job. There's no one to tell him how or when to do it. As long as he gets it done. That's the way to work. He's developed a routine over all these years and can do it without even thinking. Even if there were people around, no one would notice the custodian.

It's a job I can appreciate. Not the cleaning and sweeping. But being alone, the solitude. He has to be up all night, but he doesn't have to deal with any of the students, doesn't have to see how careless they are, how messy, sloppy, and dirty. But he knows better than anyone because he has to deal with the fallout. No one else does.

If I could work alone, I think I'd prefer it. I'm almost certain I would. No small talk, no upcoming plans to discuss. No one leaning over your desk to ask questions. You just do your work. If I could work mostly alone, and was still living alone, things would be easier. Everything would be a little more natural.

Regardless, alone in there all night, especially in such a big school. It is a creepy job. I look back at the school, dark and quiet, like inside the car.

The only book Jake has given me, and he gave it to me about a week after we met, is called The Loser. It's by this German author, somebody Bernhard. He's dead now, and I didn't know about the book until Jake gave it to me. Jake wrote "Another sad story" on the inside cover.