"I knew you’d call," Gina said, using Caller ID to twist the knife of surprise when she answered. "Your curiosity is stronger than your pride."
     I didn’t say anything to that, because it wasn’t something I could disagree with.

* * *

     For a week, Gina and I were shortwave, a static-tinged blast of nothing holding heavy in the air. I kept seeing visages of her as I tried to live my life. On the way to class, her hair was across the street on the head of a girl I’d quickly realize wasn’t Gina. Her smile seemed to grace the lips of a woman selling beads and jewelry in the alleyway next to Texas French Bread on The Drag.
     The only place she wasn’t was in my line of sight where I could follow, or watch, or chronicle. I felt like the threads I’d been trying to tie between us had been severed. That the longer I stayed away from Us, the more It would unravel until the odd camaraderie that had developed between us in Dallas and in other moments since then, would be lost, replaced by cold, precision acquaintanceship.
     I was sitting in my apartment, less than bored, aware that I was wasting time that should have gone toward Gina. I was listening to Tori Amos (a pathetic thing for a girl to do at home alone on a Saturday, even if it was raining outside), and a line from Little Earthquakes resonated. "And I hate/and I hate/dis-in-te-gra-tion," Tori growled, and the sound of it threw goosebumps at my skin. I thought of Gina, and the image in my mind was one of the paintings Juan had done, the canvas crinkling and peeling like old paper left in the sun.
     So I called.
     Gina answered, smug as ever. And her words, which for all I knew she’d been holding on the tip of her tongue since last I saw her, were enough for now. She’d won.

* * *

     I offered to come over. I invited her here, even as my apartment echoed Tori’s rainy day sentiments. She asked instead that I meet her at the Zilker Botanical Gardens off Barton Springs.
     I pointed out that the rain hadn’t led up. It was reminiscent of the flood weekend a few weeks ago when parts of Texas were rained on so badly that families were washed away, their couches and televisions drifting down and downstream like branches from a broken tree. Gina said that was where she’d be in a hour if I wanted to meet her.
     I took an umbrella.
     I’d been to the Botanical Gardens before and it’s gorgeous – little pathways along the side of a hill where the most beautiful flowers grow next to little ponds holding fish of all sizes. Last time I was there was on a date, a romantic excursion among the flowers, freshman lily love and all that. It had been sunny that day and the green leaves and the drying petals of flowers carried fuzziness grown in the sun that made them less real. Their edges seemed to blur next to the air surround them, giving everything a painted, brush-stroked appearance.
     Today, the effect was different. The cloudbursts gave us a dim wattage from which we could see every detail as if through water-droplet magnification. Everything stood out, bold against the gray of the day, defiant.
     Gina, too, stood out. She was wearing a red top and a black skirt. She looked more ready for the mall than for rain. Even next to the drinking flowers, her colors (lips, the highlights in her hair, the contrasting blue on her nails) were brighter.
     I met her near a bridge where she was standing alone, looking into water as a drizzle poured down around us. She had no umbrella. Her hair was frizzier than I’d ever seen it, water droplets forming nets amid the strands. I came to her, holding the umbrella over both of us.
     "I used to come here sometimes before I’d go to Harlingen," she said, not looking up. "I would pick some flowers, just one or two, to take to my mom. A lot of these you can’t find in flower shops. I would give them to mama, and she would save them in an old scrapbook she’d had for a long time, since she was in Mexico. She kept all of them. She still has them pressed in her book."
     "What would you do if you got caught?" I asked.
     "Just pretend I didn’t know," Gina said. "I didn’t think they’d notice one or two flowers missing."
     "How are you?" I asked. "This last week, what have you been doing?"
     "Worrying," Gina said. "About things."
     "What kind of things?"
     "I don’t want to go into it," she said. "I won’t want to talk about it, and you’ll get mad because it should be in the journal, and I don’t want to fight with you. Is that okay?"
     I thought about it as the drizzle grew to a steady stream of drops lightly strumming against the umbrella’s fabric. "The journal aside, are you okay? If you need to talk about it, I don’t have to write about it right away."
     Gina turned and I saw lines around her eyes I hadn’t seen before. Without makeup, she looked strained, as bad as I’d seen her when she was sick. Physically, she looked fine, but the worry on her face and her stoop as she leaned forward, barely holding her head above sea level, made her look much older.
     "I can’t right now. But it’s back home. I’m going to have to leave soon for a visit and I’m really worried about that."
     "Juan?" I asked.
     "Heather, stop asking, okay? I’ll tell you when I’m ready."
     "I’m sorry," I said.
     "It’s a lot bigger deal than that. And bigger than the writing project," Gina said. "If I go, I may not come back right away. I may be gone for a couple of months."
     "Oh. If I can help, you know," I stammered.
     "It’s not that kind of situation," Gina said. "But I appreciate it. As soon as I know for sure what’s happening, I’ll let you know, okay?"
     I nodded.
     "Hey, Heather. You ask me all these questions and you want to know all these things, but let me ask you something."
     "Go ahead," I said.
     "Why were you so upset about Halloween? What about it made you so uncomfortable?" she said.
     A small silence began to extend itself between us as I gave it some thought, still unclear on the real reason behind my reaction. Despite that, I gave it a shot: "It surprised me," I said. "And when it comes to my relationships with people, I don’t like big surprises. I don’t like being caught off guard."
     Gina gave me a small smile, the first I’d seen since I arrived at the Garden. "Some of the best things happen when you get caught off guard," Gina said. "Stop trying to control everything."
     Gina turned, patting my shoulder as she went. She walked slowly across the bridge, leaving the shield of my umbrella, and baptizing herself in the cool rain that made it through the trees above us.
     As she walked, she pulled her hair back with her hands, leaning her head back as the rain washed over her unmade face.
     I began to follow, folding the umbrella and carrying it next to me as I went.