I stared past him, toward the far wall where old license plates were nailed up. I didn’t answer, because I didn’t have one. The truth hovered just out of reach, shapeless and uncomfortable.
Ben studied me for a moment, then nodded like he’d expected that response all along.
“Truck’ll need a full look,” he said finally, lowering the hood with a dull thud. “I’ll come by later.”
Hours later, just before dinner, he showed up at my parents’ place with a toolbox in one hand and a familiar, probing look in his eyes, questions I wasn’t ready to answer.
Chapter 25
Ethan
Dinner was supposed to be comforting. It wasn’t.
The house smelled warm and familiar with roasted chicken, garlic bread, honeyed carrots. Everything my mother cooked carried history, like food was her way of holding the past together. The lights were low, the curtains half-drawn, the atmosphere hushed.
Everyone moved quietly. Carefully. As if noise alone could shatter the fragile calm we were trying to build around Lily.
Mom had made all of Lily’s favorites, mashed potatoes whipped smooth with extra cream, roasted carrots glazed with honey, baked chicken seasoned exactly the way Lily liked. Steam rose softly from the dishes crowding the table.
Lily hesitated, then perked up just a little. Her shoulders loosened. She climbed into her chair without protest.
Everybody took their seats.
Claire sat at the table too.
Of course she did. She was Lily’s favorite person and practically family. Still, her presence set my nerves on edge in a way I couldn’t untangle, sharp and comforting all at once.
She didn’t look at me unless she had to. When our eyes met, it was brief. Polite. Distant. The look you gave a stranger, not someone who once knew every version of you.
My chest tightened, guilt mixing with something heavier.
After dinner, Lily was bundled on the couch with a blanket and her teddy bear, the TV murmuring softly. Claire cleared plates without being asked, stacking them neatly, rinsing them in the sink. She’d always been like that, quietly stepping in.
My mother dried her hands on a towel and spoke softly.
“How was lily today?”
I swallowed. My throat felt thick.
“She asked me this morning when her parents were coming back.”
The words sucked the air out of the room.
Dad pressed a hand to his mouth, staring off to the distance. Claire closed her eyes, her shoulders drawing in slightly, and my poor mom, just turned away without a word, and left the room.
I stood there for a moment, heart pounding, then decided to follow her outside.
The night air hit me cool and sharp as I stepped into the backyard, the weight of the house pressing in behind me.
???
My mother sat on the wooden bench beneath the big maple, the one Matt and I had played under, the same one, I had fallen out of, after trying to climb it on a dare, that had left the thin scar along my cheek. The same tree where Claire and I had shared our first kiss on a summer night thick with fireflies, back when life had felt simple and love had seemed like enough. Leaving the kind of memory that only feels important once it’s gone.
Now my mother sat there alone, shoulders hunched, hands folded in her lap. The light was fading, turning everything softer around the edges.
I went over and sat beside her.
We stayed quiet for a while. The house behind us made its usual sounds, floorboards settling, a television murmuring in the living room. Normal things. Things that felt strange now.
