I laugh. “I get it. Stop feeling guilty, you fed us last night, we had a warm place to sleep”—thanks in large part to the modded-out modular homes with the woodburning stoves—“but you really don’t owe us anything else. The others can stay, I’m sure they want to, but this is where Jamie is coming when he finds his way back. I know it.”
And I know he’s still alive. I can feel it in my gut. It’s not me being optimistic—I just know he is. All the bad things that happen to us, they happen because we can survive it. Together or apart, the worst never happens, and I’m starting to believe it never will.
“We’ll help you,” Howard says. “Come stay with us, then every weekend a few of us will come out, help with cleaning this place up.”
I stare at him. “Seriously?”
“Yes. We can split the wood from that tree. We’ll figure out a wayto turn it into supports for the new walls. Get rid of the raccoons—”
“I mean, maybe they can stay in the shed.”
“We make amends. We rebuild, you all can stay here but know you have neighbors who are there to look out for you.”
This is not what I expected. If anything, I thought Jamie and I would have to hide here the rest of our lives, being careful not to let it seem like anyone is here. But, honestly, how long would that have lasted?
“You’re really serious about this,” I say. “Not just trying to pull me along so I can help on your farm, and every weekend it’s ‘Oh, we can’t, something came up, next weekend for sure.’”
“You have my word. Sure, there are bound to be times when it seems like a bad idea to leave the farm—blizzards, for instance. But as long as weather allows, yes. You help us, we help you.” He holds out his hand to me. I stare at it, then look around at the walls. There are tiny spots of mold and mildew. Moss grows on the tree trunk where the bathroom should be. The floors have warped and discolored with constant water intrusion.
Fixing the house might be an impossible task. But having others there to figure it out might be helpful.
I take Howard’s hand and shake on it. “Okay. Deal.”
“Great, let’s head back, then. If we’re going to be camping here every weekend, I’d rather do it with more supplies than we have now.”
“One second.” I walk around him into the dining room. Some of the pictures scattered across the wall have fallen—probably when the tree hit the house. I bend down and pick one up. The glass is cracked, but the frame is intact.
In the picture are Jamie and his mom. Jamie is almost a foot taller than she is, and she’s trying to kiss his cheek but he’s laughing and pulling away. She’s wearing green scrubs and he’s in a black suit and blue shirt with a navy tie. There’s a flower pinned on his lapel. I assume he was going to some high school dance, so it was probably only taken a couple of years ago, but he lookssoyoung. Completely different from the boy I know now.
I put the frame in my bag with Holly. And one picture, still on the wall, catches my eye. It’s Jamie as a little kid on the beach with his mom. He’s missing baby teeth and there’s a glob of sunscreen on his shoulder. His smile makes me feel light and buzzy and fills my body with warmth. It’s a kid who has no idea what’s ahead for him. I tell myself it’s okay. Someday I’ll see him again. And maybe he’ll even smile like that again.
Jamison
HENRI MADE IT UNTIL APRIL. BUT INthe end, it was her choice. Her breathing had gotten worse, and she said moving around exhausted her and it felt like there was a weight on her chest.
The storm the night after we arrived kept us snowed in for weeks. We stayed inside, bundled in blankets, while fat snowflakes drifted slowly from the sky. Kristy told us stories about their family—most of them about Amy and the trouble she would get into. Like when Amy was eight and she tied a rope to the handlebars of her bike. Then she waited by the bus stop on the corner, and when the number 29 bus stopped to pick people up, she looped it around the bus’s bumper. She didn’t realize how fast the bus would go, nor how fastshewould continue to go when the bus stopped. She collided with the back of the bus, falling off and scraping her knees. When she stood up to brush herself off and get back on, the bus pulled away—still not realizing the bike was attached. It dragged the bike down the street, hitting parked cars and doing who knows how much damage before the bike got caught under a pickup and the rope snapped. Amy left her bikethere and ran home, telling Henri she got hit by a bus.
Kristy was in tears laughing as she told us about it. The doctors rushed Amy into scans to make sure she wasn’t internally bleeding. It was Henri who finally realized Amy’s story started changing slowly but surely with every doctor who asked a new question.
We told them about our time in the Keys and all the good memories we had. Skipping over all the bad memories on the road. Then, when the snow let up and the sun went down, we set a fire in the firepit and made dinner while Henri and Ellie sat warm by the fire. That day was one of the best I’d had in a long time.
We went out a few times—Kristy, Niki, Cara, and me—looking for supplies. But the cold snap stayed over Maryland for weeks. Some days more snow would come, but nothing like the original blizzard. Still, going out for supplies was hard enough. No matter how anxious Niki was to find her brother, she wasn’t planning to freeze to death to do it.
Any time she seemed to panic, Cara would remind her that Jamar was with Andrew, and he’d never let anything happen to him.
Henri and her family never asked us to leave. It seemed like every time we started talking about going, Henri sensed it. She’d say something about how glad she was that we were there. She’d tell me how much it meant that I did so much for her.
Every time, it felt like she was asking us to stay.
Or maybe it was me, making excuses so I didn’t have to leave. Because I’m scared of what I might find at the cabin. It’s been four months, and Andrew could have shown up here at any moment. Henri has been dead for three days, and I’m still here.
Still saying just a couple more days.
My eyes keep drifting over to the little mound where we buried Henri in the backyard. Just five feet from the garden.
I swat another bug as it lands on my neck, but my hand comes away clean, so whatever it was, I missed. I return to weeding Henri’s garden with Ellie while she sings. I hear Cara emerge from the house behind us.
“Ellie, your mom needs your help in the kitchen.”
